The frenemy years

Many catchwords of my daughter's generation ("awesome," "hook up," "chill") are vague, lazy locutions—as were those of my day ("groovy," "off the wall," "get it on"). But one word now in currency seems specific, efficient and useful. And that word is "frenemy."

As I read through my old journals and letters and marinate in the resentments of my 20-something years, I see not just that I was surrounded then by frenemies—friends I hated—but also that I myself was a frenemy. I was hungry for platonic love, but untrusting, quick to judge, easily hurt. In short, I was unlovable—at least with the kind and degree of unconditional love I required.

In the journals and letters, I blame the difficulties in my relationships on others, but it is transparently clear that the problem was mine. And the evidence is ample: Busy with her many guests at her birthday party, my frenemy GH failed to adequately acknowledge my presence and my present—and the bitterness lingered for years. In response to a wheedling letter from me to my father asking for a job for a friend, my mother wrote angrily that by approaching my father only, I had slighted her and failed feminism—and she was right, but I tore her letter into pieces, then scotch-taped it back together so I could save the proof of her irrational, impossible irascibility. Most poignant are the epistolary remains of my relationship with my sister-in-law and frenemy E, who later killed herself. From the effortful care with which she chose each word rings out her fear of enraging me with faulty love. She may have been psychotic from time to time, but she was heroic in her struggle to sate my neurotic neediness.

I feel heartsick that I am stuck in the present and unable to go back into my past and mend—or prevent—these rifts. I was telling my friend J about my sadness and frustration last weekend, and she said comfortingly that the point is to learn from the past, not to fix it. And she is right, of course. But the era of frenemies is largely over for me. The lesson comes too late.

I still have a few frenemies, but mostly they are leftovers from my terrible 20s. I continue to have friends who are imperfect and who sometimes let me down or upset me (as I do them), but my expectations and resources have changed, and I seem more able to love them unconditionally, deficiencies and all.