Once You're Out Of The Box It's Hard To Get Back In

6 years ago
This article was written by a member of the SheKnows Community. It has not been edited, vetted or reviewed by our editorial staff, and any opinions expressed herein are the writer’s own.
I'm going through something. All of a sudden the weirdness of life has slapped me upside the head again. "Hey gurl! It's me you're old friend Weird! Just wanted to let you know that nothings changed…It's all still really freaking weird!"
I've been crazy sick with a stomach virus, so when my soon-to-be-ex-husband asked permission to spend the night to take care of the kids I was actually grateful. I knew the demon virus had not finished with me and I was in for a long night.The irony of my physical purge happening within a week of my marital purge is not lost on me.    
He made diner and carried out their bedtime routine last night. This morning he gave them breakfast and took them both to school. I expected him not to come back after he dropped them off, but he did.  And now, he's still here working like a busy little bee around the house. I am completely weirded out by it, but I'm so sick that I can barely carry myself the five feet to the toilet to hurl.
He came into my room and told me he's coming to terms with what happened. That he feels good about himself for not being like the other husbands who have sexual affairs…at least, he says, he wasn't like them.
He's cleaning off his vanity. I kicked him out a week ago and NOW he decides to start cleaning up after himself. 
He just handed me the gift certificate that my dad and step mom gave him for his birthday. He says he doesn't deserve it. I refuse it. It was a gift to him, I tell him, he can't give it back.
He's walking around the house with his headphones on singing a Paula Abdul song..sweeping the kitchen floor…like one of Snow White's overgrown man dwarfs. 
I'm not stopping him. I guess this is part of his process. I guess it's part of my process to let him play out his process right the f*@k in front of me.
I look out my bedroom window into the backyard. He's taking a cigarette break. So, he's a smoker now... interesting. WHO THE F*@K IS THIS GUY? Seeing him out there smoking that cigarette makes me feel enraged. But I'm gonna stuff that feeling down deep in my stomach and shut myself in my bedroom. Maybe he'll go soon. Oh God, please let him go soon.
He knocks on my closed door. The knock obviously being a courtesy and not a true attempt at honoring the privacy of my sick bed, because he doesn't wait for my verbal cue to come in.

"I just want you to know that I'm not doing this stuff around the house to get you back. I'm not playing games with you. It's just something I need to do.", he says. Then, he shoves his phone in my face. "Look at this picture I took of the tree in our backyard. Isn't it beautiful? It's amazing what you can see when you're eyes are open, you know?" Jesus Christ.
I can't help myself: "You smoke now?", I ask. 
"Yea, I don't know why but I just feel the urge to. I discussed it with my therapist and she told me to go ahead and do whatever it is that helps me get through this hard time, and later when I'm stronger emotionally I can clean up specific unhealthy behaviors." 
"Well, I'm glad you're going to therapy", is all I can say and he finally leaves to go 'home'.

Speaking of his new home, the house he's staying in; well, it's lovely. He showed me pictures. The house is owned by a massage therapist. He showed me a picture of his bedroom, decorated with fresh flowers. Then he showed me a picture of him lying on a massage table. Yea. He gets regular professional massages by his roommate. You want to know what I've gotten since I made him move out? A stomach virus reminiscent of the exorcist that left me sweating and vomiting every twenty nine minutes for three and a half days, and two screaming kids who had the run of my house while I was helpless to stop their chaos.

A few days later I asked him how he was liking his therapist. The guy can't even do therapy like normal people. He tells me that his last session was at 10pm and lasted until midnight. "What kind of therapist would meet with a client at that hour?", I ask him. "She told me she had never had a client like me, and she's fascinated by how my brain works. She told me she wants to get inside my brain and hold it". Jesus Christ. I don't know why anything he tells me anymore should surprise me.
I've always laughed that he and I did everything outside the box. But now, it's not so funny anymore.

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