Tearing at the Fabric

Of the space-time continuum


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Momento, memento. Potayto, potahto

When I had lived with Rog, oh, maybe a year or so, he told me he had seen me and lusted after me as a much younger girl.

I was really, really surprised.

We both grew up in the same small town. I didn’t remember him at all. He would have gone to the same school I did, for a few months. He left, to go farming, after what would have been my first few months of high school. His next sister up in age, I do remember, as she is only 13 months older than him, and completed high school, leaving at the end of that year.

I had a job, working at a local catering firm, from the age of 15. We could get a full drivers license at that age then, and I had mine as soon as I turned 15. This meant that I occasionally got to drive the van to remote rural halls, doing the food for small country weddings, sometimes on my own. I loved the responsibility, but looking back, I think, wow, my boss did that? Left a 15 year old in charge of the catering for a wedding?

Rog, my Norm, my darling bear, attended a function I was working as a waitress at, with a full team, and he told me he remembered the hot girl (who me? WTF), with the amazing legs and bum, who then turned to him, and he was totally blown away by my eyes. He said I was the sexiest woman he had ever seen.

beautiful

I never knew.

I don’t recall meeting him then, at 15-16. He would have been about 19-20, I guess. I didn’t really think about boys much, I was too self conscious. And he was “too old” for me to have, even if I did. Besides, I thought I was a plainish teen; petite, with gangly legs, and no boobs. He says he had never seen anyone quite like me. This was what he told me seven or eight years later.

I held that line in my head for the whole time we were together. I thought it was so damn sweet. He noticed me, long before we ever met. Crazy.

But, is this another of his lines? Was that not even a thing?

The heartbreak is very sore tonight. The pain intense. The itch is back. The one I am always conscious of. The one where I need to tell a friend that I am not so safe at the moment.

I will tell L in the morning.


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Exasperation

You know, you would think after twenty-six years – the first twenty-one of which seemed to be pretty smooth, like we could communicate – and two and a half years of different types of therapy, that two people would be much better at communicating and avoiding conflict.

Wouldn’t you?

Well. Apparently not. Apparently you get worse.

Our middle child, our son, finished high school this week. He still has exams to go, but it is another milestone passed. We had his leavers’ dinner on Thursday. I actually really enjoyed it. When our eldest finished, I endured that dinner. He has a bunch of great kids, talented kids, as classmates. They are a tight-knit group, as my final year at high school was, also. Interestingly, I felt a little more emotional about this one than I did his older sister, four years ago. I think it is about the fact that this means my full-on parenting years are drawing to a close. Next year I will have just one child left at home. And for half of the year, she will be on foreign exchange. The four head students all performed, the head girl, a self composed song, the other three a lovely little musical number – all awesome kids, academic, sporting and cultural stars. And damn nice humans with it. My boy’s year lost a delightful girl this year, just a couple of months ago, to a terrible car crash. The deputy head girl – a talented speaker and actress – made mention of her in her very eloquent, very entertaining, very hilarious speech. Our lips all wobbled badly. Then she recovered well and we all carried on. The speaker after her was the Dean of their year, a truly lovely woman, dedicated teacher and total mother hen – the kids have loved her. She delivered some motivational words, words for the kids to take forward with them. I loved them, and I recalled my own leavers’ dinner, and thought how there may well have been similar words delivered, but I can’t recall them. Youth, not only is it wasted on the young, but inspirational words often are, also! Amongst her beautiful words was a moment about how to treat others, with respect, and to respect yourself. Always. At least, that was the part that resonated most with me.

Of course.

Rog knew I had heard them, had no doubt reacted emotionally to them. I didn’t show anything on the outside, but inside I was dying. Did he acknowledge this when we got home? The next day?

Nope. Just bury your head in the sand and forget you heard/saw any of that. I know why. He is sick of my emotions after five and a half years of them. I don’t really blame him for that. But I brought it up this morning. We had no kids home, and I thought we could talk. I just said I was disappointed he didn’t acknowledge some great words, that he must have known would affect me, trigger me. He replied that he felt awful when hearing them, yes, he is an arsehole, but he can’t change what he did. I replied that I wasn’t asking him to do anything but say, “wow, Mrs W’s words were pretty great, they really affected me, I know they must have affected you.” He got a bit angry, saying that he hates bringing any of it up, because I am still so upset. I said I was mostly upset because after all this time, I am frustrated that it still hurts so much, but I can no longer talk about it often, as it is yesterday’s news, and I have made little progress, and he seems to ignore my feelings, hoping they don’t exist. He agreed, and said that he knows that I am constantly triggered and upset at “life” and that he knows that I have been far more damaged than he ever imagined I ever could be when he lost his mind and felt an affair would solve the problems he wouldn’t share with me. And he can’t fix it. He is a fixer. He then asked, “should we separate now?” I answered that I still don’t believe that will make my life better, and I feel we can mostly do a good job of getting on well enough to launch these teens. But that I always feel like my feelings are ignored. And I talked about lying, both to your face, and by omission, and how the whole of our time together I thought he was 100% honest, but he has lied throughout. He looked at me and said, “I don’t think I lied to your face, until the affair, when I discovered, to both my relief, and horror, that I am a damn good liar.” I didn’t go there, but I know he has lied to my face. Not often, not well, usually. But he lied about fucking a prostitute when I asked him, he talked it down to a drunken hand job. That was an outright lie. He lied by omission a whole lot more. I feel like I don’t know how to take anyone at their word anymore, and I can’t seem to take that much needed leap of faith, to start to trust humans again.

Staying together the way we have lately, as flatmates would be fine, but he still wants to be able to cuddle, to be close to me physically. I can’t. I can’t do that without some emotional support. I told him this. I can’t stay here, and be his “teddy bear” for the physical comfort he so desperately needs, without him providing emotional support for me.

He understood. Apologised.

We are just both so damn frustrated with this non-recovery.


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Planning

We have had a funny few days here in the Land of the Torn. It is a long weekend here, and usually we go to our lake house. However, our youngest daughter was to work her cafe job both Saturday and Sunday, and she is fundraising for a trip in September to Japan, so I committed to staying around to be her driver. She is not yet old enough to get her driver’s licence and the cafe is over half an hour away.  I used the opportunity to submit a university assignment, and complete another, so win all round really. Our eldest daughter is moving to a city about six hours’ drive from here next weekend, and I am driving her there, so I needed to get ahead of the game.

Roger got a bit weird, and a bit shitty about this. He and I started to have a conversation this morning.  He accused me of never wanting to do anything, and I defended myself by saying I was putting D15 first this weekend.  I also mentioned that I thought he was going to the lake alone. He got defensive and said no one wanted to come with him, to which I replied that had never stopped him in the past. He thought I was alluding to the fact that he went down there “alone” a couple of times, ostensibly to go fishing with a friend who lives nearby, but in reality, his whore drove the four hours to spend the night with him – twice. I wasn’t referring to this, but he knows that the bach is a trigger, one I have fought hard these past five years, as we designed, built, painted, decorated and loved that place before he defiled it. It was the place he fucked her first, and the place he knew was safe to fuck her again later. I burned the original linen, but have never been able to afford to change anything else much. I refuse to give her the power to defile what I worked so damn hard to build!

So, later today, I suggested we needed to go for a walk down the farm to have a kind discussion (refer to previous post….;-) ) He eventually agreed. The upshot is, we had a frank …… and kind ….. discussion about what we are trying to achieve here, what the timeframe looks like before we split our assets and go our separate ways.  How we are going to achieve this without imploding all we worked for into two too-small piles for either of us, or our children. One of the things I brought up was that when we have these types of conversations, he never refers to what happens to the children.  Heck, we only have two and a half more years of any dependent children, but they still need support even at uni, and if we have to move the separation date forward, where will our youngest live, where will I live, where will she go to school, all of the logistical stuff. It is top of my list, and he never considers it. Funny that, makes you realise how many men are so easily able to ignore consequences when they first jump into bed with a whore. I know it happens with women, too, but it seems to be so common for men to compartmentalise their families.

We sorted it out. It is the hardest thing, to have to have those conversations, calmly, with your best mate in all the world, when you still love each other. Just not enough to beat this monster. I hate what has happened to us. He fucked it all away as he thrust himself in and out of her. I wonder if he ever had that mental picture, “in with his dick, out with the family.” I know I do.