My Own Worst Frenemy

A few years ago, some syllabic genius mashed up the words Friend and Enemy to create the hot, new word Frenemy. In about 5 seconds so many people related to it that it spread around the world like wildfire, quickly becoming as commonly used as the toxic relationship it describes.

A proverbial wolf in sheep’s clothing, frenemies outwardly appear supportive and understanding as they subtly sabotage your happiness, breaking you down so they can be credited for picking you up again. They follow you around like an emotional broom and dustpan, cleaning up after your meltdowns and messes, many of which they were the cause of. They isolate you so you rely on them, undermining your attempts at healthy relationships with worrisome warnings and malicious misgivings about the intent of others. They are quick to warn you of possible perils, and are always at the head of the “I told you so” line.

It’s a complicated relationship that in many ways can be harder to break off than a boyfriend or girlfriend. I know, because I’ve tried for most of my life.

My frenemy appears kind and caring. But you don’t know her like I do. In fact, no one does.

We grew up together. We played at the same playgrounds. We went to the same schools. We hung out at the same clubs. And because we’ve known each other our entire lives, she has adequate information to use as amunition to fend off my emotional growth which she sees as a threat to our relationship. Like a horrible historian, she tracks my life by traumas, reminding me of my mistakes, missteps and misgiving over the last half century. She claims she does it to keep me grounded, which she does as well as a pair of lead shoes.

If I’m obliviously happy for even a minute, she turns my laughter to guilt by reminding me of everything I should feel sad about. When I am excited about trying something new, she reminds me of my past failures- ‘to protect me from inevitable disappointment’, or so she says.  And like an emotional energizer bunny, she is ever ready to burst my bubble with her wounding words as she whispers to me after a seemingly successful speech “No one would ever guess you were a stutterer”.

Frenemies remember everything you forgot, but not useful stuff like where you ate that amazing breakfast burrito or what pocket you stashed that lost $20 bill in. No. They remember when you were tormented by bullies and hid in the school bathroom until the janitor locked the doors. They don’t remind you of things you wish you could remember. They remind you of things you’ve tried your whole life to forget.

But ending the cycle is more complicated than it sounds.

Because I know my frenemy as well as she knows me, I am well aware of the difficulties and disappointments that made her the way she is. She is the person I use to be, the place I was stuck in for so many years. We’ve suffered through the same trials and tragedies, but as I seek the strength to forge forward, she seeks safety in the familiarity of her failings. And as much as I’d like to break free and leave her depression in my dust, it is this string of sad memories that binds us together.

And because I’m the only one who truly understands her, I’m the only one who can help her. And I have to help her, if I’m ever going to help myself. 

Because I am my own worst frenemy. And we’ve got a lot of work to do.