I’ve struggled with dependence for a long time, but not in the way you might be thinking. I struggle with allowing myself to be dependent on someone, something. I hate not being in control or having at least some degree of control. I will punch you in the face if you try to pick me up. Even when I would drink “a little too much” in my earlier years, I was still the soberest drunk in the bunch. This is also the reason I’ve never tried illegal drugs – I have the feeling that I would like them WAY too much. I mean, I like caffeine WAY too much – can you imagine how crazy I would get on meth or crack (though I’ve always thought I would be more of a coke kind of girl)?! But in all seriousness, this is the reason I refuse to use narcotic pain killers. Luckily I’ve never been in a place where I really needed them, but the one vicoden I took after I broke my foot made me realize that I need to avoid the vicoden.
My husband and I are both very independent people. We have our “together” things, but we have plenty of our own things as well. And we are both okay with the other pursuing those other things. I’ve never been worried, or jealous, or insecure about what he is doing when I am not around, and vice versa. This isn’t intended to be taken to mean that I am not dependent on him at all. I’ve loved him since our second date when I was 21 years old. I’ve loved him through the happy times, through the four years we were apart, and every day since we found each other again. I will never not love him.
Growing up I learned that if I wanted something done, I was going to have to do it myself. Many hard lessons were learned this way, but I am glad of them. My parents never hovered over me or distrusted me (at least, I don’t think they distrusted me). Even through the crappy 19th year of my life they let me declare my independence and make a LOT-LOT-LOT of stupid mistakes. And this isn’t intended to be taken to mean that they left me to flounder. They let me learn those life lessons, and they bailed me out on occasion, because they love me, and because they knew I needed it.
I am dependent on my family, my friends, my baby, my job… these are not things that are difficult to be dependent on. They are privileges, and I am happy to give myself up to them.
There is one thing in my life that I am absolutely dependent on that I hate being dependent on. If I forget to take my Zoloft for one day, things are okay. Two days, things start to irritate me. Three days, I am a total bitch who can’t handle anything that isn’t status quo and just wants to sleep. And if I let myself get to that point (I really am insanely forgetful – “mom brain”), then it is no longer that I forgot to take it and more that I start fighting the dependence I have on it. I’ve always managed to snap myself out of it and start taking the damn pills again, but holy crap, why do I let myself get to that place? There is nothing wrong with needing medication, and I am a huge advocate of taking that step if it is going to help you. And I obviously need it. And it obviously helps me.