Tearing at the Fabric

Of the space-time continuum


16 May 2009

A day like any other, right?

The popular press was focused on people like Eva Longoria. Do we even remember her? Swine ‘flu was front and centre of many people’s worries. Rachel Alexandra  won the Preakness, the first filly in 85 years to do so. British retailers were up in arms about Manic Street Preacher’s latest album cover art. Here in Aotearoa New Zealand, the pressing governmental issues of the day … ohh Gawd, hey, it was a Saturday – was one of our long-term MPs, addressing a dental health conference! Hahahaha! Not doing much for the cause of us being a vibrant, and global nation ;-).

Yes, it has actually been EIGHT years since my life imploded. The OW, Leanne, a woman I once considered a friend, someone I had known since middle school years, sent me a text, at 8.57pm, whilst I was attending a 40th birthday party that she was also supposed to be attending. The text outlined that she had been sleeping with my most beloved partner, Roger. There was little in the way of detail, I didn’t keep the text, and cannot recall the exact wording.

I went back to the party, and carried on with the evening. Smiling, dancing, completely numb inside. Then drove the half-drunk Roger home in the wee, small hours. When we were about ten minutes from home, I leaned over with my phone, and showed him the text. He was completely bereft. Head in hands, he eventually looked up, as I drove into the darkness, and said, “I will pack a bag when we get home, and get out of your life. I am incredibly sorry, so, so sorry.” I think I actually floated away somewhere far, far, away. I don’t know if I have ever come back entirely.


Time does blur things, fading the edges of memory. But it has never eradicated the pain I still feel, not the “two to five years” later when I was supposed to feel a lot better, get my life back.

It is eight years. Eight pain-filled and unnecessary years. There isn’t a lot to add. I just wanted to mark the day somehow, as it passes by in every other sense.

The first ‘online’ person I ‘met’ – a woman who is different to me in so many ways, a US-Southern Baptist, 50+ year old, home-schooling SAHM, who voted for Trump – we couldn’t be politically, ideologically, etc, further apart – is still someone I ‘chat’ with regularly. Who knew? Six and a half years after her D-day, she is filing for divorce. He didn’t do the work, he is an passive aggressive, narcissistic arsehole, and she is (reluctantly) divorcing him. Finally. She has been through the mill. She messaged me today, to reiterate that cheating is a “life sentence” – her words.

I am currently seeing a lot of emotional exhaustion in the blogging community. People who are now three plus years out from D-day. The hope is fading. The magic pill of time is not making things any better for most.

I know that feeling well. I think there is a LOT of detritus bandied about – by counsellors, churches, people hawking self-help books, the general public – about being able to build a ‘new,’ ‘better’ version of marriage/partnership. That infidelity is actually an OPPORTUNITY! Lucky you!

The truth is, it sucks. And it will always suck. For the rest of your life, it will suck in some way, together, or apart.

And that, my sweets, is my take-home lesson from eight years of the pain of ‘surviving’ infidelity, together, or apart, it makes no difference.

‘Happy’ antiversary to me!




It’s been a long fortnight in the Land of the Torn.

Our exchange student’s parents arrived from her home country – against the conditions of the exchange program. They are very nice, one has no English, and the other, a little. Neither of us have any Spanish. So, they took their daughter out of school for a few days and did a quick tour of the South Island. The rest of the time, they have been with us. This is not something I really signed up for when agreeing to host a student. Once upon a time, in a land far, far away, before the Wicked Witch of the….North (in this case) and the horrid Wizard of Torn fucked up my life (pffft, this is my fairytale, and I will tell it my way) I would have embraced it. I am (was?) a very hospitable person, I like (d?) people, I like (d?) to cook for them and show them around. This time it has been somewhat of a chore. Don’t get me wrong, I have had my game face on, but the smile has not quite made it to my eyes.

They are off tonight to have dinner with another lovely South American (immigrant) family, whose daughter N has befriended at school. We have great discussions around the dinner table, with N translating. But it will be nice not to have to wear that mask tonight. I have cooked beautiful dinners, and I can relax tonight with something simpler. Then early the next morning they will take our car (we lent our old banger to them to get about in) and N to her camp a few hours away, and join in the activities planned before the parents return for Saturday night. On Sunday I will drive them to the airport and we will be back to the four of us. N leaves us on the 7th of July, so we are counting down. It has been mostly good, but there have been some moments with a pretty lovely, but pretty entitled, Daddy’s girl living with us. She has tried it on with Roger a bit, batting her eyelashes at him, touching him and generally trying to cajole him to get what she wants. This has made him deeply uncomfortable at times, and he is great with her, they get on well, but he has asked her on several occasions not to do that. Affairs aside (and I don’t give a rat’s arse about it, he is his own man) she is 17. Not cool.

So, we have been playing happy families for the visitors, which is fine, as we do get on well, but I have noted that I have become a bit snarky. Just subtle, but not all that nice, nonetheless. I need to rein it in. I have been working on that. Roger has taken the opportunity to try to fix us and make plans for a future together – “whatever it takes, you’re the only one I ever want, the only person who gets me, I will continue to do whatever it takes for you, forever” – that kind of stuff. He is very nice, very kind, very mindful. But I can’t do this.

So, I sat and thought about it a bit this morning while I was typing out answers to a reading exercise. I have always done what pleases everyone else. My happiness was tied to servitude.

What the actual fuck???

That was not who I saw myself as. I think it was a manifestation of taking a while to find my niche in life. I dropped out of university THREE times, I had a very fulfilling, but very long hours and low waged job for the pre-kid years. So, I threw myself into helping others to get my self esteem fix. And never truly saw it that way until I was shat on so badly by my love and my “friend” (gag).

So, when Roger starts down the road of, “I really, really love and adore you, you are beautiful, clever, witty, sexy…….” I think, “poor guy, he fucked up, but he’s really sorry, you owe it to the poor guy to try again…..”

Then I wake up the next morning and feel ill. Utterly devastated to be conscious of the fact that I will never be able to be with him (or probably anyone, I’m okay with that) because ultimately, I WAS NEVER THE KIND OF GIRL WHO COULD EVER LIVE WITH A MAN WHO TREATED ME LIKE SHIT. NEVER.

I always knew this. But I guess I hoped and wished that I could change. That I COULD LEARN how to be. That somehow his kindness, deep remorse and love would be enough. But it can’t be. It is just the way I was wired, dammit. I am staunch about this kind of thing. It’s weird. I give a lot of rope, but once someone hangs themselves, too late, mate. It’s not an easy life being so damn pious! I’ve tried to change. I’ve tried to accept this shit sandwich, choking it down, washing it down, hoping it won’t stick in my craw (craw, what even the fuck is a craw?) But, I have a craw, and stuck it bloody well is! And it does me no good whatsoever being so high and mighty.


The deep guilt and agonising unhappiness of the betrayed in not being healed

This is my battle this past year.  Okay, he cheated, he is bloody sorry, why am I not okay now? I have tossed it in the pan, sauteed it for a bit, then eventually stewed the crap out of this question for a long time. Chump Lady posted about it so succinctly, as she is want to do. Cheaters are not owed reconciliation just because they are sorry.  

I’ll let her explain it better http://chumplady.com/2014/05/cheaters-youre-not-entitled-to-reconciliation/