Toxic friendships are more ageing than smoking. Here's how I quit mine

Yahoo

a day ago

We were introduced by a mutual friend over dinner. By the end of the night we were finishing each other's sentences and making each other laugh until pad thai came out my nose. I felt the same rush of excitement about meeting Abigail* as I'd had meeting my husband. I was instantly certain she'd be in my life forever.
I could never have predicted that 10 years of friendship later, I'd be forced to cut all ties with her and question if she was ever really my friend at all.
I now realise that Abigail was a 'frenemy', a classic case of the portmanteau of 'friend' and 'enemy', as she swung between one or the other with a dizzying frequency. In academic circles, they are called 'ambivalent' friendships, and this week research found that having one could be as ageing for a person as smoking.
The study, from New York University, found that nearly 60 per cent of people reported having one or more 'difficult ties' and those who had a greater number of them experienced significantly higher levels of biological ageing than those who reported none.
Researchers found that even if the relationship was at times supportive, frenemies contributed to chronic stress through conflict, criticism or inconsistency. Every frenemy-style relationship added around two and a half months to a person's biological age. Previous studies have found that being around a frenemy triggers more stress responses than spending time with someone you hate.
The first warning sign that Abigail was a frenemy was when I noticed that she'd constantly ask me for favours. Every time she got in touch with me, it was to demand something small. 'Can you shout me lunch?' 'Can you cat-sit while I'm away?' 'Can you put in a good word?' 'Can you help put together some furniture?' I wanted to be a good supportive friend, so I normally complied. But whenever I needed her to help me out, she was usually unavailable.
The other red flag was her tendency to gossip, which at first I found funny, but gradually it started to feel downright mean. And when I realised she had been talking about me behind my back, telling friends things I had shared with her in confidence – like my plan to leave my job and go travelling – I felt betrayed.
Abigail was fiercely ambitious and I always suspected that she'd trample over me to get ahead. About three years into our friendship, she proved me right. We were both freelance writers and would often talk about work and bounce our ideas off each other. I pitched an idea to an editor, who responded with: 'How funny… someone called Abigail pitched the exact same idea – don't you know her?' I was simultaneously mortified and furious. When I confronted Abigail about it, she said she couldn't remember it being my idea and it was no big deal.
I should have cut off the friendship there and then, but when Abigail was on good form there was no one I enjoyed being around more. She could be loving and kind and confident. She was extremely generous – once surprising me at work with tickets to see Beyoncé. I often felt privileged to be part of her circle and told myself that when she said something backhanded and harsh – my new dress was 'interesting', my decision to get engaged 'very conventional' – she was just being honest. And wasn't that what real friends were for?
But whenever she would tease me about my past mistakes – bad haircuts, terrible boyfriends – her jokes always seemed to go a bit beyond some light ribbing and morph into something hurtful.
I began to feel like every time we met up, I came away feeling low and uneasy. During dinner or drinks, it would seem like we were having a perfectly nice evening, but when I got home I was left feeling totally drained. I realised that often the whole night had been about her, and she'd barely asked me a single question about myself before going back to her one-woman monologue.
I started to avoid seeing her – subconsciously at first, then intentionally. I'd make excuses as to why I couldn't hang out, and when I didn't come to her birthday party – I was on holiday – she left me a scourging voicemail for missing it.
I thought that might be the natural end to our friendship, but a few weeks later she called as if nothing had happened. She left me a voice message asking if I could help her move house, even though we'd not seen each other for months at that point. I felt physically sick at the thought of seeing her – but also of not seeing her again. After a few sleepless nights, I messaged her and told her I didn't think we could be in each other's lives any more but I wished her all the best.
She never replied, but I heard from mutual friends that she was furious and went around telling people that I'd 'dumped her'. For a long time afterwards – and even now – I feel a kind of grief about it. I sometimes wonder whether I should have set more boundaries and if we could've managed to stay friends. I hear songs on the radio or smell her perfume on someone else and feel very sad.
But at other times I remember how much stress she caused me and feel flooded with relief that she is no longer in my life. I'm happy that I can now channel that energy into friendships which feel less complicated.
Occasionally I'll meet someone who reminds me of Abigail and I'll give them a wide berth. Life is stressful enough – none of us need frenemies making it harder.
*Name has been changed
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