“Things get bad for all of us, almost continually, and what we do under the constant stress reveals who/what we are.” -Charles Bukowski, What Matters Most Is How Well You Walk Through the Fire

“When you’re struggling with something, look at all the people around you and realize that every single person you see is struggling with something, and to them, it’s just as hard as what you’re going through.”  -Nicholas Sparks

* * *

Some people think I’m mean. They don’t always use that word. Sometimes they say “hardass.” Other times, they say “cold,” “callous” or “hard.”

It doesn’t hurt my feelings. Not because I’m cold and unfeeling, but because they’re wrong. The adjectives people use to describe us are usually inaccurate. I’ll tell you a story from a few years ago about why that is.

I know a couple of women. Let’s call them Patty and Selma.

Selma_Patty
And let’s say they’re big fans of MacGyver.

I’ve known Patty and Selma for most of my life (though they aren’t a part of my life anymore). They can’t stand one another, which is normal for two people who have a negative disposition and are a lot alike. As you likely know, being in the middle of two unhappy people who despise one another is hard. It just isn’t fun listening to people badmouth one another nonstop. You can only make so many attempts at levity before you begin to wear down.

All you can do is protect your own happiness. Practice avoidance. Stop returning every phone call. Stop answering every email. Maintain a minimum of contact in an effort to avoid severing the relationship completely. Get on with your life.

This worked okay for me. For a while.

But, real life kept happening. Good things happened. Since real life is variety, it threw some bad things in, too. One of my close friends was dying from cancer back in the States. Through her blog and Facebook, I watched her slowly leaving, to go wherever it is that people go to when they stop being here.

Here in France, my husband Olivier’s aunt was fighting the same losing battle. Two people close to me, whom I loved and admired, were suffering and fading away.

That’s when Patty and Selma decided to kick things up a notch. I began receiving emails from both of them that were really nothing more than blindside attacks. Each one of them wanted to complain about all of the things I hadn’t done for them. They demanded attention. Sympathy. Money. Apologies. Things I could not provide, or was not willing to provide. Whatever difficulty they were dealing with in their lives, it somehow could be traced back to something I did or didn’t do.

I made the mistake of engaging with them. I called. I replied to emails. However, this only made things worse. When people are blaming you for things you have nothing to do with, or only speak in the language of guilt trips, delusions, insecurity or bullying, having a dialogue is not possible.

Unfortunately, I didn’t consider that at that time. Rather than walking away from irrationality, I interacted with it until the situation escalated.

hulk transformation
Pictured: My mental and emotional state at the time.

This went on. Olivier’s aunt went away, to wherever it is that people go to when they stop being here. A couple of weeks later, my friend went there, too.

Patty and Selma continued their shenanigans. I held my husband’s hand while he made funeral arrangements. I put on my dark funeral clothes and cried with my family. I mourned my friend. I read emails telling me what a terrible human being I am; what a terrible human being I’ve been since I was a child.

I lost a lot of sleep. My migraines, normally sporadic and under control, increased in severity and frequency. I began to have panic attacks, which is not a normal thing for me. Then came the morning I thought I was having a goddamn heart attack. I couldn’t breathe. I felt sharp pain, as though I were being stabbed in the chest. In the dark, quiet hours of early morning, I shook Olivier awake, crying, afraid that I might die.

He stumbled out of bed and called his father, who happens to be a doctor. Before the sun came up, I was at a clinic, in my pajamas, being poked and prodded.

It wasn’t a heart attack. It was my body screaming, breaking down, insisting that I’d reached my limit for bullshit.

To be fair, Patty and Selma had no idea what I was going through. Then again, they never asked.

I finally understood that Patty and Selma were toxic. Emotional vampires, sucking the life out of me.

patty_and_selma_dragon
Or an emotional two-headed dragon. Whatever.

In the end, I decided that protecting my physical, mental and emotional health are the most important things to me. Without them, I have nothing. I refuse to medicate simply to keep shitty people around. I severed the connection with the two-headed dragon. I blocked Facebook accounts, email addresses and phone numbers. I told the dragon to go away, to leave me alone.

It felt good. Damn good.

As my body and mind recovered, I sat down with the blank page and dealt with all my frustration, anger, and loss… because that’s the best way I know to cope with being a human being.

neil-gaiman-quote

Self-preservation can look an awful lot like being a total dick. That’s okay. I’m aware that my hard candy coating can come off as mean. Cold. Callous. I don’t care. My insides are happy and healthy for the time being and it feels good. The past few years with no toxic tomfoolery has been nice. Beneath that crunchy candy shell, it’s just as squishy and fragile as the next guy. Maybe even a little more… which is why I protect it so fiercely. If I had zero empathy, I sure as hell wouldn’t be a fiction writer.

The adjectives that people use to describe us often don’t mean anything… to us. To them… those words are heavy with meaning. But, there’s no reason to let them weigh you down. Even if it makes you seem like a dick.