Things were getting really bizarre between me and my husband.

He kept committing random acts of strange.

He would call me and ask how I was doing, I would say “fine” and then when I asked how he was doing he’d say the same thing. Then sometimes he would just stop talking.

Just sit on the phone, like he was waiting for me to say something.

My therapist advised me to keep quiet and just let him say whatever was on his mind.

Instead of my usual coaxing and probing, of “Are you ok?”, “Are you sure?”, “What’s wrong?”

One time, we sat on the phone in silence for a full 4 minutes.

I timed it. (What? I was bored.)

Then I told him I had to go.

No less than 10 minutes later, I got a scathing text message about how he’d had an awful day, but I apparently I was too selfish to notice.

WTF?

Another time, I had lunch with a friend and although we had agreed that I would meet him at the house later, I had not agreed on a time.

He proceeded to text message me 14 times.

I counted. (What? I couldn’t turn my phone off because I have tenants ok?)

The abridged version went a little like this:

When are you coming home?

Soon.

You said you would help me.

I will.

What time are you leaving? 

Soon.

Look, if you don’t want to help me, just say so.

At that point I really didn’t.

My lunch date was concerned.

“Are you ok?”

“Yep. I’m fine. Sorry.”

“Do you need to call whoever that is?”

“Absolutely not.”

“Who is it?”

“My husband. We’re separated.”

“Oh,”

Awkward silence.

Then another time I agreed to meet him, (in public) for lunch just to “talk”.

I knew it wasn’t going to go well when he aggravatingly picked a place that was not only difficult to get to by train but near impossible to find parking near.

The “talk” consisted of him explaining how well he was doing staying at his brother’s house. And that even though he didn’t have much, it was nice not to have to deal with the tenants, and the cats, or the bills or…well…me.

He’d come to the masterful conclusion that my crazy behavior was to be expected and that he was going to be patient.

My crazy?

So as to not cause a scene, I politely and quietly asked him what the actual fuck he was talking about.

He proceeded to outline the myriad of ways in which I was deficient as a wife. How I was uncaring, and often very cold and callous. How I never seemed to notice when he wasn’t doing well emotionally and that I often hurt his feelings whether I realized it or not. How often he’d waited for me to come to him and talk to him and I just never would.

In one of the most awkward cases of role reversal ever, I proceeded to explain to him that although he wasn’t working at the time, I had never held that against him. For the past year or so, when I asked him how he was doing, he told me that he was fine and that he just needed some space. I worked to support both of us, I cooked, I cleaned, I helped him with his projects, and tried to find more freelance work while he seemed to just be in his own little world.

I told him I’d tried to talk to him so many times, but he’d always give the same answer.

That he was “fine.”

He said that I should have tried harder.

He felt that as his wife, I should be willing to ask him 7 or 8 times in a row if necessary until I could get him to talk.

What?!

He said he was trying to figure out when I had stopped caring about him.

I said I was trying to figure out when he had turned into a 16 year old girl.

That went over about as well as can be expected.

Something was very wrong.

I just couldn’t put my finger on it.

I was beginning to wonder if we were ever going to get to couple’s counseling, or if at this point it would even help.