Kampuniform3

When this first started, reaching the mythical 12-weeks to recovery seemed like an impossible task, and I was racked by my distress. 16-days after my last tirade, and you know what? I’m not angry anymore. I’m not overwrought. I don’t miss you anymore. I’m 2-weeks away from a point where the majority of people claim that the fallout from their breakup no longer interferes with their lives. They’re correct, and I can see the finishing line now. So, that day will soon be here. That day when I move past this forever. I’m so preoccupied with my life and future that it’s unlikely that I will even notice when you are no longer in my mind anymore. I doubt that I’ll be returning here, unless it will be a year or so later just to reflect on this awful period in my life. I’ll be in a better place then. I don’t hate you, despite my tirades here, and I do hope that you will have a happy life. I did love you dearly, and a small part of me will always miss you. It’s sad going through this thread, and seeing everyone working through their sorrow, then reaching the stage where they can see the sun rising in the morning again. I wonder how things worked out for them, and if they ever reflect on all the sorrow they left behind here. That’s the true tragic aspect to all of this: that you do recover, rendering all those years of investment meaningless. Take care of yourself, Sweetie.

I’m amazed by all this, as it’s been donkey’s years since I last went through this process. Eight weeks have now passed since our last terrible night. You know what? I’m over the worst of it, and am now on the final glide path to a soft landing. Oh yes, I still have the odd day when I feel like I’ve survived a B-52 carpet bombing, but overall, I no longer resemble that man who arrived on these Pacific shores in June. I used to wonder about how and what you were doing all the time, and there was never enough hours in the day to ruminate on those themes. I’d spend hours examining everything about our relationship down to the Planck level, but slowly fell out of the habit as life drew me away from the practice. Now I think about other things, far more alarming things. You see, I’m now encountering pockets of time during the day in which you no longer exist in my mind, like you never truly existed at all. You see, I went through this in my early forties when a decade-long relationship disappeared in a puff of smoke. Initially, it was emotionally crippling, but I survived, and just as in this instance, that former x followed the same path along the Ebbinghaus forgetting curve until she ceased to exist altogether. Just those two relationships alone represent 32% of my adult existence. That’s 32% of my life that is completely irrelevant, and two people whom I would have laid down my life for are essentially dead for all intents and purposes. Such a waste of precious life. It’s the equivalent of slowly starving to death whilst trapped alone on a South Pacific island for the equivalent number of years. There’s nothing to take away from the experience apart from a desire to never do it again. It’s the illusion of perspective, thinking that a South Pacific landfall will be the answer to someone adrift. You got a lot of traction from your cognitive dissonance at first, but as the months pass, and the seasons inexorably slide into winter, that tread will be worn away to nothing as you are forced to face the consequences of your impetuously vindictive decision. I know for a fact that the penny has already dropped. The knowledge that you took everything for granted is just starting to percolate up into your consciousness in the face of a pretty sharply delineated realty. Everything was being done for you, and I buffered you from everything. Get it now!? Pound to a penny, you do. This is the easy part, luv, when the weather is still cooperating. Ever been up on a roof in the late fall, with the rain thundering down, trying to locate the source of a leak? That’s small fry. It gets so much worse in a period property like ours that I had to leave just partially refurbished/repaired because you had the emotional fortitude of an infant. I grieve for you. I truly do. Your 62-year-old, personality disordered gorgon of a friend certainly won’t be able to fill my shoes, despite being Guinevere in a previous life. Sweet Jesus, of all the people to befriend! Just a notch up in quality from having a friend who’s a crackhead, or a child molester. Your “friend” was instrumental in fanning the flames. Imagine having a good friend going out of their way to do that. I can assure you that if you turned the tables, and tried to drive a wedge between her and her husband, you wouldn’t be treated as delicately. You’d be immolated in a second. However, in our instance you were just fine with it, glorying in the adulation of virtuous victimhood. Victims are always at the apex of the Karpman triangle, and you climbed up there on the back of your 62-year-old rescuer. Victims are never accountable either, so you were in your element. I lost count of the number of times you climbed up there over the years, ready to bawl your head off whenever anything went wrong. “Trust not a woman when she weeps, for it is her nature to weep when she wants her will.” My life is better. I’m exercising again after four years, and amazingly, my shoulder is finally healing. It’s beautiful where I live, and I never tire of my surroundings. The weather is infinitely better, and the people here are just as kind as they were on the east coast, despite the ridiculous “Maritimers are the friendliest people on the planet!” pretence. I wouldn’t return to that steaming pile of *** for love nor money. I’m happy to be away from all those pretentious east coast, banjo-plucking inbreds. It’s true what they say about the timelines of dumpers/dumpees. I’m truly healing and getting stronger in every sense, feeling happier and more confident. I’m looking forward to my new life. You are having the inverse experience. I know this for a fact. I remember what it was like being alone in that wretched place. Your nearest friendly face is 300 km away. Take that same number, multiply it by 21, add a forest fire 800 meters away, and no power, and that’s what you did to me. You’re a ***ing creep, and you deserve that hard landing you’re going to get. …but I still grieve for you nevertheless. One more month, and you’ll be gone forever.

Nothing like backing up an argument with an anecdotal fallacy… Your personality is fully fledged by 7, not 24, so if you need to “find yourself” at that age, you have larger worries than just relational.

Women have an hypergamous instinct, as reflected by supportive comments by the women here. There’s also a subset of women who equate normalcy with “settling”. However, going forward, the odds work against finding someone whose positive attributes that match those of the person already in your life, without receiving a great deal of life experience beforehand. Adding hedonic adaptation to the mix means that this recipe usually progresses towards a state of soul-searching, and regret at some point. I would think long and hard about this before committing.

(Sighs) Attachment Theory “Following considerable empirical and research validation, it has become a pivotal consideration in the field of child protection and in care and protection proceedings in courts. Under the theory, the earliest bonds formed by children with their primary caregiver/s (particularly before 4 years of age) have a tremendous impact (affecting neurological, physical, cognitive, emotional and social development), which continues throughout life. The theory’s most important tenet is that an infant needs to establish a positive relationship with at least one primary caregiver for social and emotional development to occur normally, and that further relationships build on the patterns developed in these early experiences.”

Taken in context, it does look like suspicious behaviour. If it continues, and it’s certain without a doubt that an affair is taking place, then I would have a quiet chat with her. Having experienced infidelity, I wouldn’t wish that hell on anyone, and it’s far preferable having an embarrassing conversation that might help put her back on track, than to have people’s lives completely destroyed through infidelity.

As difficult as it may be to face, the explanation is actually quite simple. -If you ate the identical meal every day for an entire year, you’d quickly develop an aversion to that meal. Now multiply that by eight. It could be the most succulent meal on the planet, and the envy of every inhabitant on the earth, but it’s the interminable repetition that makes it unpalatable. There may be some men out there who operate differently, but they would definitely be outliers. Every relationship has distinct phases, and having the expectation at year 10 that you’ll ever be able to re experience the hormonal oxytocin rush with your partner (along with limerance, and everything else that accompanies the heady first few years of a relationship) just isn’t realistic. I do see this as a fundamental blind spot with women, and this is not a criticism, just noting how the sexes view the matter differently.

Well, it shouldn’t be at the top of the list if you’re thinking long-term, as men aren’t wired that way. Men don’t have sex for the same reason that women do. Every man that I’ve ever met sees it as a chore, like doing the dishes, after a few years, and can only sustain things with a very active imagination.

Porn and sex are at a wide variance to each other. If he’s been experiencing some health issues, the thought of a very strenuous activity might not be at the top of his list. He’s probably very self conscious of his health issues, and in particular how it relates to sex, and is undoubtedly very ashamed, as being fully functional is a core issue with men.

You’ll be alright, mate. When I read your post, I saw a lot of myself in there, and then you had to suffer the indignity of everyone’s vilification for just attempting to do the right thing when the odds were never in your favour. Pretty awful to have to endure that on a forum devoted to trying to recover from personal hardships. As you say, our former partners will always be miserable. That’s their fate. However, what you and I are going through is just temporary. A year from now, life will be a very different place to inhabit. You’ll/we’ll be okay.

What a difference 10 days makes. 10 days since I last posted here, absolutely raging and hurting. My idee fixe with the relationship post mortem is dissipating like a fart in the wind. A friend offered that hoary old chestnut of it being a learning experience. Mate, I’m 57, not 27, and this lesson is one that everyone is already well acquainted with once they reach adulthood, and the lesson is as sophisticated an enterprise as a game of Old Maid. It goes against my core values not to be conscientious, and not to be fully committed. To suspect that my partner might be acting out of bad faith is not sustainable, and is a sure fire relationship killer. There is no lesson to be gleaned from this, as it would be indefensible to conduct oneself otherwise in a relationship. My mind keeps returning to that final week in that house. I was in such a state of shock that the forest fire’s roar, and the blood red sky at night, rarely slipped past my stupor. The liquor worked wonders, and I practically drank my weight in alcohol that week. That final week in our home. The home that I worked on endlessly. All that wasted effort. I spent a lot of my time in the evenings sitting in silence, drinking, and watching the flame from the hurricane lamp flicker, as the power was still cut to the house due to the fire. I thought about my father, and how sad he would have been for me if he was still alive. How dearly I wanted him to be present. I thought of all my friends who’ve passed on, and how much I missed their insights, and good humour. I thought about Dominic, Mike, and Peter, and remembered that I was looking forward to growing old with them. I don’t recollect ever feeling quite as alone as I did that week. The closest friend was 6252 kilometres away, the forest fire was steadily creeping its way towards the house, there was no way of communicating with the outside world, the entire district had been evacuated, and the person whom I placed all my earthy trust in had betrayed me in the worst way imaginable. Not a comfortable sensation. During the day, I would take breaks from packing/preparing to leave by going for walks, either through the woods, or by the sea. Neither provided me with a respite, as there was never a point during my time in Nova Scotia when I found the landscape to be anything other than alienating, dark, and thoroughly sinister, so my walks were usually counter productive. Still, they got me out of the confines of that wretched house, and my memories of us, so that was a small comfort. You never did bother going to the woods, or the beach, so there was no association with you there. Always the same question which will never yield to an answer: Why. All day every day for a month. And then it just stopped, even the hurt and anger, as the answer was obvious. You lacked my stamina. It’s well-documented that people greatly overestimate the sense of joy they will derive from a decision, and underestimate the sadness. I strongly suspect as the days turn into months, you will become familiar with this axiom. I do feel sorry for you, as even I couldn’t stand being alone in that house. What can I do? My hands are now tied by your decision, and I cannot return. If only you had taken some time to think, and weigh the consequences, instead of being told what to do by your personality disordered backpfeifengescht. Oh well, your bed… just 10 days later, and I’m feeling far better. A month ago I was a ***ing wreck. A month from now, and you’ll be gone from my soul. I’m getting my life sorted now, and I will finally be fulfilling my dreams that I was terrified that I’d never be able to achieve. They were simple dreams, but they were important to me, even though you couldn’t have given a *** if they disappeared forever. My friend is correct: I’m better off without you.

From my reading of the situation, the glow from her two-month alternate plan is beginning to subside in one form or another, and you’re the interim solution to distract her. Men typically require a reason for communicating, but women don’t, so I wouldn’t assign too much value to this less than fortuitous back-and-forth, particularly since most of it seems to be inane gibberish. Every contact is a setback for you. Gleaning for something hopeful to emerge from this exchange is not doing you any favours. Unless she specifically makes a declaration of wanting to pursue something wth you again, I would drop this matter like a bad penny.

Two words: Intermittent Fasting. Safe, and effective, and you will see results within two weeks. It has turned many people’s lives around. 15 years ago, I used to be 240, and intermittent fasting took me down to 170 within six months.

I did read what you wrote. If research states that there is a direct correlation, and there is a body of medical evidence in support of the correlation, the it doesn’t mean that I am barking up the wrong tree…by definition.

It’s directly correlated to the average age of menopause. Your supposition isn’t mathematically plausible, and might even suggest a personal bias.

I’m reading medical journals, and soliciting advice from my father who is a doctor. Menopausal induced psychosis is a dissociative disorder caused by hormonal imbalances. The body of medical evidence is indisputable.

It would be nice to get some advice from someone who has experienced this scenario, as I don’t know whether to abandon all hope, or take a wait-and-see approach. At the moment, I’m still in the latter category. My partner ended our eight-year relationship three-and-a-half weeks ago, and in a manner that was so uncharacteristic that it was unsettling. It was almost as if she was a different person, particularly in the final 24-hours. It wasn’t until I visited my parents, and told them about my experiences with my partner over the last year, that I was able to derive an answer to many of the peculiarities that had occurred over that time. My father is a doctor, and was reasonably convinced that menopause was the root of it all. I wasn’t fully convinced at first, until I did a little research. Yes, there is a direct correlation between divorce rates, and the average age of women experiencing menopause. The symptoms are a word-for-word match. The symptoms are far worse for very slender women. Initially, I had just assumed that she wasn’t managing well with the stress she was encountering with her workload after receiving a promotion, but there was so much more in her behaviour that I couldn’t fully account for. She had a difficult time remembering things, and her concentration went to zero; she had effectively stopped working (she worked remotely), and spent all her time reading the news on her phone; her boss had noted her lack of productivity, and storm clouds were brewing; she was irritated by everything all the time; she flew into a rage at the least provocation; she couldn’t sleep; she was having hot flashes to such a degree that her cheeks glowed like red lanterns; she was having issues with dryness, etc. Yes, it’s obvious to me now, but not so much then, as I was struggling with a mountain of issues myself, and the best I could manage was to be as supportive of her as I possibly could when I could see her struggling. The possibility of menopause wouldn’t have occurred to me for a second. The common theme in the final six months was the behavioural changes not attributable to work, or relational issues. For the lack of a better word, she just wasn’t behaving normally anymore. She formed a very active friendship with a woman whose company she found tedious, and who had a political affiliation she found offensive, yet they were inseparable. She abandoned her hobbies, and just seemed to be sleepwalking through her days. There was far more that occurred as well, and all of it was very odd, verging on inexplicable. Having read more on the subject, menopausal women are inclined to experience irrational levels of anger and irritation towards their partners, and most of them regret their behaviours, and ending their relationships, when the bulk of their symptoms eventually subside. As I said, even how she ended things was monumentally peculiar, as that simply wasn’t her personality style. So, I’d certainly welcome the opinions from anyone who has been through this life-changing process, as I don’t know how to proceed anymore, as it isn’t exactly a normal break-up if my assessment is correct.

Statistically, homeschooling produces the best outcomes for children, and I applaud your decision, and rationale. The goal should be raising children who are functionally healthy: high in conscientiousness, and agreeableness. This is the primary socialization stage, and you are equipping them properly to meet life’s adult challenges if they depart into the world uncorrupted. This makes them less susceptible to being corrupted, not more. Yes, they will encounter difficulties in their interpersonal interactions in the adult world, but no more so than any other young adult, as we all followed that same path in our youth, learning these lessons as we aged. Being surrounded by pot-smoking *** in high school doesn’t prepare you for the adult world at all.

Just ***ing great, like I need this damn bull*** in my life again. I wish I could just fast forward though the next couple of months until I reach the normal bits again. Christ, you really were a right misery, weren’t you? Remember that conversation we had? That I didn’t object to anyone wanting to end a relationship, but only objected to it not being discharged responsibly like two adults who, at one time, cared for each other dearly. Then you chose to blindside me, for no other reason than you wanted to be the biggest *** on the planet. You and your personality disordered friend who thought she was Guinevere in a past life, both looking at me like a moustache-twirling villain who delights in tying helpless damsels to railway tracks. The amount of time your friend had been in your life was easily measured in hours, yet my devotion stretched to almost a decade. Yes, it makes sense that you’d trust her judgement, as she had the acumen of a marionette…on her good days. Where did all that rage come from? Menopausal induced psychosis, you should look it up. It’s not normal to carry hatred for that length of time, particularly when it is completely unwarranted, and unsubstantiated. You always, always, ALWAYS, overreacted to everything. Sweet Jesus, it’s a wonder you made it to 54 without having a damn stroke. Every day I’d wake up thinking, “Oh God, what’s it going to be like today…” and I rarely had to wait long for the answer, as you’d be swearing up a storm if you so much as accidentally dropped a spoon on the floor. I’d be in the living room, head in hands, listening to your latest rage about something stupid thinking, “I really can’t take much more of this…” Oh, I really don’t miss the early morning wake-up calls, when you’d be screaming at the top of your lungs because there was a spider somewhere or other. That would kill any hopes I had of sleeping again, because my eyes were practically watering after you emptied a can of Raid into the bedroom to kill the damn thing. And the complaining, my good Lord, it’s like your existence depended on whinging and complaining incessantly. You were the laziest human being on the planet, and you’d spare no effort to backslide if it came to doing anything physical. How the hell did you manage it, and why? Every horizontal surface had to disappear under a mountain of tat and garbage. I had to balance my pot on the edge of the kitchen sink when I was making dinner, as that was the only available surface. You really don’t need to brush your teeth for five continuous minutes every night, unless you gargled sewer water beforehand. If it has been so over cooked that it’s like a brick, don’t eat it! Every time you’d complain that your teeth hurt afterwards, but could never understand why. How could you be an engineer, and not figure that out? Unless it was swearing over nothing, or complaining, you really had nothing to say anymore, and woe betide if I swore over anything, or had a legitimate complaint. It was the day in Liverpool which taught me everything I needed to know about my future with you. We were in the Atlantic Superstore shopping for groceries. You were in the beauty products section, looking at every product, and reading every container like this was your first exposure to such things. I was standing behind the shopping cart watching you..for ten solid minutes thinking, “I no longer exist as far as you’re concerned, no longer matter at all.” That’s how it was at the end: me doing everything that I could to make your life tolerable, and you having as much empathy for me and my horrors as a block of lead. It’s the same old mistake that’s been repeated so often that it’s a wonder it hasn’t been bred out of the species, as it is evolutionary maladaptive: mindless perseverance under the assumption that your partner has your back. Well, you were many things-mostly awful-but notions like Fidelity, Commitment, and Perseverance were certainly not in your lexicon. Yes, I argued with that nauseating termagant of a friend of yours, while you pouted like a thirteen-year-old, saying nothing. I knew what I was doing, and I knew if I crossed that line, it would end our relationship. I hesitated for a half second in deliberation, then let loose, telling that slattern friend of yours what I thought of her. God it was great watching that tiresome windbag finally getting her comeuppance. Gasping, and clutching her pearls. A man can bow and scrape only so long for an undeserving/uncaring partner before he just doesn’t give a *** anymore, and I didn’t at that point. If you reciprocated at all, it would have ended differently, but you just couldn’t have cared less. Thank God, in a way, as I’m now free. Even at the end, I was still willing to dialogue. I still cared despite having to wade through mountains of bull***. It’s a Pyrrhic victory for you, and as you were barely able to unscrew the lid off a jar, so it’s unlikely to be the case that you’ll get those four cords of firewood cut, chopped, stacked, and seasoned in time for the winter, along with the hundreds of other things needing doing on the house. I wonder if the penny has dropped yet? A bit of a shame now, love, as you tossed me to the curb in the worst way imaginable, and I’m now 6252 km away. Good luck with that wood.

The simplest explanations are usually the ones that are most correct. Catastrophizing, and seeing malice in every action, falls far beyond the bounds of normalcy. Encountering true narcissism is an exceptional occurrence, and if you ever do encounter such an individual, making such a profound error in calibration will never occur again, as true narcissists don’t make a point of advertising the fact. Cluster B personality disorders are predatory in nature. Expecting perfect behaviour from people all the time is unrealistic. The person described by the op seems pretty innocuous, and tiresomely average, as does the event she has described. Anyone in a long-term relationship understands that you will experience every human emotion in your day-to-day dealings with your partner. If you choose to bail on someone on the smallest of whims (and yes, this event you describe is quite trivial in the grand scheme of relational issues), then you will always be alone, as there isn’t a human being on the planet capable of not erring, sometimes monumentally.

It’s axiomatic that men and women see the world through different lenses. Sarcasm, hyperbole, euphemism, is fairly common in men’s banter, and it’s the rare exception when it is used to be hurtful. If he’s using banter, he sees you as his equal, and is happy in your company. The list of things that women deem significant, and which never appear on your average man’s radar, would stretch to the end of time. This works both ways, however. I, personally, don’t place a great deal of store in birthdays, holidays, etc, only acknowledging them because it was clear to me that they were significant for my partner. However, I honestly couldn’t have given a fiddler’s f art about gifts, or acknowledging my birthday at all. In fact, I was happier if the day passed with no acknowledgement at all. He might just be this way as well.

Good! I remember being summarily dumped, seemingly out-of-the-blue, fifteen years ago by an ex, and waited in the wings hoping for the best. It turned into a very painful life lesson. Keep one thing always in mind regarding life’s difficulties: When you’re going through hell, keep going. At the time, I didn’t think I could live without her. A year later, my life had improved immeasurably, and my only disappointment then was that she didn’t dump me sooner! Hang in there, mate!

Yes, there’s a definite consensus forming here, and I agree: keep a safe distance, otherwise you might be blindsided by this person who seems to be playing fast and loose with your emotions. Back right off, mate, and rely on your friends and family exclusively for emotional support from now on. Don’t make any more announcements about loving her, and keep your interactions focused on your child. I’m a bit worried for you, as you might be on the receiving end of an emotional goring from this woman if you’re not careful.

By definition, men and women see sex differently. For women, it’s all about intimacy and connection, whereas for the man, those notions fell by the wayside within the first couple of years. The probability that a man will see it as little more than a household chore after a certain number of years is a probability amounting to a certainty, and this applies to intimacy as well. Bear in mind that this does not mean that he has fallen out of love, or doesn’t care for you dearly, as men don’t associate love with sex at all. If a man isn’t this way, then I can assure you that he is this way with others as well, as his appetite will not be satisfied with just one partner. All my male friends with high sex drives were all having a bit on the side…to my horror. The cure is spending time apart so that the incentive returns. However, this isn’t a permanent cure, and it will erode trust. However, gauging the health of a relationship only on a paltry bi-weekly activity that typically passes with the speed of summer lightening is to put the wagon before the horse…in my opinion.

I appreciate your perspective, as it’s not one that I was able to fully grasp beforehand, being rather thick. We both behaved abominably, but I now freely admit that my part was the worst of the two, as all I saw was someone who-by her behaviour- seemingly didn’t care at all, so I overreacted. It all makes sense now, after all the damage has been done…sadly…and I wish she could have said something. If not for the heavy handed involvement of the friend, I’m certain this event wouldn’t have reached the height of absurdity that it did. Yes, six months is quite generous, but three months might not be. Both of us had been run through the mangle so many times that we didn’t know up from down anymore, and it takes time to recover. I’m 6252 kilometres away, safely removed from our stress-infused circumstances, and have had ample free time to reflect. She, on the other hand, is still dealing with everything over there, and now that I am absent, is bearing the full brunt of everything that I formerly shouldered, and had undertaken to make her life tolerable. My efforts had been quite considerable. Her friend, who had an ill-concealed venomous hatred for me, will still be pouring poison into my gf’s ear, as I had been quite candid in my assessment of her during our contretemps during the night of the breach with my gf. My gf will need time to glean that her “friend” is operating from misplaced motives. Lastly, I held out the Olive Branch immediately, whereas my gf was intent on carpet bombing me into oblivion, so she’ll have to initiate first contact. It would be fantastic if we could mend everything, as I don’t really think that arbitrarily discarding people in times of crushing distress is the wisest solution…and I miss her a great deal.