A Cure for Codependency (or Trying to Play God)

The moment I woke up

Was the day the tests came back

With ev’ry word that left his lips

Sweat poured down my back.

Heart pounding, mind racing,

Soul screaming, paralyzing,

Knee buckling,

blood draining disbelief.

(God, this isn’t real!)

With ev’ry breath

I’m filled with fear

Please dear Lord,

don’t leave me alone here

Bring your angels,

I need you near,

To say, “Fear not”

~ Something to Believe In, by Juliet A. Wright

copyright 2010, all rights reserved

In this entry, written in April 2014, I explore the recent heroin epidemic in Vermont. I relate the search for a solution to my desperate search for a miracle cure for Zeb’s cancer. One of the reasons I was so desperate at this point in time is because the vaccine he had received, which we were all so hopeful would cure him, had failed. He was out of treatment options, his tumor was growing again, and he was going downhill rapidly. He died a month after I wrote this piece.

There is a heroin epidemic that’s plaguing my beautiful home state of Vermont. It has been all over the news. “Junk” is everywhere and just about everyone is doing it, the news reporters say. In fact, rehab centers are turning people away and telling them to keep using until a bed opens up!

Imagine a young girl running down the street. She is asking everyone she sees, “You got a fix? I need a fix.” She repeats this over and over. She owes her dealer so he’s cut her off. She is desperate. She is a junkie. The big H has become her God. She can’t live without it. Getting and using stuff is now her full-time job.

Now imagine this same girl running down the road. Only now she is not looking for a fix. She is looking for a cure for cancer. “You got a cure, you got a cure?” She repeats this over and over to everyone she sees. She is desperate to help her family.

You got a cure?

No cure.

Now she is running down the road looking for a prayer. “Can you pray, will you pray?”

She is seeking to get the God in them to save her brother-in-law and her poor sister who cares for him. If she just gets enough people to pray, she can surely fix it. She can save him and her sister too. She can control the world. She can fix it!

Look at this girl. Look at what her codependency is doing to her. It is killing her the way H is killing young people in this beautiful rural state. “Can you save my brother? I think if you can pray one more time, you can save him. Can you pray for a new brain?”

I can’t say I was that person exactly, but I sure wasn’t far off. That pretty much describes my behavior for the past 14 months. Begging every person I knew to pray for him, trying to save him. He is my brother, I love him. Deep down, to save my family of origin, my sister, to save her from pain and anguish, especially after what she had just been through with Mom. Trying to save her. Trying to fix her. Trying to make it okay. Trying to play God.

Now this is where I am. I am still trying to fix it, save it, fix her, save her, fix him, save him. I am feeling their feelings. I feel their despair. And when I’m not feeling it, I’m telling myself I should be. Most of the time I don’t need to do that. Feeling their despair comes naturally. It’s as natural as flicking on a light switch. I have had years of training in taking on the feelings of others.

Here are my codependency patterns, which were running wild:

• If you hurt. I hurt; I think I have to fix you.
• Your moods and actions are my fault.
• I don’t know what I need. I focus on what you need.
• I am obsessed with making you happy, with saving you.
• My fear of abandonment and fear of rejection determine how I behave.^[1]

I feel what they feel. I need to detach. It doesn’t have to be about drugs, alcohol or gambling, men or sex. It can just be that you love someone and you want them to be well. You want to fix something that you can’t fix, change something that you can’t change, and that lack of power sends you into despair and affects everything in your life. There’s this big, thick grey cloud hanging over your head. You wake up and think, “There’s that feeling again.”

Pretty soon, it’s not just obsession with my brother who has cancer and I’m taking on his despair, and my sister’s feelings. Now a little boy at one of my schools died and I have to feel what those parents are feeling too. Then I hear about the mudslide in Washington state and what about the people in that area? I have to feel what they’re feeling too. And what about the people in Malaysia who are waiting for news of their loved ones on that missing plane? Where is that flipping plane anyway? And the people at the hospital in North Adams, Massachusetts! The hospital is closed and they’ve all lost their jobs. Now I have to feel their feelings and fix them too? Better put them on the list. And another friend has a lung that is collapsing. This is going to kill me!!

This is enough to drive me to insanity. This is when my life has become unmanageable. This is when I need to come to CoDA. I need to detach with love and start to take care of myself. The only thing I have control over is how I react to what’s happening.

All of this drove me to exhaustion, depression, selfishness, and despair, and it ruined one of my Sunday worships at Quaker Meeting to the point that I was worried I wouldn’t be able to go to my Quaker Meeting anymore. The thought of that sent me even further into my despair spiral, the idea of not being able to see my spiritual family. (I was falling asleep in Quaker Meeting, which is a no-no. A member of the Meeting spoke to me about it and I was mortified. My falling asleep was a result of my exhaustion, mostly due to my insanity over the situation with my family of origin.)

Soon I am thinking, How can I fix this, how can I change it, who can I call? I’m desperate… help me help me help me. No answer, no answer. No one is home.

So what’s the answer? For Juliet, it means I need to work my program. I need to admit my powerlessness over others, cancer, disasters, disease, and death. I need to give it to God. I need to humble myself before him, admit that I am out of control, and that I need help. I need to get to a meeting, write out some step work and read it to my sponsor. I need to let go of what’s not mine and give it back to its owner. There is a God and it is not me. I need to take the focus off of others and put it back on myself. I need to admit my powerlessness over my enmeshment.

Slogan:

I can’t, God can. I think I’ll let him.

Admitting powerlessness is half the battle. Just admitting to God that I am out of control and powerless over these obsessions, feelings, control and compliance patterns helps it ease up. Suddenly the pressure is off. Someone pressed the pause button and I can breathe in and out. I can figure out my hand position and get my bow straight before they press the play button again. I can let go. I write out my steps. I read them to my sponsor. Suddenly the current is back flowing in the right direction and I’m going with it. Breathe. Just breathe. Give every breath to God. It’s okay. I’m not driving the boat. None of us are. God is driving the boat. God bless the 12 Steps. Breathe, just breathe. Live every day in gratitude. And let go. Just let go.

It was good for me to be afflicted

So that I might learn your decrees.

~ Psalm 119:71 (NIV)

If there’s one thing that Zeb’s illness and death has taught me, it is that I must trust God. There’s no other option.

Thank you God for this learning.

^[1] Ibid.