Codependents were a necessary nuisance. They were hostile, controlling, manipulative, indirect, guilt producing, difficult to communicate with, generally disagreeable, sometimes downright hateful, and a hindrance to my compulsion to get high. They hollered at me, hid my pills, made nasty faces at me, poured my alcohol down the sink, tried to keep me from getting more drugs, wanted to know why I was doing this to them, and asked what was wrong with me. But they were always there, ready to rescue me from self-created disasters. The codependents in my life didn’t understand me, and the misunderstanding...
Most codependents were obsessed with other people. With great precision and detail, they could recite long lists of the addict’s deeds and misdeeds: what he or she thought, felt, did, and said; and what he or she didn’t think, feel, do, and say. The codependents knew what the alcoholic or addict should and shouldn’t do. And they wondered extensively why he or she did or didn’t do it.
Yet these codependents who had such great insight into others couldn’t see themselves. They didn’t know what they were feeling. They weren’t sure what they thought. And they didn’t know what, if anything, they could do to solve their problems—if, indeed, they had any problems other than the alcoholics.
The alcoholic had an excuse for being so crazy—he was drunk. These significant others had no excuse. They were this way sober.