Mr. Junky has developed a new habit in his wonderfully smug state of methadone goodness. Suddenly, he has all these things to teach me about recovery, the steps, growth, gratitude. He's not used in something like a week, and I think he's been to two meetings in that time, and so now he is, like, totally Program Joe.
I've been feeling pretty lousy for the last few days. I'm stuck in a really nasty situation, and I've been doing a lot of work on myself over the last few months. I'm damn glad I've done it, too, and I've grown, and I'm doing well. But it's still hard, hard, hard to know that he is just at the beginning of his recovery, again...that all the times that it's seemed like we were just around the corner from being better, it's just not been true. I've let myself, however, be as miserable as I've needed to be. I've given myself permission to feel bad, to be angry, to be glum for a few days. I've got the tools to get out of it, and already today, some of the weight has been lifted. His confession when I got back into town now has begun to look like a great development...he's trying to be honest. He worked yesterday, and he brought me home the money he made. We went and bought groceries with that money. That's a beautiful thing. At the time, it didn't seem so, but today, it does.
I know how to handle my business. I've got friends, a sponsor, and a program. It pisses me off to no end when he starts telling me how I should be behaving, what I should be grateful for, and how I should feel.
It's important for me to remember how angry it makes me, though...as he has his own journey, and I like to think that I know better what he should be doing (I mean, 'cause I really, totally DO know better what he should be doing). It bothers me when he's telling me how I should think and feel, and I bet it bothers him as well (even though he, like, really needs it, because he can't do anything right without me).