Same Old

J's pain was both short lived and fruitless. 

He came to me one afternoon and announced that he'd discovered he was co-dependent. "I've been spending all this time trying to make you happy," he explained, "thinking that it would make me happy. I should be focusing more on myself."

My figurative jaw dropped. This has been you trying to make me happy? I thought, my inner sarcasm kicking in. Well that was an epic fail! And, I added, incredulous, if you focus any more on yourself, you'll drown in your own reflection. 

Though I could see elements of truth in his words--that he did expect me to make him happy, and had never learned to accept responsibility for his own feelings-- I could also see that that wasn't at all what he meant. His words were correct on the surface, but his attitude was one of glee over finding a plausible excuse to act more selfishly. I braced myself for the entitlement that was sure to follow. 

I didn't have to wait long. 

For the next few days, he made efforts to insert himself into my life. Under the guise of helpfulness, he asked to come to Family Home Evening. I turned him down. 

Next, he made a show of taking the children to the new Temple open house. He acted hurt when I refused to join him. 

Finally, he came to pick up our daughter for a concert, then dangled the tickets in front of my face. "Last chance," he coaxed. 

I gave him a dirty look and took him aside. 

"Why are you always so pissed at me?" He whined when we were alone. "Is it really so insulting that I want to spend time with you?"

"Of course you want to spend time with me!" I countered. "I'm awesome! But you're too arrogant to consider the fact that I don't want to spend time with you."

His face grew stony. 

"What has changed," I challenged him, "that you think you're even worthy to ask that of me?"

"Worthy?" He repeated woodenly. 

"I told you," I continued, "I'm not willing to take a single step toward you unless you prove that you're safe, and you haven't done anything to show me that."

"Yes I--" he protested, but I interrupted, 

"Don't give me that crap about how long you've been sober. I don't believe a word of it anyway. You have a list of 6 behaviors, so you know exactly what I need to see in order to trust you, and nowhere on that list does it say, 'chocolates, flowers, time together, white-knuckle sobriety and a massive dose of denial'. Shoving those things in my face in place of actual recovery is insulting. So yes, I'm pissed."

I'm sure J argued in response. I'm sure he became defensive, looked wounded and called me mean and unreasonable, the same way he had in Europe and during every other iteration of this fight that we'd had over the years. But I no longer registered any of it. His words had become meaningless long ago, and my efforts to get him to acknowledge reality and act accordingly were predictably futile. 

I read once that people tell you who they are through their actions, and your challenge lies in whether you accept what they show you. 

J's actions were speaking loud and clear, but it wasn't until what came next that I finally started to believe it.