I took a deep breath and headed for the room. This time, I flipped the script.

I made it my business to humiliate her in front of her buddies because she made me so very mad all over again, because she got her instant gratification in my being so apologetic and then jumped back into her silly little character all over again.

I was pissed. Pissed because I was always transparent, and she always takes, takes, takes, (always did since the beginning).

She takes everything, and spits out rations in return yet, hated for me to think or breathe without letting her know the who, what, when, where, why and how’s.

I hoped I could stay on and finish her up before they would block me out from typing because I came to let her have it.

When I entered, she was sitting in the room-probably looking at me and breathing hard and looking crazy as ever; wondering what the hell I was about to do and say.

“So what’s up, POET?” I asked confrontationally-sounding as if I was busting through the door.

“Nothing Cin, don’t start,” she replied, knowing me all too well.

 She knew what was up…

“I’m not starting anything, I think that’s you with all the tricks up your sleeves,” I responded.

She went on to talk about my disrespecting one of her “character” friends (in her head) and talking all her crazy talk. I just shook my head and watched her. She didn’t care either. She just kept rambling on with that crazy talk, then had to nerve to conclude with: “...And besides, I’m always so busy with the Vet thing, and I just don’t have time to argue and fight with you Cinamon.” (remember “Poet” was supposed to be a veterinarian).

To that I said: “Yeah, you are a vet! The TOP DOG of all this bullshit you done got started. Crazy girl, you are fuckin’ sick and you don’t even know it. You need to be seeing a professional, for real-like…really for real.” I drilled in.

She responded: “Go ahead and say what you want to say about me Cinamon, your words can’t hurt me, they can’t hurt me! They can’t hurt me!” she kept trying to assure herself.

I responded: “Oh how poetic. By the way, do a favor for me and spell out the word ‘Vet’ will you?”

It took her a few minutes. (She probably went to grab a dictionary or looked it up online): “V.E.T.E.R.A.N.A.R.I.A.N,” she spelled.

I responded: “Oh yeah, and while you’re at it, why don’t you look up the word “Zigadeeboo” and tell me whose face is next to it, will you?” I drilled.

“All right Cin…” she warned.

I then asked: “No I’m serious, is your face pictured there, huh? I’m sure it is. You’re so sick, it’s sad.”

She kept talking and sticking to her “Poet” character all the while I kept drilling in the insults about her (current) mental state (because she had others too).

I kept talking about considering how sick she was, how shocked I was that none of her buddies were normal either, and if so, they were enabling her to get sicker by the day. I told her how much a shame it was that they would even allow her to carry on this way knowing she really needed some help. I could tell that Janet really needed some help. The sad part about that is she has such control issues, and on top of that-has money; so she will never go and seek help. And the illegal part about what she does that (feeds her sickness) happens to be something that:

a)  she can afford (time, resources and money)

b)  she can be fed “life” from without her victims’ knowledge

…so she can do this for years at a time-a lifetime (and she has been doing it for many years—even before she came into my picture). 

I stopped lessoning my blows by referring to her as being eccentric, anymore. Janet is very sick, like...multi-sick, really (not a joke). It comes out at certain times. And the way she found a way to deal with it and keep it fed happens to be illegal (and habitual)-her buddies know it, too. She copes with her sickness just like I have coping strategies to deal with being the recipient of her sickness-because I have no way out and away from it. And for fourteen years I haven’t, so I cope...and I hope.

Her buddies on the other end, they know...they’re just eating from it so they aide and abed her in doing it no different than somebody who claims to be your friend but will keep you supplied with hard drugs (if you’re on hard drugs and you have the money to keep affording them). 

 Unless you’re unlucky enough to be caught in the clinches of being involved with her personally (away from the “Janet” that the public knows) you wouldn’t detect it. This thing for her was mental like a seemingly normal man at work with a good suit and tie on-who’s able to function and do his job. To his co-workers, he seems perfectly normal yet, after five, he had a compulsion for coming home and dressing up in a wig, full make-up, skirt, and high heels every day and into the night.

She has all the classic symptoms of something mental going on with her-I’ve seen them too many times to count. It’s some kind of extreme Dissociative Personality Disorder. I empathized with her-totally. Because I could tell it was real. But still, sitting right next to that-her “sane” self was never too far, and I was more interested in honing in on that, than to spend too much time aiding her in disassociating herself from reality. 

Her sane self was so clinically manipulative that if I let her know that I empathized with her too much; she would play on that with an undetectable and overwhelming kind of gentleness and kindness (to get into my good graces in case she ever needs it).

The confusing part about that is that beyond manipulation, in just normal conversation-her normal “way”--she is a sweet girl: naturally open, raw, and revealing (if she loves you with her strange brand of “love”).

Janet knows how to work on you. And she gets me every time.

The thing I noticed about her is that she could come in and out of both sides of herself like someone with Multiple Personality Disorders can come in and out of their different personalities, then eventually back to their [her] “self.” But her “self” has elements of being kind and gentle (but mostly for the purpose of manipulation and getting what she wants from you whether it’s affection, sex, empathy, some kind of favored reaction from you, or just---You).

The bigger part of her “self” is very manipulative, very cunning and very slick.

In dealing with her, I learned that even if I started to put forth [this thing I assessed about what I think about her—her being sick in this way], she will play on that to derive pity and empathy from me because she’s auto-manipulative and has a way of literally sickening everyone around her with something-that becomes of, and changes them as a result of dealing with her for so long.  I know, because I’m that person. She will damage you. She, it, this, and they already have. Inevitably, dealing with her for a long period of time; you are going to come out with something wrong with you as a result of her:

1)  extreme manipulation

2)  dissociative illness or

3)     illegal voyeurism

...And I do not care to elaborate on what that is-I just cope and hope...

She’s a danger to herself and because of what she does [to feed her sicknesses] it makes her a danger to other people as well, especially because they won’t know it, and she gets fatter (sicker) from feeding off that.

As long as her co-conspirators keep the secret along with her, she can do this thing indefinitely-until the day she dies.

She has the money, time, resources and anonymity to be able to feed this need and keep it going on forever-undetected. Because keep in mind that as I write this (on this 2013 date), this thing (with me) began in 1999. And all these years she’s been as much a part of my life as I have been hers-so I can speak for knowing that how she is and what she does, goes on and on and on. Rene knows-he got lucky and got away, and then got 11 million dollars and a home in Malibu taped to his mouth. The irony of that is, he got away from her arms reach-but what he knows (like I know) is that as long as she is free and living out in the world-and still associating with the same people that she “interact” ’s with; he’s just walking around with a Malibu home and 11 million dollars, but he’s still not free from Janet-he and I both know this.                  

Play with that for a second...

For me, it had been a struggle over the years of fighting (and caring) to redirect her, but I’m nothing and nobody compared to an unnatural habit that’s fed her for many years even before my walking into her mess. I’m nothing and nobody compared to the people that assist her, aide, abet, and enable her (and too) are right within arms reach of her.

That being said, I turned it on them (her buddies):

“Come on, somebody, anybody. I know it’s got to be at least one normal motherfucker working for you!” I yelled, waiting for one of her buddies to read what I wrote so they could respond.

Her craziness continued:

Janet (“Poet”) logged off and came back as the “Forgotten One” (a nickname made from a line out of one of her songs called “God’s Stepchild”).

Whenever we would argue in the room while she was the “Poet,” she would always leave the room and come back as the “Forgotten one,” and then she’d come down under “LuckyOne” when we would be getting along.

If there was any normalcy about her crazy; that was about one of the most normal nicknames she could have come down under actually, because she should have considered herself the “LuckyOne” to have had somebody like me in her life putting up with her crazy ass.

I posted: “Oh now you are the ForgottenOne again. Girl you just don’t know how much I’d love to forget you. If you didn’t have these taps and tags on my life and I was 100% positive that I could get you out of my life, I would drop your ass like it’s hot…I SWEAR!”

I wouldn’t stop. I kept flooring her with the insults. It got worse. By this time she was yelling: “NO! NO! NO! NO! NO! NO! NO! NO!” over and over, like a crazy person covering their ears.

In my virtual world, I stared at her (the screen) with my face twisted and tilted to the side; watching her carry on like a kid having a tantrum, swinging her arms and yelling at me.

All I could do was shake my head and keep looking at her yell: “NO!” over and over in chat. It was crazy. She was losing it. When I got a breather in, I posted:

“Man, I’m gonna quit fucking with your crazy ass real soon girl I swear. I don’t know what you are going to do when I stop caring about my life being tapped. Your ass is gonna be bored then.” 

“Alright Cin” she warned, again-in her normal/Janet self (that was sitting right beside her crazy self). 

“Alright my ass, look at your crazy lil’ self. Just look at you!” I replied.

Next, the nickname “Janetbabe” came down (in bold).

Finally-someone normal, a normal buddy of hers was trying to get her to calm down from making a fool of herself. I had to respond:

“Finally somebody with some sense! I knew there was somebody on her team who had some kind of sense. Will you control this damn girl? Y’all got to know she is sick. Y’all got to know,” I said (but I guess I got too carried away), so “Janetbabe” said to me:

“Um I’d watch what I say, even if I were talking to Janet…”

I raised my brow.

I guess that was my warning, and they were most probably telling her how much a fool of herself she was making.

Although “Janetbabe” came down to tap her on the shoulder to tell her to calm down, he/she also felt the need to tell me I had better as well.

But then “BuGABOO” came down after I got quiet.

“So Good” and “Bugaboo” by Destiny’s Child were songs that were getting heavy rotation in my computer’s CD Rom, so they knew the nickname would give me a jolt. I knew they were crapping on Janet for behaving like a bugaboo, so I started singing the chorus to “Bugaboo.”

“Oh you’re trying to be funny Cin?” said Janet (the Forgotten One). 

I responded: “No, I was just singing a song called “Bugaboo” by Destiny’s Child, oh Forgotten One, that’s all.”

I then posted the chorus to “So Good.”  

“Ok Cin. Alright…” she said. I replied: “No, that’s just another song of theirs that I really like too,” I laughed to myself-fucking with her head.

She knew me so well and knew I was trying to be funny.

She just stared.

“BuGABOO” came back down repeating the words to the song “Bugaboo” too, but posted: “break my knees so I can move ‘cause you’re a bugaboo, a bugaboo…”

I laughed and said:

“Hey “BuGABOO,” don’t you think it would be a lot easier if you broke your lease so you could move—like the song says?

I would think breaking your knees would make it kinda hard for you to move, ya think?”

“Yeah Cin, LoL. It would…” he/she laughed (and ended) with ellipsis.’ 

I figured that “Janetbabe” and “BuGABOO” was the same person. I guess he/she had to “warn” me or (subliminally threaten) me after humiliating Janet the way that I did.

So maybe it was my knees they were talking about breaking.  

Although I knew in the back of my mind, I was really far from victorious in this whole ordeal; any little bit counted for me. I felt like any little win during any coping strategy used (whether I chilled, cooperated, or submitted-and especially when I would win during a fight) gave me pieces of my mental and emotional self back-even if it was just a smidgen, it helped while in the interim; helped her, by turning a mirror to her face and forcing her see herself, because I could tell that her buddies would never dream of doing it. I don’t think her buddies were necessarily “yes men,” as a matter of fact; it seemed to me that they had more on her that could ruin her than she could ruin them without she + all of them going down as one. (I say that because of that third-person statement she made to me that July 10th day about “someone being in a cult” and as well, that July 16th panic-attack where she bluntly stated to me “the people that I interact with can take me down in one minute flat”). So her buddies wouldn’t be afraid to turn a mirror to her face like the regular “yes men” in people’s lives [who are famous, have money and because they’re scared or intimidated] no--her buddies were definitely not. And too, they wouldn’t care to redirect her, help her see herself or care to hide the truth from her because they cared-and didn’t want to hurt her or shatter her “world” either. What they were doing was enabling her to do and live in a way that was no different than keeping an addicted person high. If Janet “gets well” all that she is doing (illegal, unhealthy, and otherwise), there will be no need (and no work) for them. There’s nothing else to do if they don’t assist her in escaping reality by stealing real realities and creating lives and another kind of reality for her.

At any rate, she must have seen herself in that mirror I turned to her. She came to the room again to explain herself:

“I’m not crazy Cinamon, it’s just that I need an outlet sometimes. All my life I have been performing on stage and this enables me to kick back and have some downtime and this relaxes my mind.”

She rambled on about it over and over, I guess until she got her tap on the shoulder from her “coach” telling her that she sounded too much like Janet (her real self).

She then switched her story and said: “I meant, how I need an outlet from acting-performing poetry on stage…”

I just shook my head and told her that I understood, but that it only wasted such precious time and I didn’t like it.

She knew what I meant, just like I knew what she meant…

We sat there and stared at one another without saying a word. I didn’t know if she was still mad at me, and she didn’t know if I was mad at her, so I just tried to blow it all off for her emotional sake-still-knowing deep down inside that in a war of words with facts and truth; I could remove any sheep’s clothing and too, could handle her better than she could manipulate, threaten, control, or anger me. So I eased out of the room somehow, while she was talking to someone else there.

In all this time-that was a milestone for me-her admitting what I felt was true: that the other part of this was some kind of escape from her worldly reality-affording her to be, and live several realities in order to feel like a real person from beyond the glitter, glam, and illusion that she’s lived since birth. With having her say that from her mouth (rather than my setting the stage for her to manipulate me from the kind of understanding, care and empathy I’d usually give her); the fact that it came straight from her mouth as a reply-to me, meant that she was aware, and not in denial about everything I felt about her mind state. Because if she was in denial, then to me, she would definitely be beyond repair (all things considered, convenient and accessible to her)…

Although there were parts of the makings of creating realities for her that I’d never agree with, throughout all my anger and humiliating her; I couldn’t ignore other elements about this, it, and her that a side of me would rather ignore altogether, and instead-totally shit on her and mind-fuck her even more.

No, I was never going to be “ok” with it all, but the fact of the matter was: I was no freer of her than a man with 11 million dollars and a Malibu home was[n’t] free of her. So, I went back to the drawing board of my coping strategies: chill, cooperate, and submit… 

The next day, I wrote her so as to let her know that I just wanted do away with the whole issue from the exhausting previous day. I was kind-and she was receptive (and needed that from me):  

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