Tearing at the Fabric

Of the space-time continuum


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An unapology

Bit of a wee vent here, sorry. Just need to get it outside of me. Bear with me, or skip this entirely ­čÖé

I am doing less blogging, spending less time trawling the internet for comfort. But I do still read a couple of blogs. A couple of days ago, I made a comment on one. A lovely lady whose husband has been diagnosed as a long term sex addict is going through the early part of her healing journey. I think she is amazing, and I will not point out who she is here, so as not to “garner support” for the comment I made. She has made contact with Beyond Affairs Network. A very interesting organisation that many of you will have heard of. I made contact and participated lightly in this organisation for a while in the first few years post D-day. It was a little hit or miss in this corner of the world, with chapter leaders coming and going a bit. I made a comment about my dealings with BAN – and organisation headed by a (ex) cheater and his faithful wife, with the very best of intentions, I am sure, but nevertheless, his cheating has enabled a very lucrative career to arise from a sad and hard period in his wife’s (and his own, sure) life – and how I struggled to get any further along in my healing. This is not BAN’s fault, I have struggled with healing with or without them! I just commented about my experience, and was slammed by another betrayed (her husband had an EA) who told me I was being unhelpful.

Well, I guess I think the point of blogging is to share. Yes, encouragement, and positive stuff is very important, but is it not untruthful to be positive about EVERYTHING? I said I had found it didn’t work for me, but that I hoped it did for this betrayed. She is dealing with a different set of circumstances, and a different economic basis than I am, she is able to attend more workshops than I could ever afford, and I think she is doing incredibly well under the terrible circumstances she has found herself – and her husband – in, but there is a commonality, and I voiced my experience to SHARE. To show that there is another side to every “healing” promise.

So, this is an unapology to that commenter, whom I will also not name. I am usually adamant that emotional cheating is horrendous, it is real, very….EXTREMELY… difficult to deal with, and I know this woman is very hurt, at times still angry (aren’t we all?) with young children (babies) involved, but in this case, I think one’s husband having sex, and/or being very intimate with other women is pretty damn hard to deal with! I don’t think I have ever used the sentence, “he was ONLY having an emotional affair,” until now. There is no ONLY in any kind of betrayal. However – and yes, I know this sounds like an, “I don’t mean to cause offense, but….” type of comment, and I do apologise to those who are genuinely reeling and agonised by emotional cheating – the mental imagery of his body going in and out of another woman’s/other womens’ is especially disturbing. As is the picture of him pleasuring her in all kinds of physical (bodily) and geographical places, especially in your own home. I know it haunts me. Daily. In my case (maybe not the sex addict’s) my love, the man I truly adored, whom I thought was as committed to me as I was to him, was having both an emotional and a sexual affair, I think I understand the hurt of both of these “types” of affair.

So, I unapologise here. Please do try to think of why people share what they do, and realise that not all of us are trying to tear others down, maybe they are just articulating a personal story. Sometimes it helps. Sometimes it may not seem obvious how it could, but from my experience, I need to hear all kinds of experiences with all kinds of therapy, readings, etc, in order to analyse the information I have at hand through a different lens to the one I may be holding today.


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It got old

I think I have almost come to the end. Blogging. There’s nothing new to say, and I have moved no further towards healing than I was before I started.

In these past five and a half years, I have ridden the roller coaster. At first, for the first year or two, although I never wanted to get on the ride, I mostly felt kinda positive about it. I thought our “special bond,” our “amazing love,” (choke, gag) would get us through this mess. We seemed to be doing well. He “got it.” He was really, really, really sorry, really, really, really embarrassed, really, really, really open to fixing what he broke. He was voluntarily transparent, he tried so hard to make me feel safe and loved again. He attended all counselling I suggested, he even read – well, a bit – but more than many. He listened, he held me, he “understood.”

But, am I healed? Am I anywhere near the feisty, bright, “sparkly” redhaired go-get-’em girl I was before this crap?

Nope. Not even close.

Until about a year ago, I was sure time would heal. If I could see him live more authentically, if I could plan MY future a little more than I had, if I could get my children happily launched in life, I would be okay again.

Why am I not better? Is this the real Paula? A person incapable of making herself happy?

Maybe. Interesting, because I thought not until this crap. I am not as strong, as resilient as I had been in the past, as the person I imagined myself to be.

This journey he crashed-started us on meant we would have both learned so much, and yes, he has.

I seem to have learned “miserable.”

I don’t think I have learned much more than that there are a lot more selfish people in the world than even I had accounted for. And some of them look just like you and I! People can be shits because they have no empathy/feel lost or entitled. But “good” people don’t. They have this little inner voice that says, “hell, that looks like fun/a distraction/like I could enjoy that” but then it is closely followed by, “hmm, yeah, right, that will solve ALL my problems, huh? You idiot!” And just like that, we don’t do the selfish/dangerous/maybe-fun-but-probably-dangerous act. All the other “stuff” we talked about in therapy, read in books, blogs, etc, none of it is new to me. I already knew cheating fucks people’s lives. I admit I thought you recovered though. Something I still haven’t managed, in fact I feel worse now than I did at any time in the first four years. And just typing that has formed this huge lump in my throat, and the tears are bloody well falling again.

FAAARRRRKKKK!

So thank you all of my dear friends here who have sympathised, shared, loved, cried and tried to jolly me along. I have appreciated you so much, and I doubt I am gone, gone. But the posts are now (maybe always were!) monotonous, negative, and of no use to either me, nor any of you. ┬áSo, while it is not my job to blow smoke up your arse, the opposite sure is a real drag. I think I will draw it mostly to a close. I will still be lurking about, commenting if I can’t keep my mouth shut, and definitely reading about your journeys.

I’ll take the below advice.

PS, I have my ┬ásemester’s provisional results in. I need to skite madly. This lonely life means I have no one to share with. This year I got 5 A+s and an A. (Bloody Anthropological Media – ruined my perfect record ;-)!) So, I know I can do other stuff, to “achieve” (I knew this before the affair, before the university re-start) but it doesn’t feed my soul like my life with Roger did, like the pedigree herd I bred, like the gorgeous family we created.

See ya – for now at least xxx.


8 Comments

Difference

Hi-de-hi campers. I have reached the teaching recess at uni – PHEW!!!

Only two assignments due soon – one near the end of the break – a short review (shouldn’t take too long) and a start on some fieldwork for a bigger 3000 word one. I also need to make a proper start on a research project for a cultural linguistics paper (something I am completely new to) with my language consultant. I am working with one of the vets from work – she is Swedish, and promised she would help me if I bring wine! ┬á

So, work is getting crazy – I am hoping to get ahead while I am not attending lectures as the wheels are starting to spin pretty fast.

In between all of this, I am coming to some interesting conclusions. I mean, they’re not new, but I am firming up some ideas about all of this infidelity crap. Slow learner.

It’s been five years, three months and one week since D-day.

I have really struggled with recovery, whatever that even means. And I have beaten myself up about my inability to “be okay” this far out, with a truly remorseful man, who I know had a long, slow brain explosion (what even is that, a sloppy, overflowing brain melt???) I read about the occasional person who seems to be able to carry on with the person who ripped their heart out – but I am not like that, and I SOOOOOOO wanted to be. I wanted to prove to Leanne that I LOVED HARDER, that I was BETTER than her, our love was MASSIVE, and would overcome all. I wanted the world to see how strong I am, how AMAZING our love was, “see, I love him so much I can forgive him for making me ill, completely fucked in the head, and I will GROW from this.” But most of all, I wanted this. I wanted to have the love and the man I thought I always had. I still wanted that. I still loved the man, for God’s sake! I wanted our wonderful love story to carry on.

But, I am Paula. I forgot to factor that in.

I write people off when they hurt me. I mean, not usually straight away, they have to keep stabbing me a few times before I’m done, but when I’m done, that’s it. I think that although I understand why TOIL kept replying to her texts in the beginning, even when I said, “starve the bitch of oxygen” (he was trying to PROTECT me – well, partly, partly he was trying to prove to himself that he could go without her, that he was like the alcoholic who could go to bars and not drink, and partly he was so great, he could MANAGE crazy.) I even understand why he re-visited the fucking her when I kicked him out (“why have I fucked up my whole life for some fucking whore? Is she all that after all? I better just try it out one more time. Maybe she is okay?”) But those two years of work were immediately undermined by the distasteful speed at which he hooked up with her again.┬á

Anyway, we’ve all heard this record before.

I just got to a point, eventually, where I knew I was too hurt, PERMANENTLY hurt, to allow myself to test with a bare skin touch whether that ouchy fire was still ouchy. And people don’t get it. They think I am vindictive, not forgiving enough, that I think I am so almighty that I think I don’t make mistakes. I judged myself (still do too much) by those standards. I mean, TOIL is a lovely man, he is kind, patient, funny and just self-deprecating enough. He even looks just like a guy I used to adore, admire, respect, LOVE even.

But he fucked my “friend” in my homes, vehicles, on my property, in my kids’ beds, on my furniture, yaddah, yaddah, yaddah. I can’t unsee that in my mind’s eye. I can’t undisease my body. Yes, I seem to be cured, but it still happened, I will need to be vigilant with my sexual health forever now. If I ever have sex with anyone else, I will need to let them know that I am an HPV carrier, and that condoms don’t protect against that. (To be fair, most men don’t give a fuck – how does that affect them? It will really only affect a future partner after me. Men. You gotta feel sick about them.)

And I see the people who carry on with their reformed cheaters (the real ones, the genuine ones who really have learnt and changed, TOTALLY understanding and remorseful, with their guard turned right up high about boundaries forever after) and I am jealous. Jealous as hell.

But, if I’m honest, doubtful. Extremely cynical. How will they ever love properly again? How will they ever feel safe, be able to trust enough not to be paranoid of women/men talking to their partner for “too long” touching their arm, maybe electronic contact (for work reasons, a genuine friendship, that kind of thing.) How?┬á

I also see the others, the ones who carry on, but neither they, nor I am convinced of the genuineness of the reformation. I have found out some more about the recent couple (the ones I got in “trouble” with TOIL about for mentioning here) who had cheating happen to them. Apparently the woman (cheater) who is now home with her husband, and they are carrying on (at least in public) like “nothing is wrong here, nothing to see here,” well, when she left her husband for the OM, he left his wife and four kids – they swiftly moved to another country! He then took Ms Skanky-Pants to meet his parents, and they shut the door in her face! (I would have loved to see that – she is such a pious bitch, better than everyone else – she would have been most upset that Mummy and Daddy didn’t welcome her with open arms – I mean, twu wuv is so overpowering, they HAD to be together, why don’t they UNDERSTAND???) Fairly quickly, she was back with hubby. I mean, it’s a small town, I didn’t even know she had left! Meanwhile, Mr Cheater had lost his family – they live in another country now (good fucking job!!!) She posts on Fakebook all about the lovely things her husband does for her – LOOK! We are out to dinner at the swankiest new restaurant! And now we are on a tropical island! Look at my brand new BMW SUV! Poor chumpy man. You can’t buy love. You can’t even buy fidelity.

And that is the problem. That is who I am. I don’t trust people who lie. Never have. I am like that. I write people off.

I wish this wan’t me. I wish I could push the crap into one corner, and know that the wall around the crap is now high enough, secure enough, and there is an armed guard to ensure it won’t escape. But, I don’t trust the guards not to fall asleep, I don’t trust that the wall won’t crumble, and someone will miss it, and the hole will allow the crap out.┬á

But most of all, that wall around the crap is so damn UNSIGHTLY. I can’t stand to look at it, and I know I can’t move it out of sight either.

So, my love wasn’t better than anyone else’s. It wasn’t bigger than anyone else’s. I don’t even know why I thought it was?!

Love does NOT conquer all.

It conquers a whole lot, but it doesn’t conquer arseholery.