Tearing at the Fabric

Of the space-time continuum


Reflection. A really fun hobby of mine.

Having your heart broken makes you a different person.

I am concurrently a sadderbutmoremindfullyjoyful person than I was before my “one true love” cheated on, then later cheated again and abandoned me. I make sure I appreciate, absorb, enjoy and reflect.

I arrived home late from work last night. My brother had the house warm, and he and his two kids were making sushi bowls for dinner. One was coating chicken with panko, the other was setting the table. They don’t usually hang out at night with me, mostly cooking and playing in the barn, where they all sleep.

I went and jumped in the shower, and arrived back to bowls of fresh veggies and delicious sauces, and C on the phone to the kids’ mum. They were coordinating flights for the kids home to her next week. It’s chaos here. Cancelled flights, etc. You can’t put unaccompanied minors’ flight details on the airline’s app. They don’t know what flight they are booked on, the booking reference has disappeared!

And I was proud of him. He has struggled mightily with being dumped by her. It made him a bit crazy. He got a bit stalkerish, struggling to accept she wasn’t taking him back. Oh boy, do I know that utter agony. That truly unbearable heartbreak.

So, he moved up here. More friends and family for support. Has a better job than ever, but the terrible compromise was losing daily or even weekly physical contact with his 12 and 9 year old kids. He’s an amazing, involved Dad.

It was ugly for a long time. They struggled to communicate well. He still loved her. She moved on fast. Tindering up a storm, new partner within a couple of months of kicking him to the curb. Painful for him. And she is a strong personality, knows how to push his buttons. Manipulative during that period, especially. It was breaking him.

Anyway. Their divorce was final last month. You have to be separated two years here before you can divorce. He seems to have made good progress lately, more even, less emotional outbursts. But still has a few (healthy) tears occasionally.

Last night, they talked on speaker as we ate. It was good for the kids to hear, because the eldest especially had started to fear his parents speaking, thinking it always escalated.

It did for a while.

But. Much as I was really proud of him, admiring his progess, my heart was silently squeezed.


You see, I can’t talk to my love. The man I gave myself to. No way could I do what they were doing.

A. He doesn’t want to know me. I never really existed. Those thirty years meant absolutely nothing.

B. I can’t handle it. It makes me really tense and upset. I am not, nor will I ever be, “over it.” Yeah. I still love him.

Don’t worry. I know my “him” is a mirage. He doesn’t really exist. This person that fucks Trinket is not my love.

It sucks. I feel less than. Hopeless. Lame. Weak.

I wish I was a different person. Someone who didn’t feel so deeply. Someone without a broken heart 💔

Bro, C, just popped over to collect some laundry. I said not to pay the small amount of board (just enough to help me with my power bill) he had been paying me recently, when the kids are here for the holidays. Keep that money to do fun things with them. Put gas in your car. Do some roadies. Go to the movies. Eat out. Go to a theme park. Etc. His expenses don’t change while they are with him. Child support has nearly crippled him. But he is finally in a good space, got his budget sorted. He and I both have given up drinking for a bit. My reason was health. To help drop a few kilos, and to try to shake the cold I have had for about seven weeks. His was health, budget, and mental health. I’ve been sober 20 days, him about two weeks. He’s talking about making it permanent. We’ll see how he goes. He was putting a LOT of beer bottles in my recycling. We’ll see.

Anyway, when I said, let’s not have you pay me when the kids are here, he sat down, head is his hands and had a few tears. Came and hugged me. “Oh sis! You are too fucking much! Thank you. Thank you so much. Shit. You’ve been a bloody life saver.”

Nah. It’s what friends and family do. We support each other. He’s good to me too.

And I sit here, reflecting. On this terrible heartache. On this post apocalyptic world we both have found ourselves in.

Nothing is ever quite comfortable again. We keep running.

As my wonderful friend, Crazy Kat writes, her life is also changed post infidelity. There is less “settled.” Because when you’ve had your world shattered by infidelity, whether your relationship survives, or not, the betrayed spouse is never comfortable ever again. I related to her post about running. Running away. I feel that. I still have periods of wanting to run away, too. Some of that manifests as running to the beach. I travel around this country more. I plan overseas holidays (now that we can) more. Much of this is a restless dis-ease. I love my home, but I am never “settled” anymore. My heart and mind are constantly racing. I meditate to try to mitigate some of that stress. I practice grounding and mindfulness techniques daily.

Infidelity is far more traumatic than I ever imagined! Who knew???

I knew I was changed, even while I worked my arse off to heal us. I talked about this with Rog, at the time. He didn’t seem to understand. He was quietly furious with ME. Because it was my reaction that was the problem. Not his actions that caused it. He never understood my trauma. He thought I was deliberately dwelling on it. Nothing could be further from the truth! I desperately sought ways to escape the thoughts. The pain. His words, his apologies, just didn’t FEEL genuine. His actions were not quite matching his charm…

So, I ran and ran and ran.

Quite literally, that first year.

I would rise early, and run on the treadmill, for about an hour, every morning. Pair that with the infidelity diet, and you can see why I was so skinny. So drawn. So beaten down.

You can’t outrun the pain.

I knew that.

But the alternatives sucked. Flight, fright, or freeze. I was determined not to freeze. Not to be stuck. Not to stay if it was not better. And the fright part, that was going to turn into bitterness to me. That was not going to happen on my watch!

All that is a lot of words to say, infidelity is far more painful and permanent than anyone who has never been cheated on by someone they truly love can ever imagine.

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My blood boiled this morning reading Chump Lady.

I mean, holy hell!

One of the things that you have to learn after being chumped is, that you don’t have to take that crap from anyone anymore.

You don’t have to pretend to be friends with someone who has serious character flaws.

You don’t have to spackle over people who cheat, as “having made a mistake.”

In this case, the woman’s actions made her previously beloved husband so miserable that he felt his only out was to shoot himself.

If you disagree with her cheating – and you absolutely should – then you are not a “bad friend” for not forgiving her. You are a person with morals, integrity, character, and any loyalty you are being made to feel to her is seriously misguided.

I no longer tolerate people like this in my life.

I have unfriended cheaters. I don’t accept any excuses that, “oh, but other than that, she’s a lovely person.”


Lovely people don’t cheat.

Either on, or with partnered people.

It’s that simple.

I have culled people. And I’m good with that. I never had before. I thought you had to accept all the bad. Just ignore it, and play nice.

I worked so damn hard to survive the discard after a serial cheater made me feel unworthy of living. It was a special kind of hell. Trying to stay in the world, when it was too painful to do so.

Buggered if I am going to allow any cheater apologists wriggle room in my life.

I make very deliberate choices now. For my mental health. For my own survival.

The comments got me. Those asking not to talk about suicide.

Fuck that shit.

We need to talk about it. Infidelity, gaslighting, lying, they make loyal partners fucking crazy. Miserable.

Some of us want to die.

Sadly, some of us do.

It needs to be talked about. It isn’t a mistake.

It is abuse.

Unbearable abuse that sucks all of the joy in the world from our beings.


The end of the world as we know it

DDay antiversary.

The worst day of my life. Things haven’t ever been okay ever since.

The first time I had a clue Roger is a cheater, was this day on the calendar.

The day the gutless bitch, Leanne, texted me she had been having an affair with him.

Whilst I was at a birthday party that I was going to drive her to.

Mind you, he was more gutless. Sacked her and pretended he loved me. Was never going to confess. To any of them.

It is a tough day. Every year. Better than the first year, but same as every one since then.

It was the end of the world as I knew it.

And in some ways, “I feel fine.”

But mostly, I just lost every bit of ability to feel at peace.

OverviewLyricsListenOther recordingsVideos

Main results

That’s great, it starts with an earthquake
Birds and snakes, and aeroplanes
And Lenny Bruce is not afraid

Eye of a hurricane, listen to yourself churn
World serves its own needs
Don’t mis-serve your own needs
Speed it up a notch, speed, grunt, no, strength
The ladder starts to clatter
With a fear of height, down, height
Wire in a fire, represent the seven games
And a government for hire and a combat site
Left her, wasn’t coming in a hurry
With the Furies breathing down your neck

Team by team, reporters baffled, trumped, tethered, cropped
Look at that low plane, fine, then
Uh oh, overflow, population, common group
But it’ll do, save yourself, serve yourself
World serves its own needs, listen to your heart bleed
Tell me with the Rapture and the reverent in the right, right
You vitriolic, patriotic, slam fight, bright light
Feeling pretty psyched

It’s the end of the world as we know it
It’s the end of the world as we know it
It’s the end of the world as we know it and I feel fine

Six o’clock, T.V. hour, don’t get caught in foreign tower
Slash and burn, return, listen to yourself churn
Lock him in uniform, book burning, bloodletting
Every motive escalate, automotive incinerate
Light a candle, light a motive, step down, step down
Watch your heel crush, crush, uh oh
This means no fear, cavalier, renegade and steering clear
A tournament, a tournament, a tournament of lies
Offer me solutions, offer me alternatives and I decline

It’s the end of the world as we know it (I had some time alone)
It’s the end of the world as we know it (I had some time alone)
It’s the end of the world as we know it and I feel fine (time I had some time alone)
I feel fine (I feel fine)

It’s the end of the world as we know it (time I had some time alone)
It’s the end of the world as we know it (time I had some time alone)
It’s the end of the world as we know it and I feel fine (time I had some time alone)

The other night I drifted nice continental drift divide
Mountains sit in a line, Leonard Bernstein
Leonid Brezhnev, Lenny Bruce and Lester Bangs
Birthday party, cheesecake, jellybean, boom
You symbiotic, patriotic, slam but neck, right, right

It’s the end of the world as we know it (time I had some time alone)
It’s the end of the world as we know it (time I had some time alone)
It’s the end of the world as we know it and I feel fine (time I had some time alone)

It’s the end of the world as we know it
It’s the end of the world as we know it
It’s the end of the world as we know it and I feel fine (time I had some time alone)

It’s the end of the world as we know it (time I had some time alone)
It’s the end of the world as we know it (time I had some time alone)
It’s the end of the world as we know it and I feel fine (time I had some time alone)

It’s the end of the world as we know it (time I had some time alone)
It’s the end of the world as we know it (time I had some time alone)
It’s the end of the world as we know it and I feel fine (time I had some time alone)

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Tell ’em she’s dreamin’!

Had one of those hyperrealistic dreams.

Where you wake up, briefly convinced, that what you just dreamed, was truth.

Trinket and Rog broke up.

And she came to find me.

She’d had an epiphany. Realised that he was a liar. We weren’t separated. His Match profile was a lie. He was cheating on me by online dating. She had contributed to completely breaking my heart. She was a home wrecker. Gasp! He just told her what he did to get in her pants. To line up new supply.

She begged me to forgive her, she had fully bought the stories about me not loving him, that I was unhinged, and a bad person.

Her children had believed him, too. He’d charmed the socks off them. Bought them things they liked. Chatted convivially with them. Cool Dad.

And we became firm friends! WTAF? That was the part that gave the story away, lol.

As Chump Lady points out, about the cheater and the other woman, “If the truth is that she broke up a family, how happy can she really be? Joy requires depth. Abandonment requires sociopathy. Don’t envy the disordered.”


Joy. And pain.

Don’t Lose Hope writes a deeply empathetic and insightful blog about recovering from infidelity, but the insights and advice are also directed at and applicable to other types of grief.

I just love her. Her care. Her advice. Her wisdom.

“Over time, you slowly learn that joy and pain can co-exist. It doesn’t take away from the pain and loss you feel. But you see it’s possible to still experience happiness.”

I think that is one huge point that I didn’t know about grief.

Not really.

I thought that when joy returned, the pain would subside. It did when my mother died.

It hasn’t since Roger cheated on me again, and dumped and ran.

I thought loving BG would mean I wouldn’t think about, or feel anything about Roger. But I still feel all my past, my thirty plus years of love being swiped away. I still think about him every day. Roger is embedded in me. Yes, I have much to be grateful for. Many, many other things going on in my life. But my relationship with him, our life together is a part of me. No less than my arms and legs are. Maybe it’s like the phantom pain of losing a limb? I still “feel” him attached to me.

“Loss creates anxiety and deep insecurity. Your world’s fallen apart; nothing’s certain any more. You don’t believe in dreams, and you’re too afraid to hope. The future just looks bleak, and is something to be feared.”

And this is so true. I don’t trust any of it. The world shifts from under you. Just when you hope the fear is fading, BAM! Nope. Still there. My anxiety is horrific. I run on cortisol. I still don’t sleep a lot, or well. I startle easily. I don’t absorb stress as well as I once did, in fact, the smallest thing gets my heart racing.

I don’t know if I will wake up tomorrow. Or whether BG will drop a bomb of some sort next week. I hesitate entering a new room. Or shop. Or cafe. Or meeting new people. Anxiety can gallop away on me when I am tired, and exhausted from all the constant mindfulness.

Lord. I need sleep.


Operation bathrooms

It’s on!

My builder and plumber are AOK for blast off. I’m busy ordering tapware, basins, toilets, bidet attachments, showerheads, tiles, etc.

I am excited.

A few months ago, when the builder saw my inspo pictures, and heard my vision, he said, “this is one for my website. I love your style!”

Yesterday morning, I met the plumber he recommends. I talked through changing my pathetically low pressure electric hot water system to gas. Putting an infinity system in my ceiling cavity to service the existing bathroom, my newly to-be-created ensuite and powder room, and kitchen. This means I can choose the gorgeous tapware i’ve been coveting! And my pathetic shower pressure problem is going to be solved. Yeehaa!!

Then I showed him the bath I have had custom painted and the brushed copper tapware I have selected, followed by my inspiration pictures. He asked if I was using the same colours, tile sizes, etc. I said, yes, mostly. The tile I can get here for the feature colour is slightly darker than the photo.

I explained that I have already booked my painter. Won’t need his. One of my eldest daughter’s best friends is a tradeswoman, and she restored and did my lounge room, including a textured panel ceiling and huge ceiling rose. She did an incredible job, and I can’t wait to see what she does. There is some work to also do in my bedroom, as a roof leak last winter means a new textured panel and gib on one wall is being replaced.

Matt, the plumber, about 30, then sat back, looked at Kevin, the builder (late 50s early 60s, and quite the slickly groomed, well dressed man) and said, “this is going to be the best bathroom in this town. I absolutely LOVE it and can’t wait for this one. I’d love it if you’d let me take befores and afters for my website. It’s stunning!”

Even if they say that to everyone, I am truly looking forward to this wonderful transformation.

Bring it on! My house is about to be torn apart, and I here for it…

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Permanent insomnia

When I was a young woman, I met a boy whom I fell madly in love with really quickly.

I fought it.


I was 20 years old.

You do not meet the love of your life and stay with them at 20! You have a life to live! Education, travel, parties, city life.

But I was hooked. A reasonably bright 20 year old vegetarian, with big dreams.

Who instead chose a hunting, shooting, fishing beef farmer, who had struggled a little with formal education.

A match made in heaven.

Even then, I thought he was an odd choice for me. My previous on again, off again boyfriend was a smart, bronzed, long-haired, muscular, esoteric, poetry writing, musical surfer. Roger was pale, tall, lean, balding, dry witted, old school bloke. But he had me totally mesmerized. He love bombed me constantly. Constant attention, wee bunches of hand picked flowers, a bag of groceries, phone calls, turning up to see me every day, little sweet touches. Those oh so soft eyes, his intensity when kissing, touching, making love. My body literally ached from the physicality of him.

Until he was caught cheating with our “friend” more than twenty years later, none of that changed. He told me – and showed me through physical affection and intense passion – that he loved me multiple times a day. I still shiver when I see in my mind’s eye, the super intense look of sheer pleasure and something much darker in his eyes, on his face as we made love. He used to bite me hard as he came, my fear was losing a nipple one day! God, it was intense. He knew all my weaknesses, just where, just how, with what pressure, what part of his body, to touch me.

As my only lover, I just assumed that this was how sex was for everybody.

The saying “better than sex” had some gravitas. When friends would smirk and suggest that it doesn’t have to be that great to beat sex, I admit I thought they must be prudish, or somewhat frigid. Sex was AH MAZE ING!!

Whilst I have some very intense moments with my lovely barman, we don’t have that.

That always amazing thing.

I believe we still haven’t worked each other out entirely. I mean, I do more of one thing Roger didn’t seem overly into (and I assumed I can’t have been too proficient at, so asked a lot of guidance about) and BG LOVES me doing that.

But I do wonder at times.

He doesn’t approach making love with me with quite the intense passion and desire that Roger did. I agree that we are mid 50s. But up until just over three years ago, Roger and I were still very intense. Sweaty, high cardio, very wet and wild sex sessions. With my lack of experience with different partners, I am left wondering. Were we a lightning, once-in-a-lifetime coupling in bed?

And my answer always comes back to this.

He was for me.

But I obviously never satisfied him. He kept looking elsewhere. He will never be satisfied. He might be for long periods. But never forever. My experience, of truly mind bending sexual pleasure with him, was one-sided. He does this with everyone. Leanne once said he could make her orgasm faster than anyone she’d ever been with. I know I was multi-orgasmic with him.

Of course, Roger will be telling Trinket she’s the best he’s ever had, the sexiest woman he’s ever met.

Ask me how I know. 🤦‍♀️

This is not to say that I don’t enjoy good sex, some knee shaking, whole body shivering times with BG.

But sex is just a much lesser priority. Roger was always ready. Always wanting it. It was a fabulous thing to be constantly desired.

I loved it. It made me feel incredibly sexy and wanton. I know it meant I initiated less, because I rarely needed to!

So, sex has become a very fascinating topic for me. I know as a single man, with no guarantees of when, where or even with whom BG would have sex next, that no doubt changes a sex drive. He admits, he had to shut down some of it to survive. His fear of being his serial cheating father drove a lot of it. Don’t be a sex pest! So, for him, my high libido is a thing of wonder, but some cause for mild concern. He often says he’s “not affectionate enough.” Or, “not doing enough.”

Euphemisms for not having “enough” mind blowing sex with me.

The reality is, he’s exceptionally attentive. Multiple daily messages and calls. He touches me constantly. He calls me by affectionate little nicknames. In public too 😱😱😱.

It’s a chemistry thing for me. There are things he hasn’t worked out, sometimes even after I have been very direct.


Oh God, who knew at 50 something I would discover that talking about sex would get so hard? I am no prude. One sexual partner, but that doesn’t mean I don’t like to fuck! I love sex. I love adventurous, pushing the boundaries sex. I just did all of that within the boundaries of what I believed was a loving, mutually fulfilling, exclusive lifetime partnership!

Yeah, right!

So, teaching a new person what zings, and finding their buttons, has been both exciting, but also very challenging. BG hasn’t shared a life, intimacies, his heart, fully with ANYONE before. He’s open to it. He’s actually very loving and sensitive. But not having thirty years of deep, unreserved intimacy, there are things we just miss each other on at times.

It’s a very weird thing. And I think some of it is not possible to quite click with. That whole life, ingrained knowledge and trust. We’ll never have that.

And I will never trust like that again. It scares me to think I will miss out on that absolute joy of “knowing” 🤢🤮🤢🤮 I was loved and treasured above all and anyone else.

These are some of the reasons I have never slept through the night since that fateful night one May, when my “friend” texted me she had been fucking my safe person, my whole heart and world, and exploded my peace forever.

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Peace, joy

I recall very clearly recognising that I had lost the ability to feel any peace, once Leanne told me about my most beloved partner and her’s affair.

Joy also disappeared.

I think I have recently regained the ability to feel joy. Or at least happiness. Not that complete, unreserved joy.

But peace is still elusive. I haven’t felt it since.

I had, in my mind, a very beautiful, loving, passionate, reciprocal relationship with Roger, the father of my children. I felt huge peace and massive joy with him. Of course, I told him EVERYTHING. The good, the bad, and the ugly. I had zero secrets from him…it’s weird that when you live and love like that, you seem to just assume that he was the same.

Roger has this uncanny ability to talk as if he is sharing everything, every part of his heart and soul with you. He even admitted he was good at it. He’d share all this sweet, funny, tender stuff. Even stuff about Leanne to me. But he was expert at leaving out any of the clues, or signs that there was anything more than an old, uneasy friendship, with a woman he didn’t trust. He himself said, “I had no idea how good I was at lying. It came really easily.” The only sign I can now identify is that he can tend to raise his hand to his mouth and almost cover it as he speaks, which just looks like he is being thoughtful, examining his conversation before it erupts from him.

Not always, but I later realised this was a sign he was thinking on his feet, and possibly not being completely honest, or forthright. Holding something back.

One of the thoughts that manifested as swirly, unsettling dreams last night, was about how he told me durung that hell of living with my love, whilst he was fucking his whore down south, and me at the same time, that she told him that I had “trained him so well.” It was about something domestic. He told me this, while I was lying on his chest, after an epic lovemaking session (oh, hysterical bonding, you massive bitch!) Like he was my lap dog or something. Good boi, who’s a good boi, then. Treaties???


Why didn’t she get it? He’s a cheater. Who was cheating WITH her???

I know why. Because that was normal for her. Her training set her up as his perfect target. A beaten down, plain little mouse, who puts up with bad behaviour. Bad boi! Naw, poor sausage. Now come give mama a cuddle.


Boxing Day. Phew

Made it. Out the other side of Christmas.


It was good. Relaxed. Hot. The wind got up, so we didn’t launch the boat. Just off to do that now with a picnic of leftovers.

BG was great. Bought me a cute necklace and snuggled me often.

The kids video chatted late afternoon and it was weird. From a room in Roger’s house, obviously kinda hiding. But looks like they had a nice time, and thankfully no pictures of him and her all loved up at Christmas.

Off to catch some snapper. I got my new fishing gear and rigs set up last night, with BG’s help. I can tie a couple of handy knots now, yay!

For those of my friends here, struggling with Christmas, know I see you, and am here for you.

Meri Kirihimete from Aotearoa 🎅🎄🎁💚🖤


Girls’ weekend

My two besties from high school and I try to do at least one, mostly two, girl’s weekends a year together.

We were booked for May this year, in the capital. Unfortunately Covid put paid to those plans.

We rescheduled when we came out of lockdown. For this weekend. Sadly, one of us lives in the Auckland region, and they have been locked down again for a couple of weeks while they wrestle with one community transmission outbreak. She obviously can’t come now.

G and I decided to go ahead anyway. She got down there last night and I am flying now.

I got the dogs to kennels after work, came home exhausted, so had a soothing bath. Then packed a bag and bugged out to stay with my daughter who took me to the airport this morning. With the pandemic, less flights are available from the regions, so I booked to fly back into the city where her new man lives. I only realised this a couple of days ago, so scrambled about how to get to and from home. She says she will be there and get me on Sunday night.

Naw, she’s such a treasure.

Funnily enough, the airport I’m flying back into is nearest BG. Still a good hour and a half away though. When he heard, he said he’d come get me. Lol. Now they are fighting over who picks me up 🤣. He is thinking that if he can, he might go down to his old club’s 8-ball tournament on Sunday. Make a surprise appearance – he’s won it a few times before, he was there 16 years – and catch up with old friends. It is a couple of hours drive south of said airport.

I sleep so much better with someone else in the bed. Crazy stuff really. I only woke once, looking for my dog…

Anyway, I’m tired and rundown. Heading to one of my favourite cities to drink cocktails, talk non-stop and giggle. My eldest daughter and two of G’s nieces are catching up for dinner, drinks and dancing tomorrow night.

…lost this draft, and it appeared back this morning…we met a friend of G’s for a cocktail, then moved to my favourite rooftop bar and had another cocktail before a beautiful dinner.

Look at how tired I look!

A new wine bar afterwards, and a pretty early night was had.

Today we will head out for a good hill walk and add some more shopping..a friend’s 20 year old daughter messaged me last night to say she is also in the city, staying nearby. We’ll take her out for afternoon tea, and meet my daughter and G’s nieces for dinner.

I have these moments, and feel so very grateful for my freedom, for being financially independent. I have popped some money on the sharemarket, my first attempt at this, during March, as the pandemic started exploring worldwide. And I’m chuffed to say the return hit 9% yesterday. Bathroom renos, here we come!

G has been fabulous, but I did have a wee weep as I hopped into bed last night. She reminded me of how awesome we appeared to be. “You and Rog were the dream team. We’d see you together, and the love and connection just beamed out of you both. I’ve never had that. I hate my husband sometimes. And wonder what the future holds as these kids start leaving home. We had out first baby a year after marriage, and my life has been about parenting. What happens when they all leave? Do we even like each other? I know I don’t love, love him…but we do have a good time if it is just us…”

My mind shot back and I saw us – pre-Leanne. We did appear to be the young dream team. I totally adored him, and he kept me high on him with constant affection and great sex. I honestly could NEVER have predicted what he would do to me. I thought he adored me.

He never did. Roger just loves who is there. The warm body that soaks up his charm. It isn’t specific to the person, just the position.

It sure has affected my life, my ability to feel any security or safety in the world. As I said to G, as she told me how wonderfully I have recovered, how well I am doing, yeah, but life will never be what I wanted. Everything has changed. I am good, I have worked my ARSE off to be where I am today. But the pure joy and sense of peace in the world, that will never return. And I accept that. She said, “that fucker, Rog. He has no idea what he threw away, all to fuck some boring bitches. He doesn’t get to be your friend anymore, or tell you you’re doing it all wrong. Look at you sparkling over there. Dumb cunt.”

Then we laughed and she sent BG a message inviting him to the next girls weekend, at my place, but only if he brushes up his chili margaritas skills! He replied he was getting his recipe book out ❤

I am so blessed to have genuine, loving, supportive people in my life, who have seen through his crap.

A hotel room to chill out, friends to catch up with today, gorgeous young people to inspire us, what more could I ask for?

#gratitude #mindfulness #mildhangover 😉😂🍸