Casually watching my foot steps leaving the softest of impressions in the sand, making me ponder over my life and the choices I had made. I had been called co-dependent before, but hadn’t fully understood the meaning behind it. Surely, I wasn’t the one with the problem. I wasn’t the addict.

I was normal, I had followed all the rules. I was a good girl, growing up in a well-to-do family in the suburbs, eating most my vegetables, attending church on Sundays, not talking back to my elders, graduating from high school and eventually graduating from college with honors and two Masters’ Degrees to show for all my hard work. I was the one following all the rules. I am not the one with the problem.

But, today my therapist told me a different ending. I was just like the addict, I was addicted to covering up for the addict. I was trying to save him. I loved him and to be honest with myself, I loved him more than I loved me. Just like an addict loves their drug of choice more than themselves, more than their wife, more than their mother, and more than their children. They would die for their addiction, just like I would have died for you.