Tearing at the Fabric

Of the space-time continuum


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Didn’t make the final edit

There is a lot of grief involved with being cast aside, out of your own life.

So much grief, there are not words to describe it.

Today, I read this comment, that doesn’t explain the grief, but certainly describes my lived reality.

“My ex was a filmmaker and I came to see that basically he felt the same way about life as he did one of his movies. He’s the director, calling the shots, and he casts people in the various roles in his life. But when someone doesn’t say their lines correctly or perform their role to his satisfaction, he simply re-casts them with someone who will. His life continues on unchanged, much like a soap opera where they replace an actor and no one ever comments on it. The story just goes on as usual.

So I was in the “wife” role, but when I didn’t play it right (extra frustratingly, none of us are ever given the script) he simply replaced me with OW, who auditioned very hard for my role. I’m sure if he had lived, he would have eventually gotten tired of her “mistakes” (i.e. being a human individual and not his robot) and re-cast her as well, on and on ad infinitum.

I think that’s also a reason why these people so often come back to their exes. They honestly don’t see anything outside of themselves, so it doesn’t occur to them that people have their own lives. Clearly the ex is simply waiting for a callback to reprise his or her role.””

I was recast.

My role wasn’t real, despite me thinking, planning, believing, loving, that this was my life.

Forever.

That my one true love felt absolutely the same about me.

And some of the flying monkeys, bizarrely, just accepted the recast “wifey” in his soap opera, and didn’t mention a thing. The agony of knowing that “our” friends, many of thirty years, some my lifeling “friends,” were going to dinner with him and that whore, just a week or so after I even knew of her existence, and was still sharing a bed with him, sure he’d come to his senses, was a next level mindfuck! They really came out of the woodwork! Rubber neckers. What did he replace Paula with??? Oh that. Okay. Nothing to see here….fucking crazy!

I know now that I was just being directed. He has others, who cane before (during, after..) me that he feels the same way about.

I wasn’t ever special. I’m just somebody he used to know.

Whereas he was the love of my life. (Yeah, except he wasn’t. I don’t get to have one of those, apparently.)

The same script these guys all use.

Idolise. Devalue. Discard.

I’m on the scrap heap of his life. Used. Rubbish. Of zero value.

The rebuilding is lifelong. Trying to revalue yourself. I don’t know if you ever truly get there really.

The scars are so very deep and painful.


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Wounds

I know Roger couldn’t deal with what he did to us.

Cheating for 18 months, with someone I considered a friend, really broke me.

I worked diligently to try to heal from that betrayal.

And he found an easy way out. Started fucking a suburban widow.

Mutual friends all say she is just his soft landing. She doesn’t challenge him, or bring any knowledge or spark to their life together.

They sound underwhelmed with my replacement.

But you would say that to a friend, right?


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Telling your story

I was deeply ashamed.

Firstly, that I stayed.

After his affair. What kind of strong feminist, role model was I to my children if I stayed with a man who actively chose to hurt me every day? Who didn’t even care enough about their mother’s health, to roll a condom on when he fucked another woman?

I was embarrassed about staying. So weak.

Later, I was ashamed of him.

The man I chose. To love. To honour. To cherish. To breed with. To share my body and my life with.

So, I started to withdraw. From society. I wanted to become invisible.

I’m not an invisible kind of girl. I wear bright colours. I’m feisty. I stand up for injustice and against intolerance.

But, Roger’s affair with my so-called friend, made me ashamed.

I started blogging some time later. I had connected with a small handful of women, and read a lot of information and books about recovery from a partner’s infidelity. I started to feel safe with a select few, to tell my truth.

You can’t tell it out in the real world to many people. But I started to share it here, in the blogosphere.

Oh how it helped! Like unshouldering a heavy backpack. The shame shrunk, little by little.

I started to believe what I knew was true.

This was not my shame to bear.

It started me on a healing journey that was long and slow, but progress was happening.

Telling my story also eventually made it okay for me to do the kind of geographical research I did for my Masters, and for some postgrad papers. It meant I got to publish a chapter in an academic handbook. Things I would have never achieved had I not had to do the hard work of recovery.

Had I not become brave enough to tell my story.

I was thinking today that I should really thank Trinket.

For taking him out of my life.

Because he never believed in me. Even when I started achieving academically, it was better for him if I was beneath him. I did his cooking, cleaning, shopping, accounting, milking, feeding shearers, farm labouring….

There was such a power imbalance. I always knew it, felt it, but was given enough to make me think maybe he saw me as an equal.

So, those lovebirds down there, I wish I could just go, oh great. Good job. Be happy.

But I can’t.

Because I really loved that man.

He shouldn’t have been hers to take.

And it KILLS me thinking of him giving all that love – that I really believed was mine, all that charm, attention, touch all that incredible lovemaking – to that whore.

My stomach still aches, thinking about them together, all loved up. All smoochy and blissed up together.

Just like I used to be with him.

Anyway. It is what it is. I need sleep…


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Ducks

It’s opening weekend of the duck hunting season this weekend. It was a big weekend for over thirty years of my life. Baking, prepping some food, in the early years, and back then, Norm would hunt every evening for two months. Every weekend morning, some during the week too. He was obsessed.

I was a duck widow.

Thankfully none of that now. BG has friends who partake, and one year we went to a friend’s maimai, for afternoon drinks.

Norm’s crew have had a steady core of four, forever. His two best mates, and one of their brothers. There have been others come and go.

Since we sold the farm, where the duck pond and main maimai were, they built a new one.

On my former best friend’s farm 😱🤦‍♀️😪

Anyway, that is weird.

And one of the wives, the longest running partner of the lot of them, by a year, then me, has asked me if we can catch up this weekend.

Naw. She’s sweet! Knowing it is a big trigger, we’re gonna spend Saturday afternoon at my place. She wants to see my new ensuite and powder room. I know she is subtly letting me know she is thinking of me. Us two were the originals. Yeah. There’s an ache. But I am so grateful to her.

I just got my first ever new carpet in an existing house, laid in my bedroom today. Am moving furniture back in. Woohoo! This place is really coming together now.

I also just made a batch of divine lime, chili and feijoa chutney. All homegrown ingredients.

Trying to destress. That Holmes and Rahe scale score of 923 is concerning me. BG thinks I am a chill chick, who doesn’t absorb stress.

Unfortunately, this is a result of being betrayed. I appear resilient, healed, chill. But the vast majority of my stress is hidden. My bottom lip is swollen and crusty with four cold sores, and I’m exhausted and feel like 💩. Trying to find ways to manage my stressors better.

I’ve already had cancer and a heart condition, and I’m a wee way off 55 yet. The age my mother died so suddenly. It was not from a stress cause, but I am mindful, nevertheless.

Just booked another cervical smear, as the last one had some changes AGAIN. I’ve been dealing with abnormal cervical smear results now (from the HPV I no longer have, but that I tested positive for) since 2009. It gets old…so over it


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Sexual trauma

It has become very obvious that I am dealing with a partner who has some really deep, unresolved sexual trauma in his past.

I’ve felt there was something off, for a while.

I have spent so long unpacking my own rape, I got some inklings about this.

There are dozens of possibilities.

He was Catholic boarding school educated. He has two beloved older sisters and a long term cheating father. He was known as the sexual legend, with the huge dick, by the guys at school (something he gets very upset about. Either that. Or the fact that I’ve been told this information. I’m not sure which.)

That’s some rich territory to mine for the roots of what happened to him.

He is admitting to something, but isn’t able to talk about it. Yet. He also says he doesn’t even know if it’s true.

I gently replied, “in my experience with sexual trauma and rape, we don’t make things up.”

I repressed my rape for a few years. Wondered if it was real.

It was. The details are clear in my head. I know what happened. My brain couldn’t cope with the virginal, brutal, tearing rape by a “friend.”

So it filed it.

Until I could cope.

I think BG has something similar. I think toxic masculinity is part of the equation here, too. That he blames himself. That sexual abuse doesn’t happen to “real men.”

After a very emotional conversation on Friday night, where he panicked – badly – I left it.

We haven’t made love in a month.

Yeah.

This is not who I am. I am a very sexual person, and after my trauma from being cheated on and infected with disgusting diseases, I recovered. BG says he’s never been with anyone so sexually driven.

It could be taken as a compliment.

Or a slight.

I’ve been quietly supportive ever since Friday. It’s a crazy, busy weekend. Today is Easter Monday. And he confronted me this morning. I didn’t want to talk about this while he is under pressure.

But he eventually made me.

He knows he has to address this, to be with me. We talked kindly about how our intimacy is wonderful. He told me he’s never ever got this deep with anyone. And yeah, understandably he’s scared. It’s pushing him to go to places he’s avoided his whole life.

This is the stuff I knew, when I got involved with a never-married-no-kids-50-something. That whilst, most people say to me, Yay, no baggage, I knew there would be much baggage! Lol. You don’t get to these ages without baggage. Not having a long term partner means, not dealing with some stuff. No one to push you to examine your feelings. Your actions. Etc.

Watching Anatomy of a Scandal is amazing. Watching Sienna Miller play a betrayed wife, when you know her history as a betrayed fiancée, ugh. It hits hard.

So, so hard.

I see her processing those emotions I’ve processed. The looking at your man, not knowing who he is. The heartache. The unpacking of a whole life. The lies. The omissions.

There are no words to explain the experience. The utter agony. The battle to locate where you filed your core values, and stand up to the man you totally believed in and loved with every part of your being.

Whom you compromised for.

To say, no more. No more lies. No more surprises. No more pushing me into places I don’t want to be in. I need the whole truth. The omissions, the “protecting you” by omission bullshit. Stop that.

You are only sorry you got caught. You weren’t sorry when I didn’t know. You weren’t protecting me. You were protecting your relatively cushy life. Not wanting to lose a loving, loyal partner who cared enough about you to always have your back. To run the admin in your life. To feed, love, care.

Those things are apparently easily replaceable. You cut one loving, loyal partner out, whom you have shared decades of life with, and paste a cunt who doesn’t care about a loyal partner in her place. She gets to play wifey now.


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Until it happens to you …

It is so obvious that people never understood what I went through.

I stayed away from the old friends, because I was judged. Being screamed at that I was crazy, when I was completely broken hearted, and trying to hang onto this world, just confirmed that these people couldn’t possibly understand my hell.

I loved Roger.

With everything I had.

To the point of forgiving him for fucking around on me. For forming a deep, important connection to a woman who wasn’t me.

It was the most difficult journey of all. Finding a way to live with the knowledge that he put me in danger. That he could so deliberately and knowingly smash my heart, break my world.

He abused my trust. He made me feel terribly unworthy. He saw my agony. He told me loving lies about his feelings for me.

So, so many lies.

And even after seeing what he did to me, chose to cheat again.

I realised others see him as a good guy. Who “made a mistake.” Many blamed me. I mustn’t have been good enough.

I’ve had a few people recently (four years out) say to me that they didn’t know. They weren’t aware that I felt so cast out. So unsupported.

Yeah. That’s sweet. But not many reached out. Or understood. Had any empathy for my personal hell. The ones who immediately accepted Trinket as my replacement – after thirty years of deep love and commitment? Well, that is something I know about them, forever.

I hope they never have to find out how devastating that is.

But. I discovered the other night that there are people who genuinely care. Who wanted to see me. Even that some quietly are cheering me on, knowing that Roger did, in fact abuse me. I don’t mean the physical violence that happened that one night. I believe that the only people who know about that, believe I deserved it. So I never told that group of people. I saw what he told Trinket about it. His narrative is quite different to what I know really happened. And covert narcs tell a smooth story.

I mean the mental and emotional abuse. The gaslighting, manipulation, the totally convincing pretending he loved me and was sorry.

I know how he treated me.

I see who he is. It isn’t who he pretends to be.

And that is why I keep my guard up to full height if he ever tries to show the world that we are friendly. Why I can’t look at him. I know I would see “my Norm,” and not who he is today.

That is a real and present danger to my wellbeing.


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Watching them love someone else 💔💔💔

The love bombing that hooked you, is the same thing that will hurt, when they do it with AP.

There’s heartbreak.

And HEARTBREAK.

I loved Roger with every cell of my being. I struggled immensely when I realised he didn’t reciprocate.

But, there is nothing like watching your love give himself to a whore.

In front of you.

While stroking your skin.

While making love to you like your lives depend on it.

And him telling you how he thinks that whore must have been pretty when she was young.

And that she has no taste.

And wears boring clothes.

And doesn’t enjoy the things we do.

He said he was cheated on. He told me about that pain, in the early stages of “us.”

But he never had to watch her love someone else.

She was just gone. The “next” person didn’t become “the one.”

He wasn’t deleted.

Replaced.

Like he never contributed.

Or even existed.

The mindfuck was complete.

I thought the Leanne affair was searingly painful.

I had no fucking idea.


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Loss

This says such a lot. I read it, my throat closed up, my chest tightened, and I fought tears.

Thirty and even forty year friendships, ones I felt very deeply about, were ended with Roger’s cheating on me.

And of course, him. And his family. My people. They were gone. And I loved them. It’s beyond heartbreak. It’s death.

He just cut me out, threw me away, and pasted a stranger into my place.

It will never not hurt. I will never understand it. How you can work, sacrifice everything you are for someone you love very deeply, and they throw you away, to put someone they’ve known three weeks into your spot.

Total mindfuck.


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I bet she got spoiled

After decades loving a man who rarely acknowledged Valentine’s Day, or my birthday, it does my head in knowing cuntface will get spoiled by him.

Not me. Who helped build our business. Not me, who birthed and raised his children. Not me, who did all his life admin. For thirty years.

I only got a legal Separation Agreement for Valentine’s Day.

Fuckers. Bet she thought that was hilarious. I know he did.

It’s not cool to have that reminder every year. On this day that is supposed to be reserved for celebrating love.

Just when your heart can’t be any more broken.

Oh, and at least I can laugh. BG had booked us a very special Valentine’s degustation style dinner at a top restaurant, halfway between us. They’ve had to cancel the event.

With the cyclone cutting power to loads of places, they’ve been without power for more than 24 hours. Have had to dispose of all the fresh and prepped sauces and food.

Thankfully, my superb local favourite is opening especially, on a Monday, and they rang me with a cancellation! BG will drive over. So lucky.

Happy V Day all. I know it’s a hard one for us betrayeds. I am thinking of all of you loyal ones 💯❤💔❤️‍🩹