A Codependent's Experience

Book Excerpt:
Whether intended or not, Keith kept me off balance and confused. Things were never as they seemed. I didn’t know whether to trust my observations or believe his excuses. Each point of view demonstrated degrees of validity. One thing for sure, I no longer trusted him.
I kept our problems hidden in a private vault, often making excuses for his behavior. In a desperate attempt to hold on to my relationship with Keith I averted conflict with him whenever possible. I believed if I did and said everything right, our relationship would get back on track. That meant keeping him under my watchful eye every possible minute of every day. The oppressive burden fostered my withdrawal from friends and family.
Though unaware, I’d become entangled in the web of co-dependency.
Keith seemed able to sustain weeks of sobriety before relapsing. Dreading the next slip I lived teetering on the emotional edge.
We’d gone downtown to Little Italy one evening to dine at one of our favorite restaurants. We ordered our usual meals; two house salads and two baked rigatonis, well done. Halfway into the meal I got up to use the ladies room, leaving him sitting alone. When I returned to the table Keith was face down in his plate of baked rigatoni. I called his name and he looked up at me, covered with tomato sauce, in a drugged out stupor. It sounds hilarious but I was not laughing.
Humiliated and furious I told him that I was leaving and would take a cab home. Even in his drugged out haze he managed to pull rank on me; he threatened that if I left him there I’d better find another place to live. I was afraid to call his bluff. I motioned for the waiter to bring the check so we could leave as quickly as possible. I paid the bill and stormed away from the table. He stood up and followed me, stumbling and weaving the entire way.
The valet brought our car to the front of the restaurant and Keith fell into the front passenger seat. Then, along side of my bombed-out boyfriend but all alone with my heartache, I drove silently home.
He apologized the next day, professed his undying love for me and promised to try harder. That’s all it took to keep me coming back for more.
Each week Keith would give me money to pay the bills and then I’d write checks from my personal Union Trust checking account. When they started offering a bounce-free checking service, I signed up for the option. In the event my account became overdrawn, a ten-thousand-dollar loan with interest would be generated to cover the checks. With excellent record keeping and perfect credit I had no intention of letting that happen. I took it as a precautionary measure only.
When I opened up my bank statement one month I saw that the ten-thousand-dollar loan had kicked in. Assuming it was their error I flipped through the returned checks they’d mailed back with my statement. One check had been signed with my name but written in Keith’s handwriting for ten-thousand-dollars. The check number was out of sequence; it had come from the middle of a surplus pad that I’d kept in my desk drawer. I hit the ceiling.
I called Keith at work to interrogate him. He readily admitted to writing the check but said that we needed the money and that he would pay the loan right back. Then putting his trademark spin on the issue he argued that I shouldn’t even have that feature if I never planned to use it. He tried his best to make my anger seem unwarranted. But I didn’t care what he said or what intimidation tactics he used; he’d been caught red-handed. Nothing he could say would justify the deceit.
My blood was boiling. An overpowering urge to run away took over… and I wanted revenge. If I left without a trace before he got home he’d have to worry about me for a change. I’d go as far away as I possibly could so he couldn’t find me. I immediately got on the phone and arranged for a flight to San Diego that left in a few hours. I could stay with my sister once I got there. My bags were packed and in no time I was gone.
No one including my sister knew of my plans; I didn’t want anyone to stop me. By early evening I’d be on the other side of the country. I definitely didn’t want Keith to know my whereabouts and he’d have my parents singing like canaries if they had any information. They were like putty in his hands. My parents would just have to worry for a little while. When I arrived in San Diego I would surprise Marlene, and then call them to explain what happened and swear them to silence.
My main objective in leaving the way I did was to shake Keith up. After being repressed by his domination I’d enjoy having the upper hand, leaving him hanging in suspension for the duration of my choosing. Maybe then he’d understand the magnitude of my suffering.
Meanwhile as I relaxed on my cross-country flight, all hell was breaking loose at home. Keith had lost his house key that day and came home expecting me to let him in. It pissed him off when I wasn’t there and he had to climb in through the window. Just as
I had suspected he called my parents right away looking for me. They didn’t know where I was and began to worry.
As soon as I possibly could I called my parents to let them know that I was safe. They told me that Keith was very worried and that I should call him. I stipulated that I’d keep in close contact with them if they promised to zip their lips. Although reluctant, they agreed.
With each passing day the messages Keith conveyed through my parents became more pitiful. I knew he was trying to weaken their resolve and gain their sympathy. After three days of them begging me to call him I decided to let them off the hook.
His tune totally changed when he spoke to me directly. He pummeled me with three days of pent-up anger. Threatening to kick me out of the house was his only ammunition but I did not budge. After trying that strategy for one more day he threw in the towel and began negotiating for my return. I had him exactly where I wanted him; now I was in control.
It sounds crazy but I missed him and wanted to go home. My heart ached for the person I had fallen in love with. I just wanted him to get well, for things to return to normal. For the umpteenth time he professed his undying love for me, said he couldn’t survive without me. He said all the words I needed to hear, trying to convince me to give him another chance. It worked; I packed my suitcase and headed home.
My plane landed at Friendship Airport (now BWI/Thurgood Marshall) early in the evening. I rushed to the payphone, excited to tell Keith that I was back. He answered the phone with a groggy-sounding voice, saying he’d been sleeping. I told him I’d get my luggage and my car and then come right home.
While in sunny California I hadn’t given a thought to Baltimore’s weather. But it was the dead of winter and the city was buried under a fresh blanket of heavily falling snow. I hopped off the parking shuttle carrying my suitcases and trudged through the snow to my car with my sandals on. I didn’t have gloves so I had to wipe the snow off my car with my bare hands. My hands ached and my bare toes were numb from exposure to the freezing-cold snow.
I couldn’t wait to warm up my car and go home. But when I got to the highway it looked like an ice skating rink. Trucks and cars were sliding and skidding all over the place and the rapidly falling snow reduced visibility to about one hundred feet. Petrified but determined to make it home I shifted my gears into low and painstakingly inched along the highway.
With snow piling up on my front windshield faster than the wipers could remove it and no visibility out the snow covered side or back windows, I soon realized that I’d never make the entire twenty mile trek home. The roads were getting worse not better. Road crews had not yet plowed or salted the highway and the snow continued to build up on it. Staying on the highway meant imminent danger. I’d have to find the closest hotel to stay at for the night; I prayed that I’d get there in one piece. The whole experience seemed like a nightmare. I couldn’t help but wonder if it was my punishment for having run away.
Howard Johnson’s on Route 40 West was the nearest hotel I could think of. As I exited the highway the Howard Johnson’s sign ahead was like a beacon of light to a ship lost at sea. Everyone driving ahead of me had the same idea; they were all turning into the Howard Johnson’s parking lot. I worried that the hotel would be booked for the night but it wasn’t so I checked into a room.
Three long hours had passed since Keith had last heard from me. Surely he’d be worried sick. As soon as I got into my room I called him. After a few rings he answered the telephone with the same groggy-sounding voice as before saying again that he’d been sleeping. He didn’t have a clue about the blizzard that had besieged Baltimore or that three hours had passed since he’d last heard from me. Hungering for consolation I detailed my perilous adventure. His feeble attempt to comfort me while yawning was not the response I’d hoped for. I said I’d be home tomorrow and I hung up the phone.
Alone in that dark unfamiliar room I was crestfallen and profoundly lonely. I had gone from euphoric empowerment to insufferable guilt. Silent tears streamed down my face. I felt painfully unappreciated yet blamed myself for creating the mess. It seemed his transgressions significantly paled in comparison to mine. I concluded that I’d gotten exactly what I deserved. There would be no resolution that night. I looked forward to our joyful reunion the next day.

Excerpted from Fine...ly, My Story of Hope, Love, and Destiny
http://www.randigfine.com

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