Tearing at the Fabric

Of the space-time continuum



Here in lockdown, solo, makes me realise even more what I have survived.

I fought so hard.

Both to survive Roger and Leanne’s deep and very cruel betrayal.

And then Roger’s subsequent betrayal with Trinket, after promising me forever love, fidelity and honesty.

That shit nearly killed me.

Every single night, I would battle my broken heart.

To not go and make a noose.

To not connect a hose to the car’s exhaust.

For two whole years, I wanted to not have to be here and deal with the unbearable pain of loss. Of discard. Of being replaced.

The irony of fighting cancer, and wanting to kill myself was not lost.

My children are the ONLY reason I survived that prolonged agony.

To look at me from the outside, no one would ever know.


Lockdown blues

Today is day 11 of complete lockdown. I just calculated that this is 14 days since I have touched my boy.

Level 4 won’t be over before this Wednesday, at the earliest. In Level 3, we are still not allowed to travel outside of our immediate area. That will be another week or two, minimum. That will mean BG and I won’t have seen each other for at least a month.

This doesn’t sound that long. Lots of people I know have partners who travel overseas for work, or live on separate continents.

I’m feeling very pathetic. I was good on my own. Living a single life. Planning on staying that way.

But, I’m obviously pathetic. Roger and I rarely had many nights apart. In 30 years. He hunted, and went on overnight fishing trips. I occasionally took the kids to my mother’s. She died when they were very young, so that didn’t happen much. Or I worked the yearling sales, away for a few nights. I think the longest we ever had apart was maybe a week? When him and his mates got a ballot block hunting wapiti in Fiordland.

So, in a relationship, I’m obviously a disgusting needy bitch. Who fkn knew???

It’s affecting me. I know this. Aching for touch. Missing being able to snuggle. Horny AF. Yeah, I know, toys. They get a workout.

Not the same. It’s that comfort. That physical reassurance. I’m ashamed that I am this way.

And then I realise I am being a bit hard on myself. I have kids, and great friends, who have hugged and held me on this healing journey. On my own, during lockdown, I can’t snuggle down in her bed, with my daughter, hug a friend. Touch another human.

My brother is having a terrible mental health crisis. His head injury, pending divorce, job loss when he can’t move up here during lockdown, as he had planned…and then my Dad, down there trying to support him, ended up back in hospital with a mystery illness, scarily similar symptoms to those he had last year, culminating in the loss of a kidney. My youngest daughter, walking her own mental health balance beam. Yesterday’s extension of lockdown announcement meaning she will never return to her office. Her resignation effective during the extension, she feels deflated. Won’t get a proper send off, with her beloved colleagues.

My most recent off the plan apartment purchase finally had title issued yesterday. Trying to coordinate legal and mortgage paperwork remotely is becoming a challenge. Banks especially, like you to sign mortgage paperwork, in person.

My boss is being her usual lockdown utter control freak. Having zero access to our database, trying to work out of Dropbox, is frustrating, to say the least. I have cried four times over this. It’s utterly miserable being cut off at the knees, and I feel like my 15 years of dedication and loyalty to her is being rewarded with mistrust and ugliness.

I haven’t heard any more about the job I applied for almost a month ago. A single email. We are compiling a shortlist. We will get back to you shortly.

No other opportunities that look likely.

Timing. It couldn’t be more shit.

I need a damn hug. And some very vigorous sex, to be honest.

I feel like shit. And probably at best, halfway through this current situation.

So, good old Winston’s words to the fore, yet again.

Because I won’t let them beat me. Those damn suicidal thoughts that I can see peeping on the periphery of my vision. They can just fuck right off before they get anywhere near me again!

And, to be honest, they have only ever been a real threat when Roger chose other people. I always manage to lift myself up about everything else.

And BG sent me a message today, saying he us working on a plan. Whatever that may be. Relocating here, to base himself until Level 2, when he can open again, albeit with restrictions? I don’t know what his plan is. But I appreciate that he’s thinking about it!

And the most awful thing of all is, that while I do miss him. Do love him.

It’s not the depth I felt for Rog. And I’m pretty sure I will never have that love, that security, that enveloping safety and warmth I thought I had for at least 23 of those 30 years.


So damn sick

I’ve had a cold brewing for several days. Basically started getting a sore throat a couple of days after my tetanus vaccination. Probably coincidence, but I wonder if being immunocompromised hasn’t helped. My poor old body is overloaded.

I’ve been struggling tonight. It’s moved to my chest. I can hear it whistling and gurgling, and I can’t stop coughing, trying to clear it, I guess. My head aches so badly. Worst cold I’ve ever had, I think. When the medical centre opens, I think I need to go see my doctor.

It’s actually a bit scary being this sick on your own. I should know, the cancer (surgery, recovery, then radiotherapy all alone) was actually pretty terrifying! What if I didn’t make it, and my kids ended up with the whoring Trinket as their “mother?” It was a genuine fear. I know my own mother’s death at 55 played on my mind a lot.

This is different though. Sitting upright in bed all night, because you feel you’ll drown. Not having anyone know how ill you feel, or whether you’ll get help in time if you need it. Very reminiscent of the takotsubo cardiomyopathy incident. When I eventually accepted I really did have something wrong with me and got to hospital. I lie here, waiting to feel better, or make a call about whether I need out of hours help.

I have huge respect for those who have lived alone most of their lives. It never fully occurred to me that there were these quite frightening nights. I know I explained this to BG after I started getting concerned last weekend, when I couldn’t contact him.

Speaking of which, I have an embarrassing confession to make.

The first time (through to the sixth time, lol, same night!) BG and I had sex, there were no condoms used.


Who even am I???

I look back and realise I was pretty devil may care. I think the cancer made me feel like it didn’t matter anymore anyway.

So, I asked BG the other night, what the hell were YOU thinking? He’s had a fair bit of casual sex over the decades. He had a nasty paternity scare for nearly a year, in his mid 20s. A girl he had been with a few times, who was a customer at the pub he managed. Claimed he was the father of her pending baby. BG said he’d used protection, every time, and the dates were never right. He went through that whole pregnancy, a villain in the eyes of many locals, for denying the baby was his. DNA eventually proved he was right. Says it was a terrible, awful thing to go through. So, he’s normally pretty careful.

So why not with me? He agreed it was stupid, and out of character.

The thing is, neither of us expected it. Neither “came prepared.” I had been with one man, ever, and he thought I was slowly thawing, the first meeting after I ghosted him for nine months! I was certainly not a woman who leapt into bed with men! Two grown ass humans who took a really stupid risk.

He says he felt comfortable because he and his immediately previous sexual partner had both been tested and showed each other clean screens before having sex. He hadn’t been with anyone since her. Well over a year earlier. But realised it was stupid of him to assume I was disease-free. He knew I had only ever been with one man before. But that that man was a serial cheater. He shook his head, and said it was not smart.

It’s weird what a life threatening condition does to your brain. I was also aware that I had been battling suicidal ideation most nights, and I guess in some corner of my fucked up brain, I thought it just didn’t matter anymore. I’ve always preached safe sex.

And then I did that! What a fuckwit I am.


You two were so connected

I had drinks with a girlfriend after work, at a local restaurant and bar yesterday.

She’s a sweet wee thing. Was married to a guy who first worked for my in-laws after leaving school. He was a serial cheater, and quite open philanderer. He used to come onto me (I’m quite a bit older, and an old “friend”) which grossed me out, and sent filthy messages to a gorgeous single woman I know, etc. Macey, this lovely STBX wife of his is adventurous, and tried to make it work. She participated in group sex sessions. But didn’t know how bad he really was with the cheating and sexual predation.

Anyway, she’s doing well. A great new job, starting to look at properties in anticipation of their farm sale, etc. A very positive soul.

We got talking about kids’ mental health. Her eldest, just started high school, has the same name as my youngest, who is in a big mental health crisis, coming to a head yesterday. Her daughter also has anxiety, and new school was a huge challenge, and how they handled that with a fun picnic exploration with a few girlfriends two days before school started after summer break. We talked about how we support, how we talk to our children, these daughters in particular.

That discussion led to one about our own mental health. I admitted that there have been some very dark times, and that they were particularly intense – scarily so – and very prolonged, after Roger left to his new life.

She admitted to me – she said for the first time to anyone – that she had ideation, that she had planned out a suicide, but the only thing that stopped her was she couldn’t find any duct tape that night.

She is a bubbly blonde, always appears to look on the bright side. But I’m so glad she told me. It’s safer to talk. To tell someone. I used this blogging space a lot to “tell” people. To try to cling onto life when I was terrified for my children that I wasn’t going to be able to.

Then Macey said, “so, how often do you see Roger? How do you guys get on now?”

She has two dependent children and 50/50 custody, so lots of contact, and she and Cody, on the surface, get on. She didn’t leave him because of “an” affair. She was just sick of being married to him. It wasn’t fun. It was the opposite of fun.

That said, their amicability is really a front. She says he’s a secretive, controlling man, and she knows he is hiding financial stuff, will not come back to her with a counter offer to her separation agreement. She knows he is trying to shaft her out of her fair share of their business, and has a good legal team guiding her. Cody is using the same old school lawyer Roger did. Who was our joint, and business lawyer when we were together. Macey has a more progressive person on her case, checking she is taken care of.

I just said, “we don’t really get on. Until this weekend, it had been more than a year since I had seen him. We don’t talk. The last time he did, he berated me for telling my truth, that the truth of his latest affair was upsetting poor Trinket. He told me how I should be living my life, tried to manipulate me. I now realise, he always did. I loved him as much thirty years on, as I did at the start. More. But he threw me away for other women. I needed to distance myself because he was really bad for me, and I still love who I thought he was. I even had to ask BG not to wear a scent I found in his bathroom as I smelled it on him one night as was in turmoil, because it was a scent Roger loved, that I bought him. I couldn’t stand it, snuggling into BG, and smelling my long time love…ugh, I felt physically ill.”

All the memories are lies.

Macey nodded. “We were never like that. We were a pretty good team. But no deep, deep love like that. I used to see you guys, at places like the (yearling) sales, the races, and you two were totally awe inspiring. Amazing. So connected. I’ve never really seen that before. Where you could SEE a great connection between a really totally in love, long term couple. I don’t mean that lovey, dovey OTT affection of the honeymoon period. I mean, an intense draw between the two of you. You were couple goals, for sure. I can’t believe he did this. He broke that. Why? If you guys couldn’t work, where the hell is the hope for the rest of us? I am still so shocked!”

Hmmm. Yeah. You and me both, Macey. I was completely shocked, too. Especially when he did it again!


Love. I mean trauma bonding

It’s been a tough 24 hours. Long work day as my father was under the knife. Had to remove his dead kidney, and it didn’t go well. Hacked him up a bit, and he’s in a lot of pain. But he pulled through.

My brother phoned me just as I pulled into work yesterday morning. His divorce just gets messier and he is taking some time to learn the lesson. That she doesn’t care anymore. That he can’t reach out to her. He cried, 17 years, and nothing. (Try 30 dude…I kept my lips about my own pain firmly zipped.)

I get it.

When you lose your person. But you are trauma bonded. You struggle to understand where that person went???

I spoke with a woman who talked about death. That her cheater, who she thought was the love of her life, too, no longer exists. What is left is a rotting carcass.

Yeah, that is one of the best analogies. I loved someone who no longer exists (and I suspect never did, he always excused his what I now accept as inappropriate relationships with women, as “friendships.”) Makes cheating much easier with a compliant wife appliance. He shaped me. I’m not a jealous person, never have been, and that made me a perfect target. I believed. I drank the KoolAid. Even now, much more cautious, much more alert, I don’t check up on BG.

I don’t have as much invested with him. And yesterday, for the first time, I questioned if the honeymoon is over. Less contact. And I just felt a bit meh about the whole thing. That isn’t how I experience love. So, I dunno. I dunno what this even is. It’s not really what I would like. But hey, what the fuck is in this life, huh?

Roger contacted me late last night to ask if I had heard about a friend of ours dying. This was a nice guy we knew a couple of decades ago, but when he and his partner at the time (they divorced some years ago, I believe) moved away, we sadly lost touch with.

A lifetime together. All those memories, friendships, we grew up together, the bonding was super firm for me.

These people were incredible to me, the now dead man and his partner. When my son was born, I went and stayed with them when he was just a week or so old. I was having a terrible time with breastfeeding. G had (has) a tongue tie, and I had multiple bouts of severe mastitis, making me one sick puppy for those first few months. My midwife lived near this couple, so I moved in for several days with G. And the midwife attended every night feed, helping my boy get latched on, trying many different techniques and positions. He fed constantly, my midwife pretty much slept with me! They were all amazing and so supportive.

All my children were exclusively breastfed until starting solids at 6 months, all breastfed until well into their second year of life, and none ever had a bottle feed, never owned a tin of formula, other than trying once with the eldest, who rejected the breast milk in a bottle. They weaned onto cups, so it was hard yakka.

And yeah, those memories…Roger loved to taste my breast milk…ugh, feelz (sexual feelz, fuck we were so damn good together…) are HARD!

This man’s death is worrying, as we both believe he had some demons/hidden mental health concerns from time to time. Like another close friend whose wife also left him, who took his own life.

Like me, who battled hard not to do that when my love chose anyone-not-me, a woman he told me he didn’t really know if he could love (“she’s sweet, but a bit boring”) but that he had to try. Classic running away, clinging to anything that wasn’t me, manoeuvre. “We can’t have what you and I have had. Remember there have been too many good years.”

Riiiiiight. All those years I sacrificed myself to make his life easier, him happy. So I would get my time when the nest emptied. FML. That is a fucked up plan, my friends of the female persuasion! They just take and take (your youth, your body, your labour, your mind) and become entitled arseholes. Me, me, me. My happiness ALL THE TIME is THE MOST IMPORTANT THING. Fuck you.

His “We had too many good years not to be friends now” shit.


He just doesn’t have a clue about what he did. How much pain and suffering he caused. How my entire ethos of putting myself last as an insurance policy was a FUCKING HUGE FUCK UP! That I battled every damn day for over a year – and I mean EVERY DAMN DAY AND NIGHT not to end my life because I couldn’t bear the pain. I have a left thigh covered in scars, where the scalpel blade sliced into my flesh as I used self harm to stave off suicidal ideation.

Those are just the visible scars. The mental ones are much deeper. Much messier.

Yeah. His abuse of me, mostly mental and emotional, he “can’t remember.” I imagine he “can’t remember” lying and seething at me, over and over, about bringing his latest whore into my home. Then dropping me, landing me on the back of my head, causing me to black out, when I refused to accept his lies about her “not coming to this property. She wasn’t ever here!”

But hey, Trinket, if we were “separated” when he met you, why did I need get a legal order to exclude you from my properties, huh? Where i lived. Where I was supposed to feel safe. Where other women were not supposed to sleep with – fuck – my life partner???

The lies we tell ourselves when we are being love bombed by a master…

Trauma is forever. You get help. You recognise it, and you work constantly to overwrite the wiring in your brain. I’m tired again, from the constant mental work of dealing with trauma.

But, to him, I was just a blip on the radar of his life.

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I get told all the time that I’m hella strong.

That I have endured and thrived.

But, that just isn’t quite the way it is. Not for me.

I have been broken down, and am rebuilding.

But the new way of being is not stronger. It is more fragile, even kinder, more tender than ever.

And I was always a soft, kind person to start with. I wear my heart on my sleeve “too much.” And I’ve had to try to shield it, which is against all my instincts.

Roger broke me down so badly I have fought suicidal ideation for too many years of this life. I started self harming, to try to cope with the utter agony, in my 50s.

I’m not stronger for what he did. I’m currently battling with myself to stand up for myself about two important things. Yes, with BG. I realise I have lost my voice in this trauma. I have become scared to speak up.

That was not who I used to be. I was always there, ready with words when I needed them.

Not now. Now I don’t bite my tongue, instead, I have to dig deep to find what I need to say, to stay healthy and true to myself.

So don’t come at me with your platitudes about strength. Or, it was meant to be.

No. This was something that the person I loved with all my heart and soul, deliberately harmed me with.

He knew how badly he harmed me with Leanne.

Then set me up to deliver the killer blow with Trinket.

I’m not stronger, or more resilient.

I am just miraculously still here.

Despite, not because of the trauma inflicted.


Melancholy …

… and the infinite sadness!

It really is.

Such a perfectly named album (one of Roger’s favourites…hmmm.)

Finding a bout of quite bad melancholia has hit. And it is incredibly frustrating!

Like, why?

And it is just the fact that this is the permanent effect of betrayal and being discarded after thirty years of love, hard work and commitment.

There will always be some melancholia.

Even my most resilient friends who have experienced this, say it hits them too.

Even years later.

Life is never the same again. And when I say life, I also mean your thoughts, beliefs, ability to love romantically…..

You do a heck of a lot of work on yourself. You are mindful every single minute of every single day.

And you inevitably get tired.

Of the work to stay well and emotionally safe.

I know that his choices had nothing to do with me. They were caused by the shit he brought to the table. Both in the form of FOO shit, and then his choices to keep finding other women to validate him.

But the effect is pretty dire on me.

I feel like shit.

Still lost.

Still battling the dark thoughts.

Still feeling not good enough to love properly.

The suicidal ideation is far less.

But still there.

And the infinite sadness is just as Lars von Trier examines, and Kirsten Dunst portrays – to absolute perfection – in one of the more moving films of the last decade. I feel every part of this…

This is what the man have I loved my whole life chose for me.

There is little you can do, but drag yourself along, hoping that the melancholia will eventually lift, with hard work and perseverance.



Day 10 of complete lockdown here.

In the past two days, three friends have been made redundant.

Two with mortgages.

Otherwise, going well, but of course my heart hurts for those dear friends, and for any with no doubt further redundancies to come.

I feel so lucky I have a job, that I can work mostly remotely at, and that this happened at the end of our season.

That my children are, at this stage, employed, and safe.

That the weather is beautiful, meaning I get out for a run on the beach with the dog in the morning, and a walk with BG and the dog every evening.

BG and myself have been having some deep and meaningful conversations, mostly positive and good, but there are a couple of things that have come up.

As I told my son, early on, when he was congratulating me on meeting a lovely man with no ex-wife/dead wife or children.

There is good and bad in that. There are reasons people don’t partner.

BG has taken those reasons to mean he is not “good enough” to be partnered with. He is even harder on himself than I am on me!

He talked about my strength, what I have endured to date. We talked around my cancer. It is two years last week since my lymphectomy. Radiation started two years ago at the end of this month.

And he doesn’t know the half of it. The suicidal ideation. The self harm. The utter devastation. I did tell him this morning, when he was singing my strong independent woman praises, that I had times where I wanted to end it all. He nodded knowingly. “I can see that.” And, “I promise that I am always honest, will tell you if I’m having doubts.”

Normally, I just smile and say thanks, darling. I know you will.

This time, I said, bravely, “I have been told that before.”

He hugged me, and said, “I know. I’m so sorry he did that to you. You deserve better, you’re a fucking treasure. I’m so, so glad you are here with me.” Then laughed and winked, “even if you are making me fat with your cooking!”

He talked to me about what happened with Colleen a little bit. How he had a young, dumb, full of bravado stupid one night stand. But as he said, he immediately dealt with it, fessed up and they ended their relationship mutually. He has felt like maybe that was his karma, why he never partnered permanently, no kids.

I just said, I doubted that, the fact that Colleen and him are still such good friends, over twenty years later, speaks volumes to me about who he is. He fucked up (literally) but owned it, and tried to do the right thing by his then (relatively new) partner. They are good friends, she still shares and comes to him for advice.

Roger, sadly, so very sadly, is not my friend 😪

He never confessed to his year and a half long affair with “our friend,” that took place on our property, while I was at work, trying to prop up a less than ideal financial situation he chose for us without my input.

He left that up to the affair partner, Leanne. She told me about it.

I thought he was the very best friend I ever had. My soulmate. I’ve never felt about another human being what I felt for him, a soul connection. Losing him has been utterly horrific.

Completely heartbreaking.

Knowing he just replaced me completely, at the drop of a hat (or a return message off a dating app…)

I could never do that to anyone, let alone my best friend.

Self doubt. It’s debilitating. And such a huge battle to try to overcome.


Searing pain

I did see this interview with Sir Bob Geldof when it came out, but just rewatched it.




The pain of loss of your soulmate/love to another party is excruciating. Unbearable. The way he describes it just ripped me apart.

Because that was/is me. I lost my person. He headed off with someone he thinks is more suited to him.

And I wanted to die.

The agony tears you.

Rips you to shreds.

You try, but there is no beauty left in the world.

I still have moments where I just don’t wanna keep going.

And yes. My only reason for still being here is exactly the same as his.

The children.

And only them.