He still cannot be leaned upon. He cannot hold himself up, even.
It’s been six years since he walked away, and still his focus in a crisis is the effect that crisis has upon him.
Say it without judgment and without anger. Whether it is a matter of can’t or won’t, whether he means well or not, he is simply not going to put his needs behind another’s.
He says, I know that you are in danger. Just listen to how my stomach hurts and I am anxious. Clearly I am worried. But the subject matter is still him. His stomach. His worry.
But in his head, where the changes have to be made, it is all the same cycle of impotent pain.
Insanity is doing the same thing over and over again and expecting different results? Then I guess it wouldn’t be too far off to say that my love didn’t leave me. He simply went insane. And thus he did not die, but changed to become a being who lives in his own perpetual pain, and hasn’t got the capacity to fix the problems of another.
We have fallen into What Dreams May Come, but without having physically experienced the losses.
Except that, like cancer, even that damn story came to an end.