Tearing at the Fabric

Of the space-time continuum

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Sleep has evaded me again recently.

I haven’t slept through the night since DDay #1.

Not even once.

Lately, really bad again. Once I finally fall asleep, usually around 1am, I usually don’t stay asleep past 3-3.30. I might doze a bit. But never fall properly asleep again.

As I lie here, I draw on some of the tools I have in my kit. Things I was taught, or had reiterated in my multiple goes around the therapy merry-go-round.

No shit, Sherlock!

Anyway, it also kind of amuses me. That I was incredibly loyal, faithful, loving, and honest-to-a-fault (he didn’t like that I didn’t love the way he made unilateral decisions about our business, home and future, I was supposed to just shut up and accept that.) I was the hardest working, most selfless partner I knew. I was dedicated to “us.” I never wavered there. Even during the pre-affair (that I knew of, anyway) times. When it was hard, I never seriously considered leaving. I certainly never considered fucking someone else!

We knew. We knew I was loyal and hard working.

He commented on it often. Talked about “the spoilt bitches,” the women around us who were kind of like trophy wives. Entitled. Not required or encouraged to have careers. Certainly not waking early in the morning to milk cows, feed calves, carry heavy loads, while parenting and maiding! He said he had the real deal. That I was the best. Great way of embedding my work-ethic-that-worked-great-for-him! Dance prettier, bitch!

For the last year or so I have had a cleaner come to my house once a fortnight for a couple of hours.

And I still feel massive guilt about it. I’m not supposed to have that kind of privilege. Do it yourself, Paula!

I’m the one traumatised and having to work daily on healing. On trying to recover and lead a meaningful life.

While he got to just turn the page.


Living his best life…having a Trinket to suck his dick, no doubt clean, shop, etc…after annihilating mine.

Life. She’s a funny bitch, right?

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All the hard

Had a really hard conversation with BG last night.

I had found he had “liked” an article about an ex on LinkedIn.

And somehow it didn’t feel right. Didn’t fit the story as I know it.

He rarely uses LinkedIn. They only dated for a few months, and I only heard that she was “needy” and it ended fairly badly. All about him being in her city when he knew she was busy, so didn’t contact her and she got seriously pissy, blah, blah, blah.

So, the “like” was only nine months ago.


Gut was screaming, “Paula! Remember all those red flags you ignored with Rog, because he would never cheat….wake up girl! This is a bit weird. Talk to him.”

Eff you, gut. I like burying my head in the sand!

So, I made myself call him last night. I also needed to communicate with him that I am missing our daily good morning texts.

As expected, he got on the front foot. Defensive. A bit loud and blustery. That is him. I know this now. So, disappointed, video chatting, I sat waiting for him to run out of steam.

And listen.

I quietly explained that it felt off. Asked if he is in touch with any other exes, other than the ones I know about. The mother of his adult stepchildren, and our now mutual friend, Colleen.

No. He said Chrissy (his “big love”) contacted him last year on his birthday. I knew that. He told me at the time. I saw no replies. I believe he didn’t respond. His actions have indicated he is not in touch with her.

But Rog had an exGF he apparently didn’t like.

Except to text multiple times a day. Oh and to fuck as often as they could manage to get together…

So, I am now the suspicious girl. Neat, eh???


But, the chat went well after his initial defensiveness. He understood why I had to ask. He was surprised, as he couldn’t recall liking the article. And said he thought I had stopped the good morning messages, so he stopped, not wanting to look the needy one.

I said to him that we are at the hard, meaty part of a relationship. When shit has got real. The honeymoon is over, and we are trying to work towards a way to be together. He said it worries him, as “all he has to bring to the relationship is earning power.” His decent salary. And he is trying to give that up, and reinvent himself. It’s risky. And scary as hell at nearly 57.

Of course, it isn’t all he has to bring. But I get what he meant.

I quietly explained that communication and trust – things we have been pretty good at – are more important now than ever. I am finding separation harder and harder.

So is he. He physically exhales when he sees me and has become quite mushy about me, something he held back for the first years.

But I can and will continue to do it, until we both get on our feet, securing our respective financial futures as best we can.

I told him that me asking him that question was extremely hard for me. He doesn’t know the old Paula. He’s only ever known the post apocalyptic version of me.

I used to be so chill.

I told him that.

He threw his head back and roared laughing, “you are sooo chill, babe. You must have been practically catatonic before!”

But I NEVER had to ask Roger, “why did you like your ex’s article,” like a whiny, jealous bitch.

Did I tell you how much I hate it???

There are other, personal things we talked about, too. I didn’t bring it up, he did.

I’ve shared before about our mismatched libidos.

I have kind of left that conversation for now. There are more important things. And I have assured him that the lack of sex is not a deal breaker. I love him for being a good, honest, fun human. Not for how he can make me writhe in bed!

I had one of those. He made me very sick.

He broke me.

He shattered my ability to trust people.

He stole my joy. My peace. My ability to sleep through the night.

My financial future is much harder since he left.

I think I can manage without constant, passionate, mind blowing sex, with this kind man. Doesn’t mean we can’t be more mindful of each other’s needs.

And I know he feels this, because he brought it up.

“I thought distance would make me hornier. Seeing you irregularly, it’s such a delight when we get together. But then I get all anxious. That I’m not pleasing you.”

So, performance anxiety. We all know about this. I never thought I would cause it, lol. Me. So intimidating! Lol.

I just said, “we’re okay babe. As long as we keep communicating. Keep being kind to one another. You have nothing to prove. It’s just me.”

He has struggled when I bring up hard stuff. He tends to catastrophise things. “Oh, you have a problem, that must mean you want to leave me!”

I spoke to that. After he wound himself up.

It’s not relationship ending, to talk about problems, or question things. We talk so as to try to prevent the relationship ending.

He has never had decent relationship last past four years. So he’s always assuming he does everything wrong. That it’s just a matter of time before I walk out on him.

And I continue to blog, to help me stay accountable to myself.

And to try to overcome my triggers, blocks, fears. To try to reinforce my recovery from abuse and trauma.

It’s important. To de-stigmatise the traumatic effects of infidelity. Of being thrown on the rubbish pile after giving yourself to another for decades.

Until he used me all up, believing I was worthless now.


We talked

I had a mini freak out recently. Feeling superfluous, and yeah, insecure.

I wasn’t an insecure person before I knew Rog was cheating. I hate it. Feels needy and pathetic.

So, I knew I had to talk to BG. But was lining up my ducks, trying to find the words and the timing. In hospitality, at holiday locations, like where BG lives and works, this is a crazy busy time. I didn’t need to double down on his stress.

We talked.

This morning. On waking.

It was good.



He listened well, and discussed. Reassured. Took my concerns seriously and gave well-considered, thoughtful, loving responses. I feel understood and heard.

Not gaslit and told I was imagining things.

That felt really amazing.

But also sad. I realised how if I tried to have these sorts of conversations with Norm, he’d love bomb, minimise and tell me I was overthinking/imagining things. I accepted his love bombing as the balm it was intended as.

But it never lasted. I would be unsettled again very quickly. I never knew why. And thought there was something wrong with me.

“You’re imagining things, Snooks. I love you, you lumox.”

And why even though I Love You is nice, and yeah, important, it’s often just words. BG didn’t even say that. He just said he felt bad if he doesn’t appear affectionate enough (his polite way of saying, I don’t shag you enough, lol.) I replied that there is PLENTY of affection, but I am a bit worried that you don’t feel passionate about me. I even carefully said, I know that treat ’em mean keep ’em keen is a real thing, but I wondered if Chrissy’s unkind treatment of you means the passion levels rose in response. That I’m not trying to compare, but it might be that you don’t feel for me what you felt for her.

He was super cool about that. Agreed that the not knowing what the hell she was playing at made him respond a bit fiercely, trying to “love” her more/back/whatever it was. But that he definitely feels all the feels for me. He was astute, and also said, that could go for you, too, right?

And I answered honestly. That we loved bad people. And his comment was fair. But that I don’t love the person Rog really is.

He honestly got it far better than I expected. No defensiveness, or pulling away, or replying with love bombing. So refreshing!

I left this afternoon while he was working, and Colleen, his ex, arrived and had a gin with me. BG came over and wrapped himself around me, kissing me hard. “I don’t want you to leave, baby. I’m sorry I’m working.”

It’s fine. It’s what he does. But yeah, he reassured me that I’m important to him. Not ‘useful’ or ‘convenient.’ But loved, and desired.


My value to Rog was as a labour unit. A broodmare. A maid. A cook. A personal assistant.

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So loved

I still have moments where I vomit with the mind movies of them together!

That seems extreme.

I am a bit vomit phobic. I hate throwing up. Have never been able to put my fingers down my throat, for example.

But I threw up yesterday, while out shifting my cattle. A huge wave of him face deep in her…then caressing and cuddling her, whispering how much he loved his Snookie Bear – to her. Her lapping it all up… 🤮🤢🤮🤢

To counter the pictures in my head, I sternly try to change the subject, in the moment.

But know it needs to be dealt with. It circles back around.

Lying in bed at 4am, with a restless but snoring BG beside me, I visualise what everyone tells me. This Roger I thought I knew, is not genuine. His sweetness, his love bombing, he did that with me, too. I was convinced we were bonded deeply, forever.

And he treated me like dog shit on his shoe once he’d secured new kibble supply.

He doesn’t love deeply. He uses the genuine love and care a woman gives him, to stroke his needy ego. She believes he loves her. I know, because he seems so lovely. So sincere. So sexy. I believed he adored me, too.



The discard phase

I had the WEIRDEST dream last night.

It was reliving Roger’s 40th birthday. I did all the catering, we had a band, on a bandstand under fairy lights strung through a grove of black walnut trees in our superb garden, back on our old farm. The family property.

It was a magical night.

Pre-Leanne, as far as I know!

I remember the dress I wore, as I danced barefoot in the grass, until 5am, when I went and milked our cows, leaving him to sleep.

But in this dream, both Leanne and Trinket appeared, flitting around, buzzing overhead, as wee, annoying insects. I kept trying to swat them away, but they kept buzzing back.

In the dream, eventually they bit me, and I never got to the cowshed. Instead I lay dying on the lawn, as everyone danced around my corpse.


Pretty effed up!

And I have been thinking about the discard phase. When I had ZERO knowledge that he was online dating! I thought about the tramp they went on a little while back. In the region Rog sent me down to, to do some research about where we would buy, businesses we were looking at.

The very same tramping track I did alone, in utter shock and severe heartbreak, when he coldly announced he’d Met Someone Else. It was a great thing to do. But I cried so very, very many tears on that track. I couldn’t eat, so dragged myself along, existing on adrenaline and determination alone.

Today, I wrote this, in reply to a fellow betrayed, whose wife used him to set up a new home, purportedly for “them” but always for her and her AP.

“My love of thirty years sent me on a reconnaissance mission to a city we apparently were looking to relocate to. To look at businesses and lifestyle blocks.

When I returned, he told me he’d “met someone else,” (ie, had been internet shopping for my replacement, unbeknownst to me, for two years! Tens of thousands of texts to other women!) And would be moving into one of these places with her!!! He’d been chatting to this one for just a few weeks! They had already planned a life together!!! I had no idea. Was completely blindsided.

He’d had an 18 month long affair with a “friend” of ours 8 years earlier. I worked my BUTT off to heal from that, he promised me the world, it was a “mistake,” that I was the only woman for him, blah, blah, blah, etc.

Unicorns are mythical creatures. It hurt FAR more the second time around.

He sold us up and left. They are still together, four years later. It’s been an enormous mindfuck.”

Discard … it never gets easier. I mean, at least I now know who he really is. How little all I did for him meant. But it was a truly shocking way to go about what he went about doing. I was so looking forward to a move. A fresh start together. Instead, he was using me.


I was just cake.

And warming a seat until he found someone else.

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The Journey Through Grief


Reblogging this, because it explains the nature of grief so well.

My grief has less debilitating power than it once did, but I still am brought down very low some days. Had a cry shifting cattle yesterday morning. The memories of all that hard work, love, beauty. For what?


What made her (both hers) more special than me?

I have struggled mightily with this question, whilst knowing 100% not to try to untangle the skein of fuckedupness.

Why did he choose Leanne over me?

Then Trinket?

More special than me.

Why did his best mate’s wife drunkenly scream at me in public (just weeks after being told that I’ve Met Someone Else, and during a period when he’d driven down to fuck Trinket after he’d just fucked me – yep, that happened) that I was obviously crap at sex, and “wife-ing” in general? Obviously not good enough? Totally ripping me even further apart. Bystanders, equally as drunk (I was stone cold sober) completely aghast at her horrific (but nevertheless embarrassing and hurtful) display.

I’ll never be able to convey what cheating – especially serial cheating – does to your (previously fairly healthy) self esteem.

All the not good enoughs.

All at once.

All the time.

I told Rog after Leanne that his affair had turned me, in my 40s, into the insecure teenager I never was.

Cheating. It’s a hell of a gift. That keeps on giving.

I don’t wanna have to see him this weekend, when I clear out the last of the lake house things. It’s been a year, and 12 days since I last had to.

But I will.

And I will make sure I am prepared, and okay.



Had to talk to Roger on Friday.

I hate when this happens.

I can’t explain it. To talk to the man you shared your entire adult life with. Who knew everything about you. Who you loved and built your life around. Who you had the most beautiful babymoons with…

And he speaks like someone who doesn’t know me at all. Like I am dog shit he needs to wipe off his shoes.

I don’t know this man. Who lives with a beige mouse. Not me, who he was “supposed to” grow old with. Who he told was the love of his life, but he would try again with this stranger who he’d known for a few weeks. Even when you begged him not to fuck it all up.

After thirty years.

Just cast aside, and loathed.

That man I talked to was nothing like the man I loved passionately for three decades. It is honestly the weirdest thing in the world.

In parallel, as I had one of the most stressful weeks ever, buying and selling properties in amongst three chaotic, unrelenting 12 plus hour work days, the barman whisked me away to his friends, further up the peninsula, for an Asian degustation dinner with some of the most beautiful wines I have ever had the pleasure of drinking.

A huge night afterwards, we are shattered tonight.

I need sleep and some clean eating and living.


Fake remorse. It’s a killer

When someone fucks you over, fucks around, makes you sick, exposes you and your children to crazy bunny boilers, nearly fucking kills you, but you love them, you tend to be very vulnerable to their lies. Still. I don’t recall ever getting an apology for Roger’s actions. I do know I realised he didn’t have a clue how devastated I was.

He didn’t come to our relationship with my past. He was the only man I had allowed to touch me after a friend brutally raped me. My parents’ shock divorce. He was my one and only lover, and I “knew” it was for life. I don’t and can’t do casual sex. It meant everything to me. I adored him.

Of course, if he cheated, I would leave him. That seemed such a simple fact. I told him that it was not acceptable to me. We had those discussions. His sister was a cheater. We had friends whose marriages were ruined by cheating. We talked. A lot.

I was the most surprised person ever to find when he was outed by my “friend” the AP (Leanne) that I felt sorry for him.


He seemed gutted.

But of course he was. His secret was exposed. He wasn’t sorry. He was just sorry he was caught.

Trickle truth proved that. I should have known. He at first tried to have me believe it was a recent, once off fuck up. It literally took months and months for me to put the pieces together. He never confessed a single thing. To realise it was going on for 18 months. He NEVER told me how, when, or where it started. I worked that out. When I told him he just said, “ahhh, yeah, I think that might have been the start?”

I said to him, “you think so? If you can’t remember the first time you fucked another woman, in the twenty plus years we have been together, this isn’t your first time. You don’t forget breaking a twenty two year promise to the woman you supposedly love more than anything.”

Still no answer.

He was only sorry he got caught. Remember that. He never loved you like you loved him.

I knew then that if he didn’t confess to what he was exposed as, there was more. More affairs. And I started to put together the string of red flags. Him fucking his ex a month into us. Him fucking a prostitute at his mate’s stag do and lying to me for more than twenty years about it. All the “too close friendships” with friends of “ours” over those decades. I exposed other “indiscretions.” Him fucking me when he was supposedly in live with, going to make a new life with, the new “love of his life.” But of course, he denies most, because he was never caught red handed. It’s easy. I know there are at least nine women he had his penis inside since we first started.

He denies many. I know the story he has sold Trinket. I deserved it. I am a bitch.

I was having a rough time after he moved us. Trying to find my place in the world he ripped apart then. I never once considered leaving him. Nor cheating. It was a challenge we needed to overcome. They happen in long term relationships. I guess I surprised myself and saw his cheating in a similar light. It was a massive challenge, but apparently we still adored each other.

Yeah, riiight.

He just wanted cake. The woman who looked after the detail in his life. As our son said, his admin person. Those are easily replaceable.

So he replaced me as soon as he found a live one. It took him two years of online dating. But the minute he had one on the line, he was gone. Wooing the fuck outta Trinket. Pretending to be a remorseful cheater to her.

As he cheated WITH her.



A friend talked to me yesterday about how Roger played Trinket too.


Bollocks to that. He kinda did, I guess. Pretending he was single on multiple online dating sites is fraud, I guess. Cunt.

But, as I said to this friend, while I initially felt sorry she had got targeted by a known cheater, I lost all my sympathy for her after I drove down to meet her, in the first couple of weeks, telling her the truth. That I loved him, we were working through the challenges we had faced due to his long term cheating – I had struggled, separation had of course been discussed because of it – but that HE HAD PROMISED FIDELITY AND NO MORE SECRETS AND LIES as we worked towards my Masters thesis being completed.

If anyone has ever been on a similar healing, academic journey, they’ll understand the battle, the striving for perfection, and especially the catharsis as it all wraps up and comes together. I fought a MIGHTY battle. First Class Honours. Who bloody knew???

We were healing from his previous affairs! Riiiiiiiiight. God I am actually so dumb.

He fucking lied! THE entire time I was enrolled in my Masters, he had online dating memberships!

Trinket feigned shock and empathy for me the day I met her. And promised me she would go away. She didn’t want another cheater. Or to break up a family.

I drove out of her city, thinking, phew. Someone who will understand my pain and stop fucking my beloved.


The very next day, Roger convinced her I was lying (??????) (Why the fuck would I if we were separated???) And they never stopped fucking..

I loathe that woman. She heard my agony, my story, saw my pain and pretended to care.

Then discarded all of that, and carried on.

The entitlement and cuntiness is insane 💔.

And my pain and shattered life is of absolutely no consequence to those arseholes. Carry on lovebirds. I mean nothing, gave nothing, am worth nothing. Just a vessel to breed with and dispose of once fucked.

The grief and pain never leave fully. They cycle throughout your life.

I know this, because of previous grief experiences. It never leaves.


Losing my Mum so young has taught me that.

As this reader so clearly puts it,

All mourning is cyclical as others have said. I lost my mom young and even 25yrs later I still occasionally get bitch slapped by grief. But most days are good and that has happened through time and perseverance. I’m hoping this situation is the same. I find myself mourning and second guessing one day and the next feeling self assured and strong. All I know for sure is I’m not the puddle on the floor I was a year ago…. be proud of your progress!