Send Him Packin'...or Not

I was one wrong word from going worse than postal.  I was amazed that I rode the coaster from broken and despondent to infuriated and wrathful in one long dismal drop.  I get it now.  I am not comfortable in the role of broken.  I wear wrathful extremely well.  It was simply easier for me to be furious than sorrowful and hopeless.

Marched right back to the lovely Dr. K for a few more emergency 2 hour sessions.  She gave Richard a stern lecture about causing our counseling setback.  "Do you understand how continuing to lie about your affair is hurting Shawn?"  She referred to additional lies as "kicking Shawn in the gut again."  Accurate metaphor.

Richard hung his head and was blubbering like a child that got caught stealing money from his mom's purse, but he managed a nod or two.
"Is there anything else Shawn needs to know?"  I thought Dr. K was off the mark with that one.  NEEDS to know?  Who gets to decide what I NEED to know?  I DO, that's who!  Richard just shook his head and dripped snot on the floor.

Richard was nearly broken.  It was obvious that he had been severely cracked for months, but now he was very close to shattering.  He had always been my rock.  The go-to guy when things got knarly.  Ready to take the wheel and make the tough calls.  His current weak character became a substantial dip on the coaster.  My reaction to his remorse, fear and loss of self-esteem was pity.  I felt so sorry for him.  I wanted to fix him!
Nope, couldn't let myself go there.  I did not have the energy to keep myself from drowning and hold his head above water, too.

He was a distraction.  Worrying about him was not an option.  He didn't deserve my help.  This should be all about me healing.  It was time for him to go.  I needed space to breath, to think, to pull myself up from the belly of the beast.  I told this to Richard.  As weak as he was, he wouldn't fight me, but he had one advantage.  My parents were in town.  If he left the house, no more hiding our drama.  Tough call.

I told Dr. K I wanted him out.  I reiterated my desire for solitude numerous times, to no avail.  She didn't much care for my plan.  She said we shouldn't make any major decisions for at least 6 months.  That seems to be the standard time frame that most therapists suggest.  It takes 6 months to be able to concentrate on anything of substance.  Your mind will be consumed and otherwise occupied thinking about your wayward spouse gazing into the eyes of a tall, skinny co-ed telling her they were meant to be together forever.

Richard had admitted that he had been in love with Jaymie.  The night I found the emails on his computer  he finally fessed up to that...among other things.  The old me, the pre-DDay me, would have told you, if Richard ever cheats on me, I'll cut his balls off and pack them with all his clothes in his suitcase and out the door he'll go.  So, really, post DDay me was much more merciful.  I just wanted him out the door.  He could keep his balls right where they'd always been.  I didn't think I was asking for a lot.   I tried to edge him out gently.  I explained that just because I needed him out, it didn't mean our marriage was over.  Dr. K (wasn't quite as lovely to me now) was adamant in her stance about our separation.  He'd been out once and back again. Bouncing around was bad form in marriage counseling world.   So, she played her Ace in the Hole.  "Think about your kids."  Damn you, Dr. K!

My need for solitude would have to wait.  Of course, I'm rarely without a plan.  I thought, if he wouldn't leave for me, maybe he would for Jaymie.