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If I never believed there was a God, I believed after that day, because somebody put their hands on me and fucking saved me from something else that wanted my mind and body into another world. In that moment, I could clearly feel what it was like for a sane minded to person to go through a mental breakdown to the point where they never returned back to normal again. And I was in that moment, then I passed: The. Fuck. Out.
In the middle of night, I woke up on my tummy. My body was so light.
I opened my eyes and looked around my room-everything still looked the same. I ran downstairs to the bathroom to cut on the bright light so that I could feel and see my face that I couldn’t stop touching and examining on route to it. I was altogether there.
I put my hands on my hips and began to pace the floors of my house to make sure I didn’t check out and was fully up and in one piece: mind, body, and soul. I sat on the couch and stuffed my feet into the thick cushions then turned on the television and let it watch me.
About an hour later, I got two phone calls.
The first one, they hung up. I then sat up and wiped the sandman out of my eyes.
The second one, they just sat there and just held the phone for as long as I would say “hello.”
I knew it was Janet, so I held the phone for a little longer with her, still angry, but feeling horrible deep down inside that we had gotten down to this. She was on the other end breathing hard, hurt, and probably crying because of all the insulting, mean, terrible, nasty, and disrespectful things I had said about her to that girl on the phone. Although I felt bad deep down inside, I couldn’t let myself care anymore because of all the things she had done to me, allowed to be done to me, was still doing that as far as I could see, was never going to end.
My numbness was pulsating to a near flat line for her tears and manipulation anymore. I don’t even remember who hung up first. Alls I know is that we did…
────♦────
I stayed away for a little while and pretty much didn’t plan on going back, but as usual, it didn’t work out like that. When she would do something to my computer, call and hang up, run those series of beeps, call someone’s house and hang up after I’d use their phone, or disconnect my computer and force me to go to the school’s computer lab to log into the room from there, I would step in to give her some presence-what she wanted.
Slowly, we worked our way up to not being angry at each other anymore.
Friday July 16, this was the night the movie “The Wood” came out. “Jiggs” told me she was going go see it with a girlfriend of hers, but that she wanted to talk later on when she got back.
When this wild thing returned from the movies, she told me about how she met a guy named Deion who was really cute, and how she wore her tank shirt showing her abs of steel honey! Jiggs said she was looking “wayyyy too good.” She talked about Taye Diggs’ ass and how on one part you could almost see his penis. I just shook my head and listened to this wild thing carry on-acting out her fantasies of the normal kind.
After Jiggs calmed down a bit, I let her carry on with me in I.M and watched her do her thing with her buddies in the room at the same time. This computer shit was her life. Me?
Date: 7/16 Time: 19:00:30, angela on DEFAULT
Virus scanning completed.
Items scanned: C:-D: F: H:
She didn’t say a word, neither did I.
All of a sudden “Rene { authorized}”rolled down in the chat room as her buddies hid behind various nicknames
Whoever hid behind this nickname asked if anyone in the room knew how to get in touch with him. No one responded. It was bizarre. I just shrugged my shoulders while the room just carried on, and the person went away…
I could only assure her the play-by-play:
Yes, he stepped away from the backstage gate and came over and chatted with me and my girl Posh.
Yes, he got comfortable and copped a squad in the seat in front me us, crossed his legs and we pretty much talked and watched McLyte’s whole set-before Janet came on. As Lyte was wrapping up, he then turned and said “well I gotta get back here to Janet…”-and before he could finish, people around me started noticing who he was-Janet’s boyfriend. The squeals started. While preparing to sign his autograph on the tour book, ink exploded in his hands. A couple of people were asking for his autograph as he was trying to hurry away. He then laughed and said “look what you got started.” I laughed and said: “Dang Rene, I wanted to get some pictures!” He then signaled with his hand and said “follow me, you’ve got to come down here.”
Other than, early into this, while lurking, he saw her trying to get at me-and perhaps he tried to make her jealous? (because I did mention to him-who I was and I’m sure if she wasn’t lurking-it got back to her from her buddies). I dunno. I couldn’t fathom what this reach was all about because I had no access to him or his whereabouts. Whatever it was, she had some kind of information that made her take this to this level. And if it wasn’t for the fact that I know for a fact that she was lusting and liking me before she came after me that January 21st day (with “Drama”); I would doubt her heart’s sincerity completely-and I assure you, this story would have gone a whole lot different than this.
I continued to watch.
They even went so far as dropping those big lettered fonts that Rob would use-trying to make [me?] think it was him. But I knew better, because Rene or Rob hadn’t been in the room since mid-January when I last talked to either of them. I couldn’t, for the life of me, understand what the hell would have made them think I would fall for that trick. Besides, the last talk of the room about Rob was that he and Tina were not together anymore and as for Rene and Janet-well, you know…
Both times they came in as the fake Rene and the fake Rob, I was in I.M with Janet off to the side (so it could have even been her). I didn’t know if she expected me to say to her: “Hey look who’s in-Rene” the one day or: “Hey look who’s in-Rob!” the other time. She didn’t mention: “Hey, there’s Rob!” or : “Hey, there’s Rene!” either time, so neither did I. But I do know that I had been in I.M with her several times before and if Shawn or any other one of her employees would come in the room {authorized}, she would say: “Hey look! There’s…” So I knew that the fake/authorized Rene and the fake/authorized Rob were staged and done for a reason…
I just shook my head once again, because I didn’t know quite what to make of all that. I do know however, that Jiggs was coming down off of her “high” from her night out at the movies, and she was at a loss for words after a while. She caught me by surprise and totally off-guard. Little did I expect, she had a major sucker attack coming on.
I knew in my heart that Janet was missing her love and business partner of 13 years.
She broke down and cried. It was so very sad.
This day-July 16-was actually his birthday, and she went through it this night. I guess because it was his first birthday without her in all these years, it felt weird for her. She and I would be throwing words at each other off and on in I.M and then all of a sudden she had come back bursting to tears, telling me how she was going to kill herself and how terrible she was feeling.
She started telling me how she was trying to find the only pills in the house she had: Tylenol, so that she could take them all. I could hardly get a word in, because it was so sudden, dramatic and traumatic. It startled me shitless. I begged her to calm down and tell me what the problem was. I assured her that she had my undivided attention and that she could trust me and talk to me; hoping my telling her how much I loved her was enough.
I said to her: “I love you and I do care. Isn’t that good enough a reason to want to live? I love you girl, I do and I care. I know what you are feeling and going through tonight…Just talk to me.”
She replied: “I know you do. And I know can trust you. It’s just…” she said.
“It’s just…what? Talk to me. Please talk to me (((((((holding you tight)))))))” I responded.
“It’s that plus everything. I mean…The people…The people I interact with…” she confessed.
“Tell me, I’m listening…I’m here for you,” I told her.
She told me she was crying uncontrollably. She asked that I give her a second.
“What are they doing to you! What is it that you are feeling right now?” I demanded to know.
“I don’t know, I just feel…” she got quiet again.
“I hope you are not fooling around girl—trying to get a rise out of me, because this shit aint funny,” I said.
“NO I’M SERIOUS! I’M CRYING MY HEART OUT AND DON’T KNOW WHAT TO DO!!! You can I.M my friend: loxxxxixxm2x8 SHE WILL TELL YOU! I’M CRYING MY HEART OUT!!!!” she yelled.
I responded: “No I’m not going to I.M her, I want you to throw some words out to me about what it is and how you are feeling right now.”
She took too long to reply so threw some words out at her.
“Unappreciated?”…
“Yes,” she replied.
“You gotta help me out,” I said.
She paused for a while-then she responded: “They can just take me down in one minute flat!” she confessed.
I didn’t know how to respond to that-because that one was unexpected as well.
My mind instantly flashed back to that one Sunday when I was in the room arguing with all of them and she mentioned something about a cult. I just waited on her to say more about it but she didn’t.
“I’m sleepy, I’m so sleepy and I’m about to go to bed,” she said.
“Okay, but I need your word that I’ll hear from you tomorrow you hear me woman?” I demanded.
“Yes, yes…here, email me here: EsCaPaDexxxxx@aol.com okay? I love you,” she said.
“I love you” I returned. “Goodnight…” I finished.
I knew she knew how to manipulate me when she felt I was slipping away, just like I knew that she and I would probably be at each other’s throats tomorrow or the next day.
At this moment though, I didn’t care-she needed somebody and she wanted to vent. She’s manipulative, she can be vicious, she can be vindictive, but you still love her just as hard (if you ever did love her)-you can’t help to. All I wished was for her to not feel this way from this point through and until the morning hours brought her a new character, a new emotion and most of all-new sun.
Well, I got my wish.
I was concerned about her and put the new email she had just given me to use.
Sometime in the early morning, I sent her an email asking how she was doing and feeling-telling her to promise me that what happened last night would never happen again. I told her to promise me that if I was not around, she would never go through it alone and to find somebody that she trusts to help her through (rather than Tylenol). I told her that I hoped she was okay and I expected to hear from her by the end of the day. She wrote back:
Date: Sat, 17 Jul 06:01am PDT
From: EsCaPaDexxxxx@aol.com
To: xxxxxxxxxmon@netscape.net
Subject: Re:.
I am fine…Don’t worry about me. Thank you for your support. I love you for it very much.
Love J…
When I went back to my Hell Mail to select the email that I wrote to check on her (only so that I could reply/send another email from it), she had gone into my account deleted it quicker than a New York minute. I mean, it was gone like I had never written it. The only thing that sat in my Hell Mail was her response to it [advising me not to worry about her as if nothing ever happened]. Feeling shut out, I took a deep breath and wrote:
Date: Sat, 17 Jul 08:17am PDT
From: EsCaPaDexxxxx@aol.com
To: xxxxxxxxxmon@netscape.net
Subject: thought
Well dang…I just thought about writing you to let you know that I got it. I aint on that stuff
you’re thinking…Take care ok. Bye.
I didn’t talk to her for the rest of that Saturday, that entire Sunday, nor Monday morning. She was M.I.A.
One thing about me that I’ve always firmly believed is this one thing: The night-time brings on emotions, and things said and done that often times in the daylight hour; probably would have been felt, said, done differently (or not at all). The night time is “dark” and where all things “dark” get life breathed into it. It’s where we hide out or escape. After breaking our fast, the morning time is that tell-tell sign about any decision we made (or anything said or done in the night-time hours). The sunshine brings clarity and sheds light on everything said, done or attempted [in the night before].
I feel as though for anybody, when you do or say something in the night time, by morning; your actions will do one or the other thing:
-follow (what you did, said, or felt in the night-time hours)
OR
-deviate (from what you did, said, or felt in the night-time hours)
…and for me, in my eyes…she completely deviated from it. Not just that she showed me she didn’t trust me anymore than the start of all this (by deleting the email), but that her emotion was completely devoid of any care or concern that I genuinely had for what she was going through last night. If she could have said more-she would have, because she was ready to die that July 16th night-literally…
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Monday morning, Shauntay called and told me that she was skipping work since Shanina was off from school and asked if I could come over for lunch. Despite her being M.I.A, because I knew Janet was probably somewhere in the world on guard, I told Shauntay that I had a pretty busy day ahead of me, but if I got around to it, I would stop over.
Around 12:30 that afternoon, Shauntay ordered a pizza for us all. Her side: Pepperoni, and my side-my usual: Green olives, black olives, pineapples, artichoke and spinach.
Well, after the pizza guy called to say that the pizza was on its way, Shauntay’s phone rang. When she picked up, she got those notorious series of beeps ringing in her ear. I didn’t know if these beeps that Janet would send over to the house of wherever I visiting was a process happening, or a warning that she knew where I was. Regardless, by this time, Shauntay had been more than briefed on the entire situation, so she knew it was Janet.
“Yes! That’s it!” I replied and laughed.
Shauntay hung up the phone.
The phone rang again. Janet did her usual: hung up at half ring-my cue.
Shauntay looked at me and burst into a loud laughter and said: “Okay now when your pizza gets here, you gotta GO! Go HOME to your WOMAN girl! It’s close to 2 and you know you are supposed to be at home in the heffer’s face!”
We laughed.
I knew she probably just wanted to talk, because we hadn’t talked in two entire whole days plus the rest of Saturday (which was actually long for us).
I guess she was feeling better now-that made me happy.
When the pizza came, I sat around for a little bit longer and then I rushed to get on with her because I knew she was waiting patiently.
I had to log on from the computer at my school because since that Saturday morning that we last talked, Janet’s digerati had been doing something with my computer that had everything scrambled. No matter what site or place online I went to, even outside all my connections to her, all words were scrambled in squares.
When I logged on (from school), she was so happy and excited. I smiled at her. Euphoric and high again, she was her playful self that I loved, she just kept posting: “EXCITED” “EXCITED” “EXCITED,” as if she was clapping her hands while jumping up and down on a bed.
She was so cute sometimes and I was so very excited with her, but between each smile and each blink of my eyes, I kept thinking about that same “excited” feeling I felt several times before and by the end of the day, she would have me near tears. I know just how she is.
The next day, we would be at each other’s throat over something, so lately I had been trying really hard not to get so relaxed with her when she was “EXCITED,” cute, and sweet like this, and no matter how much I tried to show her that I cared and could be trusted, she would pull the rug right from beneath my feet just like she did this past Saturday when she deleted my email merely expressing my concern for her and about her breakdown from the previous night. To add insult to ISP, they disabled my entire computer from functioning altogether, because of [my caring and concerned email that I sent to her-now deleted].
After my June 3-June 21 break, summer school had good and started back up again and it just so happened that I had no papers due on Monday, and if I did, I would have been screwed-because I had zero access to my computer at all, not even a mere word.doc.
She’s shown me that she knows how to get things done with a savvy group of people working in the wings to assist her in all her evil deeds, and waiting in the wings to assist her in all her sweet, cute deeds, too.
Everything in the room was Kosher-dill in this pickle we were in, but I told her I could only hang out at the school’s computer lab until like four o’clock and we could not talk on I.M from there because it was not set up at the particular lab I was in at the time.
When four o’clock rolled around, I had to bring our happy lil’ “EXCITED” cute, and sweet day we were having to a close.
“Why Cin, why can’t you stayyyy?” she asked, gleefully.
“Girl, I have to go because I will get a ticket on my car, but hopefully …when I get home…I will have full access to my computer…huh, you think? Maybe?” I said, hinting that I wanted them to finish up whatever they were doing to it so that I could use it when I got there.
“LoL!” was all she said.
Later that evening, I did have access to my computer, but it was very slow. So I didn’t stay in the room, or talk to her in I.M that long because it was too difficult and annoying to even try to use.
I was so winded of this (and her), and I knew that something was going to have to give.
I refused to wait until I was angry and at another point in time when I would break down in mind, because I knew that if I got to that point ever again, I was not going to check back in-I had my chance already.
I had to get a plan together, since I knew that there was no way out of dealing with her (unless by some turn of events) she got unexcited and decided to go away. I saw that happening no time soon either. The day I could see that happening would be a day she was able to walk to the corner store to buy and pack a bubblegum, chew it, and walk down the street whistling without a bodyguard or paparazzi in sight or paying her any attention: No time soon.
In between the times that I too, would get happy that she was “EXCITED” (and sweet and cute) I would get frustrated, agitated and on-guard; wondering how long, and what the hell was she going to do next-and more importantly-how far she would go to turn it up on me and my life.
All I knew is that whatever she wished to do, it could only make me look like the crazy one and leave her smelling like a rose.
I looked at it like this:
I already made a deal with this woman that she sure as hell was not about to let me out of easily or in any way that would be fair or in care of me at all.
And each day, I became more and more caught up into her web of the web (a.k.a: her life)-depleting me of mine with nothing to fight with and no way to take it all back.
The only thing I could tell myself was: “Ok, since you already made a deal with the devil…then deal with the devil.” Yeah, I’m going to have to deal with her-my way…and by way of the thing that I do best…
────♦────
5
GLUTTONY
- excess in eating or drinking, greedy or excessive indulgence
“During a close conversation we were having, she said knew she was guilty of selfishness and greed-and to hell with whoever had a problem with it. LoL. It was pretty funny because it was in one of her more sensual moments of a conversation (although she still meant what she said). But what I think she meant was that she was gluttonous and she was; well over “greed.” Because whatever she liked in sex, virtuosity, madness, goodness or badness; she had to have it to a power over-explainable: excessively. All things considered, I know that in order to balance this thing out, I was going to have to do something for me that would definitely leave a sour taste in her mouth. And with this
thing, if she really loved me like she said she did, she would understand-and still be with me, and if she didn’t-she would leave me. I would have to cross that bridge when we got to it in order to be able to determine if this (for us) would be a bridge, or troubled waters ahead. So, here goes…everything.”
That night time blindness is a motherfucker.
The decisions and finalities of all that we say, think, feel and do should never be made final in the night-time hours. I don’t trust new decisions made in the night-time from people.
I had my night of contemplation about what I needed to do, and just like I don’t trust night time decisions from anybody else, I don’t make my own decisions final in the night-time either and if I do, the morning will tell me the right thing (if the night-time wouldn’t let me wait).
Morning came. I felt the same…
I figured it was time for me to put my head in front of my heart, some pep in my step and quit being such a sucker and a fool her-by making a decision to look out for me, first. Because one thing’s for certain: she’s looking out for herself first, and not even the love she claims to have for me is going to stand in the way of that. In the bigger scheme of things, I’d be an even bigger fool to think otherwise.
It had been going on seven months into this thing, and for the very first time, on this July 20th morning (ironically-Shauntay’s birthday); I was able to step outside of this ordeal and look at myself to really see what was going on. I had a very long talk with myself the way that I would advise one of my own friends if they were involved in this same exact predicament:
“Regardless whatever feels good and feels right about anything in this, there is nothing, and I do mean nothing “normal” about it-all the way down to the person you’re involved with. I can soften the blow by shedding light on the dark facts of it by stating another fact that you cannot ignore: this whole thing is just as unstable as she is unstable and volatile her literal damned self.
The scariest part about it is that the unstable and volatile person involved is the one with the money, the power, the resources, the access to the media and the ability to turn this lil’ secret love nest you have into a bad-bad situation, that by the time she is done with you; she can have you looking like a completely packaged idiot. In an effort to prove your trustworthiness, here you are having turned yourself inside out to this bitch to the point of having a paper trail of all true facts about you and your part in this-down to your real name-all in the palm of she and her team’s hands.
But you on the other hand; have no power in this that you can control other than whatever she opened up to you to reveal in order to give you some security that I’m sure that with the touch of a button, her people can flip and undo to make you look like a damned fool in five minutes of this love nest your ass has set up over here and built with this broad. Without Rene’s help and your documenting everything, 80% of what you have is circumstantial by conversation or testimony. 100% of what she has is all-true, you (and in print).
Fuck who she is, what she tells you, and how all over you she is in an effort to prove her love to you. Use your head. If you were completely convinced of her love, you wouldn’t have red flags all over the fields of your mind constantly reminding you to be on your toes with her. If this was completely and 100% about her getting with you the right way, there wouldn’t be some many things that she and her cohorts do to upset you and antagonize you over silly shit that y’all go through over her tantrums (which are never ending I might add).
You can’t win or have a relationship with somebody unstable like her and who has access to knowing things about you that the average partner in a relationship would have to sit back and trust but not know or hang around long enough to learn. A relationship cannot grow healthy with a jump-start and heads up like that. It cannot work, it’s impossible. She didn’t get a chance to get to you like she does everybody else: spy on them enough to have them checked out, meet, get her shit off, part ways, spy on them and tap their phones and whereabouts and shit, then cut them loose after a few or no more trysts. You pressing ‘pause’ on her getting to you “in 3 hours” shifted the game in a big way that forced her to do something she never took the time to do with everybody else: Get to really know you and love you. Now she’s revealed herself to you and what it is she does, and because of-you are indebted to her for more ways than your ass think you are. Now she and her people have to be on you in more ways than they planned for—more than for “love” for you.
This is about life now, and her livelihood-and this thing can get ugly. But considering her-how she is…count on it. She is too volatile, too unstable, and she’s got way too much money, worldly power and influence over the same world of people who are going to send you to the nut house at the very moment she pulls the plug and you’re not prepared to go toe-to-toe with this bitch. If you think that one girl on her team, that one night was enough to set you off on the telephone, what are you going to do when this sick bitch sends the world to your door?
You may not have her money, her worldly power and influence, but you are smarter and savvier than she and her people are technologically smart and savvy. And you had better start acting like it- fast.
They can only and specifically act and move from the inside looking out from her ego. You have an advantage too. And one that you had better begin to value like the world values her over you. You are on the inside, but a part of that same outside looking at her ego, but unlike them; you are in the know about her alter egos, and her real self-having been the victim of her ego and her power. You have her more cornered she and they can push buttons to hurt you but only if you get it all on paper.
There is no way you can relay the intricacies of this complicated story in a matter of three minutes to an hour with a microphone in your face like you can do on paper. And you had better collect your paper trail on her ass and prepare to chronicle this tale to tell in the event that she pulls that plug…that’s your only fight and defense. You can be rested in assured that pulled plug is coming, and they have been preparing it since the first day she came at you in-even in the name of adoration and lust. She’s already seven months ahead of you. You, my dear, had better get seven months caught up in less than seven days-seven hours if you can.
Stop tossing your silly little yellow tape of caution to the wind and going at these seven deadly sins with her devil ass on “love” and a type of loyalty that she wouldn’t give to you even if she wanted to.
She’s got a whole machine behind her that’s got to eat—families to feed-that don’t give two shits about you or even her “love” for you. You had better put as much caution and care into the seriousness of your own life and career as she and her people place on hers and theirs. Start NOW. These 7 months of bullshit is something you can get caught up on in 7 hours or 7 days at minimum! Because that’s the only luck and defense you’ve got in this pickle you’re in dear. If you want to sit back and love her crazy ass like her crazy loves you-fine. That’s between you and her. But be your own machine too-like she has her machine (that doesn’t give a flying fuck about you). That way, if you wish to keep dealing with her, you will be armed and ready down to the wire. But right now at this very moment in time, your shit is on click-click boom, and you’re the one unprepared to detonate when the real war begins. Love doesn’t love anybody. Your time is ticking.”
…is the advice I would have given to someone else, so I answered my self back-the same way.
I spent the night [hand]writing the outline and timeline and prepared to go right in with the story-all truths-my part that I played in this thing and her part too. I had no time for fabrication, lies, and creative cover-ups on either of our parts if I was to get caught up and get this story chronicled and on the go. I put a special star with a circle around it in areas of the timeline where I needed to pull emails to duplicate them in the story, but because I knew she had access to my email account that we used between us; I put that on the back burner-until then, I could write the story around the emails. I knew what happened on what dates and what times because I had so much saved on the “BULLSHIT” discs for a while from January through March when things got crazy and she started freezing and fucking with my computer after I quit her chat room.
I was armed and ready to go.
Bright and early, I got up and went to my school’s computer
lab to take my chances. Skipping all classes, I started at 8 a.m. I went to a different lab that I had never talked to her from, feeling like I would have a special kind of peace without one computer in that whole room reminding me of anywhere I sat during the many evenings and days that I would have to run there to beg her to give me my service back at my own home.
From the time I laid my finger on the first key and my thoughts started to flow, I felt something come over me that I hadn’t felt since she had taken from me one of my loves; my outlets-writing (in peace). Although this piece was very necessary for my emancipation, I was writing in peace-regardless. The feeling was like a “fix,” if you will. I was on a roll-just flowing. The story started pouring out. But at exactly 2 p.m., after I had gotten to the part about how Rene and I met, my computer completely froze just like the way she would do my computer at home…
Considering the moment in the story the computer froze, I knew it was her. I had been through this thing with her for long enough to know her moves, and how she moved. It was like she sat there and watched me do the first thirteen pages until she gathered exactly how I met Rene and what had occurred. That was her only missing link to the puzzle (thus far)…
She got her chance to fill in some blanks, so I was kind of relieved that she did read that part and found out that was all that occurred when I met him.
The screen was frozen for about five minutes, no need to panic. Of course I knew what was going on but didn’t worry about it either. I only worried about how I was going to be able to get this ordeal on paper to get myself caught up to date. I needed this.
Since my breakdown that night, I woke up a little stronger and a little less emotionally detached from her-the worry, the fear. Since that time, Lauryn’s “Ex-Factor” was the second song whose lyrics were true to life from me to her that I just hadn’t put through my CD Rom’s speakers for her to hear yet-for she had already lost one part of me that (after my breakdown that night) I didn’t have in me anymore for her.
I still cared about her and loved her but at this point, I could take her or leave her. If she left me alone it sure as ![written in the stars // gmw: lucas friar [discontinued] - girl meets rah, rah, rah! - Wattpad](https://img.wattpad.com/e56acd46833b17020623a455a0ddb613cf32ab6d/68747470733a2f2f73332e616d617a6f6e6177732e636f6d2f776174747061642d6d656469612d736572766963652f53746f7279496d6167652f6478484963526f774355435330673d3d2d3832313035333339392e313565343964666266343432626234633432303130393538353331322e676966)
I would never fully have my life back to the way it was before her unless it was she who walked away. If she would walk away, that would leave me no choice-and she knew that too, but she never would, despite at times going off on her own and hooking up with a couple of Hollywood dudes, and few industry honeys [and even telling me about those people in an effort to go her own way] still, she could leave, but she tried hard to-a couple of times.
Call it her karma and my biggest spiritual life lesson; for many years after this and from different spectrums of our individual lives, this predicament snowballed into a mountain that neither she nor I could handle. It became bigger than the both of us after some time that (behind the scenes of her public) I know for a fact-eventually affected her career down to the minutes before her major debacle, and every other flop, and venue cancellation.
This predicament affected my entire life as I once knew it and would never be again, for me. She blew my mind so much and in so many ways, for so many years (even after I started writing the story) that I had to dig deeper into what I already knew about her-because I knew there had to be more (that obviously) she was not going to tell me. I just knew it was more to her story, this “thing” with me, and this whole Internet thing. And low and behold, I found much more than I never even expected.
I knew that the use of “character names” and nicknames was a very big deal with
them in her room, so I started my research there. I headed over to a completely different college’s computer lab and sunk myself into that chair all day one Saturday afternoon and began my research first, by researching one of the main character nicknames that she used with me-the most that caught my attention: “Kajira”(the one she said meant: “slave to passion.)I found out that a “Kajira” was indeed a submissive slave in this lifestyle called “Gorean” (very similar to BDSM) where the choice to inflict psychological, mental, and physical pain upon the submissive was not a necessary practice for the lifestyle; but total power exchange, 24/7, dominance and submission, and servitude (especially) was the name of the game.
Upon deeper investigation, I began to look up several nicknames used by she and her friends in the room (whose names I purposely omitted while writing the story) and through searching those names, I landed right into the online game that Janet and her friends were the players of the rituals, and the screenshots from last played. I started printing my ass off when I came upon the pages.
It was by the stroke of luck and my memory recalling one particular friend’s name that Janet mentioned to me in conversation before whereby that same friend’s name; I hit the jackpot…and through her
ut when I came upon the video game screen shot of a ceremonial piece, there was a girl dressed in a white wedding dress (a submissive), kneeled to her dominant. Guess the name printed across the top of the submissive?: “Angela.” That was the only non-Gorean name in the screenshot’s ceremony scene. Considering what I had been going through with her-that was no fucking coincidence, at all.
Sitting there in that computer lab and coming upon all this, I thought I was in the “Twilight Zone,” the “Matrix,” and very much apart of the cutting room floor reel of the “The Enemy of the State.” I was blown away. I never said anything to her about all of this but I sure as hell printed it and got the hell out of dodge. I flew home like a bat out of hell, and tucked that evidence away and proceeded without too much more caution. I got a lot of answers to things I hadn’t even questioned.
So even before I studied into her deeper, I knew her moves. I knew everything about her and how she and her people operated. Getting a hold of these first thirteen pages that they intercepted was going to cause one or two things to happen: She was going to completely turn away from me and shut this thing down altogether, or she and they were going to turn it up-in every way.
From home (and from the school’s computers), they had me blocked from getting into the room for the duration of that July 20th day.
July 21st –game on.
I came into the room, and the first person that showed their face was “Danielle.”
I knew this was their day to perform for me like never before. I gave audience to it and performed right along with them-there was no shame in my game whatsoever:
“Hey Danielle, so that is your full name?” I asked. (I asked that because “Danielle” was “Daniee’s” full name. “Daniee” was the girl from the Jack and Jill conversation with “Kajira” and me way back in earlier into this).
“Ah yes Cin, it sure is,” she responded.
They carefully took every name that I mentioned in the beginning of those first thirteen pages, extended the spelling of the names, and posted them down in front of me (just to let me know they were combing through each page they had received).
Next, they cracked jokes about Janet’s dancers-calling them “band members” (as I had originally called them in those first thirteen pages) because I was going to try to be as discreet as I could be by avoiding using the obvious: “dancers,” so instead, I called them “band members.”
I sat there to wait to see who was next: “QUEENK” came down.
In those first thirteen pages they now had in their possession, “QUEENKYRA” was the name that I had originally thought to use instead of the name that Janet really used: “QUEENJANET” because again, I was calling myself being discreet (in case this chronology turned manuscript became a published book). I did not want to completely drop the dime on them by turning it into a “tell-all” and putting the spotlight right on Janet.
My main concern was to tell the story-on paper-and put it away for safe keeping-if ever I needed a defense prepared with details to tell my side of this story (should Janet and her people tried to fuck my life up). I didn’t do it necessarily to hurt or tell on Janet simply because I knew I could and had quite an interesting story to tell, but as hard as I tried to write a chronology only, the details of the story could not chronicled in any way other than by telling it as a story. Because of that, I called myself being considerate, by changing names and functions. But after they started their performances, I turned “QueenKyra” back to QueenJanet, turned “Kyra” back to Janet, and turned the “band members” back to dancers-fuck it. I’m not the one with anything to hide in this but in the meantime, I will finish the manuscript and put it up for safe keeping (if ever needed to defend myself)…
The performances continued. I sat and gave them audience.
A guy named “DaveB” came down and posted: “Uh yeah sorry guys but I have to go. I have a big interview on the Oprah Show so make sure you guys watch me! LoL…”
They all “LoL’d.”
Next, the nickname: “College Girl” came down and carried on a skit with another employee who asked: “Yeah uh, college girl. What are you studying in college?”
“College Girl” capitalized: “THE LAW.”
The employee then responded: “Yeah keep up the good work because we need our lawyers…”
I just sighed and watched the show. Lissa then showed up next:
“Um I’m going quit being nice to some people in this room if they don’t stop their lies!”
To that, I had to respond:
“Uh, hello Lissa. Lissa?”
She wouldn’t respond back to me, instead, she posted to “College Girl” that she was Janet’s Public Relations Specialist and that she had some work to do.
I could not believe the scene in front of my eyes. I sat and wondered what kind of public relations specialist and lawyer she would she begin to tell our story to. Now I could clearly see how impossible they thought it could be for me to be able to articulate our story to anyone in my little unimportant life too (which was why they were having such a good ‘ole time running through my life and privacy) because I began wondering the same thing about them-how they would even begin to articulate the truth about what they did?
How could they even begin to conjure up lies to divert and thwart the truth-whose details were laced with nothing but crazy! Who could I or she [sit down and] tell all these unbelievable and intricate details to without sounding like a nut?
But how quickly I forgot how a celebrity’s PR team has seen and heard it all. These groups of people specialize in planting or trying to clean up any public story rumored (or in this case: true) about their celebrity client that may affect their “public image” (e.g., anything that may fuck up any commercial endorsements and all else along the lines of any other company, group, or entity who pays them that in turn; pays the people on their teams, glam squads and entourages i.e “could ruin their career)–to hell who they ruin in process, they don’t care.
They take full control and advantage of their access to the media in ways that the victim of their bullshit cannot (unless like me-they are diligent enough to tell write the entire story to combat that buffoonery).
They’re talking about “LAW,” please, I wondered how in the hell anyone could defend her when it was she who came into my life and caused me an unthinkable brand of the mental, emotional and psychological stress I never knew was possible + did every possible criminal act under the sun like she was the FBI and had some fucking right to-as if I had some top secret antidote that could stunt her growth in life [that I didn’t have until after and as a result of her fucking crime]!
What the hell! I wanted to slap Lissa’s face right through that screen so badly that I could taste the blood in my mouth. “How in the hell could she bring this story to any human being and how could any human being defend her?” I wondered. I’d kill to be a fly on the wall; wondering how she even went about talking over the whole story with a lawyer and her PR people on that July 20th day that they found the first thirteen pages.
What did she say?
“Hey uh, I met this stranger who is a writer that I ended up liking a whole lot, in fact, we sort of fell in love with each other and then I tapped her home and cell phones, her friends and family’s phones, her computer and her school’s computers and clocked her every whereabout. Without her permission, I also had her investigated to find out every possible thing I could find out about her, and when things didn’t go my way or when she’d piss me off-I’d kindly throw them up in her face, just to let her know that she wasn’t shit and her privacy didn’t mean shit to me. When I retrieved the first thirteen pages of work that she was composing to tell the story of how it all began (in to prepare for her escape from my craziness), I got alarmed, and now I need help getting out of this pickle. Do you think you can get me out of this one guys?”
I sat there in the room and watched “College Girl” and “Lissa” perform until the curtain closed. I left the room for a few hours and didn’t come back until a little later to sit and watch some more of the show.
────♦────
This time, they were all out of performances related to this pickle we were in and was back to their normal (but now-pensive) selves.
The mood of the room was sort of blasé.
Actually, they were carrying on conversations about something sexual that Janet was obviously feeling envious and a “way” about. That seemed to occupy Janet’s mind over any pickles at this time.
She seemed distraught and hurt more than she was angered and upset.
Her buddy made a statement about this [sexual thing] and Janet simply responded:
“I wish I had’ve,” and then her buddy says:
“But I thought you said that was nasty, didn’t you say that was nasty?” (I guess to make me feel a “way” and “nasty”).
Janet did not respond.
So I never knew what that was about, I simply found it interesting that she could even put her mind on something else outside of the pickle, and was actually happy that she could. She got her curiosity answered (about what happened when I met Rene) and now they were all on alert that it was possible that I may do something about all that I neglected to do for all these months: put everything on paper. With that [now in their hands], I figured maybe perhaps things would change and I wouldn’t even have to worry about pages 14-on.
The next day, she and I talked in I.M-I couldn’t believe it. We actually had an ok day. We didn’t say too much or too little-we both were consciously conscious of every word we said to one another.
It was like playing a game of checkers (rather than chess).
Something we were both watching on television broke the ice and somehow, we got on the subject about how we felt about what happened to JFK Jr. and his wife, and how sad it was.
“I kept thinking about what it must look like coming upon the bodies in the water,” she said.
“Yeah, just to think how they suffered beneath that much water unprotected must have been hell,” I responded.
We proceeded to talk about how we were both emotionally affected back when Princess Diana was killed. I told her about how I could not stop crying for like a week and how sad it was that you almost have to wait until you’re dead and gone for people to take notice of the good in you and your many contributions to humanity. I was telling her how stupid I felt for being so emotional about it and I didn’t know that lady from a can of paint, but as the details of her troubled life unfolded-it was all so emotionally tragic that it made me an emotional wreck that week, just hearing about it.
She responded:
“Omigosh, it affected you like that too? I was sooooo depressed, I couldn’t hold myself up, I’d be crying off and on. I was majorly depressed,” she said empathetically—then she paused and finished with: “And yeah, it is a shame that the media did her that way. I hate the media. It’s a trip to know what people will do for a DOLLA!…” she ended with ellipsis, bold printed, capitalized, and emphasized.
In my virtual world, I did one of her moves: *Turned to the wall*
….but said (to myself): “Girrrlll please.” In our world however, I simply responded:
“Yeah, well you know sometimes people gotta do what they gotta do. Everybody feels they have their ‘reasons for doing things’ that from one end, may seem like it has to do with money, but from the other end…may simply be about looking out for themselves (like the one end is and always has been doing for themselves, right?…”
She didn’t respond to my comment, but we talked for a little while longer (back to playing our “checkers-like” talking). She then informed me that she would not be in the room or I.M for the remainder of the day and the next day because she had some “important matters to handle.”
I knew what it was. I knew she most probably had to see her real lawyer and her real PR person to talk about this pickle she was in: (i.e, trouble that she started and monsters that she created). I could imagine what it would be like for Janet and her co-conspirators who were assisting her in all her devilish deeds to be sitting in a room with her lawyers and public relations specialists; trying to decide what to do with “little ole’ me” and my reality versus big ole’ her and her “image.” I figured that she and I would just have to be on some ole “Mr. and Mrs. Smith” type-shit. Married but had jobs to do: Missions to kill one another. Call me the Mrs. Because I couldn’t see my going on with this thing with her without being armed and ready “just in case.”
And if she loved me as hard as she claimed to, she would have to roll with it and understand. We’ll just have to test the strength of her love through this situation. Mine was already being tested every day. She knew what the hell she did, what it was putting me through-and how it was really affecting me-she knew.
My heart felt badly about everything, but my plans for this was still going to go as planned-and this ordeal’s every detail thus far was going to make it to paper, even if not to print or publish. I’m sorry. To that end, as much as I grew to love and care for her-fuck her “image” in front of her velvet rope. Her “image” was nothing compared to what my mind and life was going through and how every single day that I woke up, I mentally set my mind up to be ok with all this in order in keep my sanity because to try and pull away from this; I knew I would be fighting against it in a different way that I knew I could not win: by electing to be her true enemy and adversary. Been there, done that. I cannot win. Sleeping with the enemy was my only strategy, sanity, and peace I could find in it. If I made her my enemy, I already knew that things could be a lot worse for me and knew just what she could do to activate that “a lot worse” [for me].
Combined with the fact that somewhere in this twisted thing, her twisted lifestyle and in her twisted mind, she thought she loved me-that was my comfort and the only thing I could take advantage of (luckily). Because of that, I did want her to understand my reasons for needing to get it all on paper. I wanted her to be just as ok with accepting that, as I was ok with being my open and true self throughout this whole thing that, in the meantime; her people expected me to be ok with knowing that they were setting up landmines “just in case.” I needed some power in this too.
────♦────
Although she’d already informed me that she had big business to take care of, and that she wouldn’t be around on Friday, I still wrote-speaking her language (third-person), letting her know that I did want to talk and that I was really feeling bad:
Date: Fri, 23 Jul 16:37pm PDT
From: xxxxxxxxxmon@netscape.net
To: EsCaPaDxxxxx@aol.com
Subject: …
I know you already said you wouldn’t be here today but I checked anyways. I really need to talk to you. I have a situation that is weighing heavily on my mind that is stressing my brain that I am going through with someone that I really do care about…I’m dying in my heart and in my mind-help?…I’ll check back with you another time.
That next day: Saturday, July 24th I’m in the room.
Janet and I were talking (about cats).
My friend had this cat that would stalk me whenever I would come over her house and occasionally, Janet and I would talk how much I hated cats (not kittens) because they were so sneaky-how they creep around and have attitudes like women, and how dogs remind me of aggressive men. I told her about my friend’s cat would follow me around the house trying to be my friend, and how that cat seemed to crave affection from me (we’d laugh).
I told her about how I kicked at the cat sometimes to get her to stop staring at me and how the cat wouldn’t even budge.
“You kick my cat and I’ma kick your ass,” laughed Janet-an inside joke of ours where she pulled a line out of her scene with Regina King in “Poetic Justice,” I laughed with her. (I was happy we could still laugh).
We then laughed about how the cat would even take a seat in the chair at the kitchen table to just stare at me sometimes or how it would nibble at my fingers if my hands were hanging off of the couch while I was resting on it.
I told her about how that crazy ass cat would greet me at the top of the stairs whenever I would visit my friend as if to say: “There goes my bitch!” and she would run down the steps towards me at the foyer and begin to follow me around the house.
My friend and I would laugh because when her cat would do stalkerish things, I would say: “Girllll your cat is a straight up dike. She wants some of this pussy-badddddd.”
My friend and I would crack up laughing.
Janet and I would have big fun talking about this cat.
So this particular day in the room Janet says, returning her third-person talk (followed by taking on the cat as a new character of hers):
“Cinamon, why don’t you give her some love, she wants to give you some feline love. Let her have some. Give her some won’t you? You know she’s in love with you,” she said (about her catty self).
I posted: “LoL, is that what you call it?”
“Yes Cinamon you know she loves you” she said (seriously).
I responded: “*smile*…I’ll try.”
She paused for a second.
“Cinamon, do you think that she might be obsessed with you?” said this black cat herself.
I responded: “Yeah…I’d say…” I responded-seriously.
She didn’t respond.
In comes silly Lissa pointing at herself: {LissaFOSD}<<<<< “*thinks somebody needs to be giving stalking lessons…LoL!” she laughed-something she got a kick out of-Janet’s countless ways she had to stalk me: my every move, thought and plan. (It was diabolical if I must say so myself. Almost magical).
Janet didn’t respond…
Me? I just looked at them both, and said to myself: “Oh shit, now she’s gonna be a fuckin’ cat next!…Watch. I know her moves.”
She was, and she did.
They carried on in the room and I sat and gave audience to it. I sent another (third-person laden) email to Janet:
Date: Sat, 24 Jul 12:33pm PDT
From: xxxxxxxxxmon@netscape.net
To: EsCaPaDxxxxx@aol.com
Subject: The Cat-and NOT GARFIELD!!!!!!*rolling eyes
Btw I forgot to mention. I’m going to see my friend’s cat for a sec in a little bit too. I’ma squeeze her and tell her how sorry I am and how much I love her…
(On the subject line, I made the comment: “The Cat-and NOT GARFIELD!!!!!!!!!,” because after this cat conversation, while I still in the room, a nickname called “Lett” came down with another called: “GARFIELD” that came down afterwards).
Lett asked Garfield: “Garfield what do you look like?”
Garfield responded: “Fat and Orange! LoL!”
That was supposed to be one of their mean lil’ jokes that always consisted of anything that had to do with my orange complexion, my butt, my dialect, my lips, the color of my hair, or my personal business that they’d “overhear” on the phone. Sometimes it would be funny, other times-hurtful. I didn’t respond. Actually I had to laugh myself, because it was pretty funny.
They both left, because that was about all they came in to say.
I left and wrote her later:
Date: Sat, 24 Jul 17:43pm PDT
From: xxxxxxxxxmon@netscape.net
To: EsCaPaDxxxxx@aol.com
Subject: irony
Well I just got back and I was checking for you…Ironically when I went over to see my friend, her cat (of all days-and this has NEVER happened) was asleep! OMG! So I didn’t get to see her to give her some feline love …But talk to you later…
Later that evening, we talked in I.M. She was in a pretty good mood. She was telling me how her own cat was nibbling at her nose and how cute it was. We were just laughing.
Virtually (in my real world), I was back and forth baking some chicken for dinner.
“What kind of chicken?” she asked.
“Chicken breasts with pepper, season-salt, garlic, and onions.” I responded.
“*Staring at you*…” she said.
“*Cleaning myself with my paws and watching you*” she said.
“*Staring at you*…” I responded.
“*Waiting on my chicken*…” she replied.
“*Putting your chicken on a saucer on the floor for you*…” I said.
She frowned: “How come you can’t put it in a bowl for me?”
“Okay, *putting it in a bowl for you*…” I responded.
*Hopping up in the chair at the table* “How come I can’t eat at the table?” she asked.
“Okay, *putting your bowl of chicken breasts on the table for you*…” I responded.
“Atchoo!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!Atchoo!ssnarrlllllll!!!!!!!!!:::::::::” said this black cat.
“Um what’s the problem?” I asked, sounding like a serving winch.
“Hint: atchoo! Atchoo! The pepper!!!!!!” she replied.
“Then why’d you let me come this far if you knew the pepper was gonna bother you, you picky lil’ pus! LoL,” I said.
“LoL!….:::::::::::::::snnnarrllllll!::::::::::” she said.
“Okay, I’ll do anything for you baby. I have to go way back up to the store to buy more chicken breasts okay?” I said.
“You would do that for me?” she asked-completely out of her cat character and in her Janet self.
“Of course I would, you know I would. I’ll do anything for you…” I replied (serious about my statement).
(She paused).
“*Smacking my hand on my butt, rolling my eyes and twisting my hands*…” she said.
“Huh?” I responded.
“Nothing, that’s just something that Janet does in the new Scream movie, Scream 3…” she said, still speaking in third person about her contingent role in the movie (that obviously fell through).
“Oh, really?” I asked. “I’m serious, I’m for real,” she responded.
“I’ll see when it comes out…” I replied. (We paused a moment. She wanted to get into another “character.”)
“Are you sassing me?” she asked.
“No you are sassing me, I’m gonna whoop your butt!” I said.
“*About to bend over, shall I?” she asked seductively.
“*Looking at you…” I said, just thinking about her…the real-her (she’s so seductive).
But then he caught me off-guard: “Don’t be sassing or else Joseph’s gonna send you to get a switch! You hear me!” she said (crying out for a friend, confidant and the therapy her soul so badly yearned for).
I frowned, then I responded:
“Yes, I’m listening to you…”
“Be careful not to let him have you…” she sneaked in (and confessed)…
That really caught me off-guard-I paused, my brows raised:
“He’s not very nice huh?” I asked.
It was crazy. She instantly turned into “Penny” from “Good Times”-lying to defend the parent that was abusing her:
“No, no, he’s changed a lot though. He’s much much nicer to the grandchildren. He’s changed,” she quickly defended, wondering if her four walls could talk and tell on her…
(I stared at her):
“*Looking at you(((((((((((holding you)))))))))))))) I love you baby. Do you know that?” I asked her-Janet.
“Yes. I know. I love you too. I really do…” she replied, knowing what I meant-appreciating my sincerity…
It got really quiet between us.
We hung around for a while saying nothing much and got back on later that night.
She was in such a good mood, back to her same ole’ “Jiggs” self again.
Next, she asked me if she could show me a love letter that she wrote (it was posted in the room-the way that 3-paged open love letter she had posted for me back in May was posted. And like that one, I had to speed read to get the gist of it in the 15-20 seconds before the contents of the letter would disappear).
This time it was a short one. It read: “I’m so overcome with so much emotion that I can’t fight it. I know it must be love and if it wasn’t, I can’t understand why I can’t keep you out of my mind despite all, you stay on my mind…”
It was so sweet, but I was so afraid to fully embrace it because I remembered all too well how bad my nose was opened after her last open letter (and what happened shortly after having sent the open letter).
As the screen rolled down, like a kid with a high school crush, she quickly changed her [“to whom it concerned”] by stating that she found that love letter in her boyfriend’s pocket, and it must be to her (or something silly like that). I just shook my head.
We just sat on I.M as I watched her do her norm in the room while carrying on in several I.M’s with her buddies as we sat off to the side in our private I.M for hours-saying “words” to one another until I got tired and ready to go to bed.
The next day I was trying to get in the room from home, my computer was extremely slow. All the words were scrambled and there were blocks within every other letter of everything on the entire page of any page that I would try to access (even a mere word file-again).
When I was on my way to the room; sitting at the top of my screen were the words: “velvetbg3.gif ” (I guessed that was the title of the default name of the front face site pic and file they used to block entrance to the room). I knew they were in the middle of doing something with my computer at that very moment but wasn’t finished just yet.
When I was finally able to get into the room I could see conversation and their posts, but they blocked out the nicknames so that I could not see who was saying what. When I would try to post-my posts, too, would be scrambled with blocks between every word through anything I posted (so that I couldn’t see my own posts-but they could). I was really confused as to why they would be doing something with my computer since she and I had been getting along, but I had to remember that she was still “who she is” and their guards were up even more so since they got those 13 pages. Besides, no matter how much we got along anyways, no matter how “EXCITED” or sweet, and cute she would be; there would always be things like this happening to my computer. I never knew what they were up to-ever; hence, the birth of the 13 pages (and going forward)….
Although I loved her still, I knew I had to do what I had to do.
At any rate, I left, and went up to the school lab to log on. Everything looked fine from there. That confirmed for me they were doing something with my computer at home, so I emailed her:
Date: Sun, 25 Jul 14:32pm PDT
From: xxxxxxxxxmon@netscape.net
To: EsCaPaDxxxxx@aol.com
Subject: Okayyyyyyyyy…
Now what? I mean, can I get some services please? I mean please.
After I sent that email, they then began doing something with the Hell Mail account, because I was blocked from even getting into it until the next day.
Date: Mon, 26 Jul 12:26pm PDT
From: xxxxxxxxxmon@netscape.net
To: EsCaPaDxxxxx@aol.com
Subject: Re: [Re: Okayyyyy…]
Hi baby. I came in this morning to tell you what I was going to be doing today but I haven’t been able to…When I got back just about 30 min ago, I still couldn’t. I am AT SCHOOL right now and wanted to drop in here to say something to you since I couldn’t this morning and this afternoon. I miss you very much and I love you. Would like to talk to you just because, (smile). I’ll be back in by 5:30 this afternoon. *MUAH
She wrote right back:
Date: Mon, 26 Jul 12:27pm PDT
From: EsCaPaDxxxxx@aol.com
To: xxxxxxxxxmon@netscape.net
Subject: .
Services?!! Cin?
I didn’t even respond to that email. Whenever I said something specific, I stopped debating back and forth with her “characters” in her effort to cover up her tracks. She knew just what the fuck I was talking about.
It’s over for debating for issues that like, I promised myself…
By this time, my computer was up and running, so I entered the room. Her buddies were carrying on a conversation that they did a really good job of trying to make me not understand the contents of. It was very crafty this time. They stepped their inside-convo game way up (in that one moment) I guess to show me that if ever they needed to take it to that level, they could. And well, if they (especially Janet) wanted to be brazen and wanted me to know something or get it poppin’; they made sure they made it obvious-like in their next conversation they started, it had something to do with Rene (yet, again).
They did the usual: make a nickname up of something specific, this one dropped down like such: *drumroll*… “{Welcome New User}: July24”–the date that I met Rene, however, they kept it cryptic by setting up a staged conversation with a purpose: To make me jealous. It was weird because I didn’t know if this little performance was done to make me jealous because of Jan (considering the fact that she knew I was loving her during this very moment in time), or if because she was back to that female rival-minded mindset–this was done to make me jealous (just in case I ever said or done anything with him…that she felt like I was keeping from her).
Janet (hidden behind her “Jiggs” nickname), was in the room with them talking about the sexual sounds that [Janet] would make in her songs were the real thing because Rene would be doing things to her to make those sounds. She continued with: “You know what they say about those soft-spoken women, you know they are screamers…” said Jiggs.
Being in possession of my first 13 pages seemed to put a different spin on her curiosity about my being truthful about the contents of Rene and my conversation when he sat down to talk to me. Instead of knowing all that happened to put her curiosity to rest (like I was happy and hoped it would); it seemed to magnify her thoughts (or magnify the mindfuckery that Rene bailed out on her with). I watched them in amazement, because from my point of view and looking at this-this was all way overboard. But from her side looking onto it, it seemed to me that she was merely making me the reason for the drastic decision [she made? or he made?] that uprooted and forfeited over 13 years of a relationship.
I say that maybe it was he who wanted out, shit because early into this while in the room, (after my asking him if he remembered meeting me and I joked with him about how often was it that he met a girl whose pen ink exploded in his hand), he did crack the joke: “So Cin, tell me what you look like,” then I laughed and posted something to the effect like: “Ah hush Rene, I’m not going to describe myself. You know what I look like-you’re just trying to make Janet jealous! LoL.” He got a kick out of that and laughed too.
My now knowing Janet and her people (unlike then-I didn’t), although it was a joke, a comment like that is a federal offense in her world. Now that I know her and how she is, I figured maybe (in the beginning of all this) he was lurking for a while and watched what transpired between myself and Janet while she hid behind the nickname: QUEENJANET, and he masterminded some way to pull out from there (knowing that he could make her jealous).
Or maybe something did happen that July day that I met him (with someone else) and it just so happened that it seemed like that someone else was me. It could have been that maybe he conjured up a story, about something that happened that night to make her know that he too, is desirable-after all she is “Janet” and he was just (a.k.a) her “boyfriend.”Although they had a relationship, she was free to do what she wanted to do (so I’ve experienced)-and she does just that: what she wants. Or shit, knowing her (now-and where we are now) maybe she simply got upset because he met me first, stood next to me first, talked to me first, and all that.
I mean my knowing how unreasonable, possessive and irrational she can be, it could be one or all of these reasons. Who knows? But considering the fact that Rob+Rene never came back to the room at the same time, my best guess was that her digerati caught the two of them plotting, planning and having “boy talk” and that was just the straw that broke the camel’s back for she and Rene. But now (with 13 pages in her hand and details that she didn’t know) she had a kind of clarity that opened up a whole other can of worms that (from my point of view) was “nothing,” but to her, it was obviously “something.” Whichever version, she believes his story and/or what she caught him doing or saying…and she’s sticking to that.
So after their performance, when I got to school I wrote her.
Date: Wed, 28 Jul 09:00am PDT
From: xxxxxxxxxmon@netscape.net
To: EsCaPaDxxxxx@aol.com
Subject: …
Just wanted to say hi to you amongst other things but I’m sure u can read my mind. You know what my norm would be to do right now, but I’m not going to even go there with you today. Funny how I just told you just the other day how every other day it is always something with you. I just figure one day you’ll know for sure that everything you read was the truth. And all that I’ve ever said to you was true and from my heart. Maybe you’ll be able to look back on all these things occurring and you’ll find that they were such a waste of time. Hopefully that day you come to that realization is near…
After I sent the email, on my computer’s desktop; I renamed my Netscape Communicator desktop icon: “Communicate with my Boo” in place of what she had changed it to [that one day when she wanted to show that me she could remotely make changes to my computer from wherever she was–that day when she changed the icon to both of our ages].
So (with my changing it) instead of it being named [our ages] the desktop icon now read: “Communicate with My Boo.” I also renamed my Instant Messenger desktop icon: “Talk to my Boo.” I was really feeling a little warm and fuzzy after I sent her that email-it was straight from the heart. I really tried with Janet. I really tried, sincerely. But she wasn’t feeling me as a girlfriend at this moment in time, she saw me as a rival. She flipped on me.
She turned things up.
Later that afternoon, I entered the room and spoke to a few people. The mood was kind of weird however. I just sat there and stared at everyone, and did my usual: small talked with a few people who made small talk with me. Then all of a sudden, the nickname: “BOO” came down and wrote: “HISS! HISS HISS HISS HISS HISS HISS HISS HISS HISS” (repeatedly-like nonstop).
At first, it took me a while to catch on, but then I remembered I had renamed my desktop icons “Talk to my Boo” and Communicate with my Boo.” “BOO,” continued to hiss.
“Oh she’s the cat again,” I said to myself. Only this time she was hissing at me.
I watched it until I couldn’t watch any more. My feelings were so crushed because I was sincere in the email I sent, and hadn’t gotten a response from her as yet. Then I came to the room only to have my feelings (once again) shitted on. I felt so stupid for even writing her that letter. I felt like I had walked in on some practical joke and a big bowl of mush had fallen down over my head while I just stood there, getting laughed and pointed at.
I couldn’t believe her-every other day it was always something. The way she was acting with this “HISS” stuff reminded me of how she would tell me how when she was a kid-she would go to the end of the large gate of their Encino home and swear at the groupies who would gather around in hopes to get a glimpse of Michael and her famous brothers.
I remember (clearly) the day she was telling me about it. She was acting like the same mischievous catty little bitch-the way she was HISSing at me at this moment in time. I could just see her as a kid doing that too: running from one end of the gate to the other, squinting her mean, dark, slanted, cat eyes and curling her fingers in a way to look like she was scratching and jumping at them as if she really was a cat (protected by that large gate, guards and bodyguards of course)…
This cat “character” really became her. She really was getting carried away with it too. She loved it-probably why she made a song of the same name-“Black Cat” (about her ex hubby James Debarge) but little did she know; she wore the lyrics herself, too. [She] was “so together, but just at a glance. [She] would do anything if given a chance” (too)…just like the black cat in the song. She never ceased to amaze me.
Well, there’s more than one way to skin a cat…
I stayed away for the rest of the day feeling so many ways to stupid. Janet wasn’t feeling that last email I sent at all. For the very first time in the history of this entire ordeal, I was really feeling like that “pretty girl” [who the boyfriend of another pretty girl] wanted. Janet’s antagonizing me and purposely trying to hurt me was different this time. She never treated me like she did this day.
Throughout this thing, yes, a few times (in the room and in our private I.M) she would bring things up about Rene as if she was trying to “pick” me-get me to say something or respond, and of course I never did. But she wasn’t treating me like some jealous girl. Now she has 13 pages in her hand. And all this time she never knew my side of what transpired between he and I outside the backstage gates, and outside of what she assumed but most probably “overheard” him telling Rob (which obviously was the last straw that caused the breakup)…
Janet had done many antagonizing flip-floppy kinds of things to me throughout this, but this time, she had the missing link in her hand. Considering how she was treating me, I could tell that with the information now in her hands; it jarred a lot of recollection about what he was doing (and not doing) backstage with her, when he was outside sitting on the bench in conversation with me (at a time when she would soon be going on stage and he most probably should have been back there with her).
I’m abnormally, extraordinarily “intuitive-sensitive” and “feeling” in a way so strong that even by way of my never having seen her face-to-face thus far (in the story), I uncovered her and this thing this far (in the story). So when it comes to her (especially as it pertains to me) I know what I’m talking about.
I could tell that she specifically remembered him having hands covered in ink when he came to the backstage to wash it off…there’s no telling what kind of lie he told her in order to get back outside to talk to me (as he promised). So when she retrieved my first 13 pages, she knew how to put the pieces together because what was said and done (in between her recollecting every detail that I wrote in the 13 pages)…she knew (more than I did)-what it was he did (frolic outdoors with me), and what it was he did not do (tend to his duties with her -backstage- before she went on).
From what she now has in her hands as fact, she [now knows] how he got missing from backstage, why, for whom, and (in her mind) who he got missing again for as she got ready to go out onstage. That, compounded with the fact that since I was a fan of hers-there to see her-she probably couldn’t entertain the thought of why was it that I didn’t ask him to meet her when I had the one person of all people [who could even by-pass security] and could take me backstage to meet her.
As well, she obviously “overhead” Rene saying, emailing, or private Instant Messaging with Rob [most probably pertaining to me talking about it] from a man-to-man’s point of view and recollection…and that’s what sent Janet (with Shawn in tow) came storming at me in front of her own fans the way she did on that January 21 morning that she dissed me.
My knowing Janet and her irrational and extreme jealous ways, she knows that if I was that same “pretty girl” that was flirting with her in the corner-stage left (who she winked her eye at and thought “was the bomb”), then her mind probably went crazy knowing that her man actually sat outside and was frolicking with that same girl (who he most probably lied to Janet for, after washing the ink off his hands) in order to get back outside to that same girl who he was conversing with.
A lot of thinking and piecing together but I know Janet and how she thinks.
And too, I think in four corners-especially with people and situations. Where the average person may call someone like me an “over thinker,” it’s natural for me-I merely “think” (in those four corners where the average person either thinks in two of the four corners), or just at the dot in the center-only. For someone like me, two corners or a dot in the center is under thinking. And with situations and people, it may not always be bigger than that, but situations and people are sometimes complex; therefore they do require a little more thought than the average person will consider (but not me). And it’s always served me (in being fair and trying to consider everybody’s side and point of view).
So I understood hers, but she didn’t want to care or receive my understanding that. And that was hurtful to me. At this moment in time, in her mind: “She fucked my man” or “My man was trying to fuck her, and that bitch had the nerve to be up in my room cracking inside jokes with him and I was over there trying to get with her myself.”
Janet got those missing pieces, began hissing and turned things up…
For me, I was in was in a very bad place at this point of this thing with her because she knew soooo much about me like: how I liked to have sex, oral sex, positions, my sexual way, my sensual way, my feelings, my personality, what moved me, just-everything…everything that in a normal circumstance, that “other pretty girl” is not supposed to know.
Yet here it was-that “other pretty girl” was the one who had me in all those ways (but at the time—had not had those 13 pages in her hand as yet). Thirteen pages that now, fucked with her twisted mind such that, one part of her lusted and loved me madly, now (with the missing links connected and the mystery removed), it all began to play tricks on her head. At this point, she didn’t want to receive me like before and this all gave her a reason to churn this whole entire thing up twice over what she had done thus far…and I mean it was ON…
We went AT it:
After feeling stupid at her hissing at me after that email I sent her, that next day (in the afternoon) when I checked my snail mail box (at the post office), I had gotten a cute little Kangol styled fisherman’s hat from my one of my besties: Kim (it was leopard print-ironically-tan and brown). Kim liked to stop by the Swap meet and pick up cute things for me to send in my care packages. She got a kick out of the fact that the Swap Meet was an L.A staple-she loved herself some California. It was such a pleasant surprise because I wasn’t expecting it.
When I got home, I called her immediately to tell her how much I loved the hat and that I was shocked at how great it looked on me (because I’ve never been a hat person). We were laughing and joking around-happy to talk to each other (as usual). I was telling her about how I was in the mirror trying it on at that moment, and how I had put it down to my brow so that you could barely see my eyes. We laughed because she told me that was what she did when she put hers on too.
Even without this happening, it would make her soooooo jealous to hear me give any joy, laughter or time to anybody else outside of her. That would make her bazooka crazy, which was why I hated for my friends to call me on the phone and I preferred them to ride by. Sometimes when they would call, I would purposely drag my voice in an almost standoffish kind of way just so I could tweak any excitement that Janet could pick up and get jealous over. I learned how to keep my enthusiasm and tone of voice at a certain robotic-like decibel. It was that serious. I would feel so bad when they called me with too much excitement and I couldn’t greet them back with the same enthusiasm, but they could not imagine how much drama in my life that would cause me with Janet. It was hard with her, but with them-I could explain later not to her though.
She was mad, real mad: Joe Jackson.
She had a major attitude with me and couldn’t even hide it (nor did she try to).
Before knowing her, I used to be so fooled by her (public) sweet smile and gentle ways-all that. But as I had been in this thing with this girl, this little bitch was a tyrant and Tasmanian devil-a total bully. Every sweet and “gentle” way about her, even down to the way she pronounced the words she speaks, I learned was all by design. She was a master at the fuckery of public persona and imagery. That little bitch bites-hard. She wore me out. Her persistence is unmatched.
She turned things up.
We were logged into the room, and off to the side in I.M as well.
This panther set me up to move in for the kill: She told me she was having a terrible time trying to do something with her hair and asked me if I had any suggestions. (She only said that to set up a fight between us. I knew that was her sneaky lil’ cue for me to say: “just put on a hat.”) Fuck her, I did it: “Just do like I do, pull it up in a ponytail or pull it back and pull a few strands out, OR you can just throw a hat on. My friend sent me a hat that I’m going to wear on my next bad hair day. Man I love it! It’s sooo cute.”
She simply responded: “Oh.”
She was sooo jealous.
We didn’t say anything else to one another for a while-a long while too. That tyrant could outwait and out-persist anything or anybody. She was Spanish-bull stubborn.
I eventually turned my attention away from her.
I turned things up.
In my virtual world, I looked over to my left at Madonna’s “Beautiful Stranger” video and I posted to her:
“My video is on-heeeeyyy *doing the snake*” (I started literally started doing the “snake,” back and forth, as if she was really around me-she was getting pissed. “Hiss at that, bitch!” I said aloud-looking at the screen).
“What?” she asked.
“BEAUTIFUL STRANGER,” I yelled then sang (and posted to her): “Haven’t you heard/I fell in love with a beautiful stranger/You could be good for me/I have the taste danger/If I’m smart then I’ll run away. But I’m not so I guess I’ll stay/Haven’t you heard, I took my chance on a beautiful stranger/I looked into your eyes and my world start tumbling down/You’re the devil in disguise, that’s why I’m singing this song/To know you, is to love you/To love you, is to be part of you/ You’re everywhere I go and everybody knows/I pay for you in tears/I swallowed all my pride..And pay for you in tears…Dada da da da da da da da da-Beautiful Stranger.”
…typically those lyrics would have reached her-she knew that we both could relate to every single lyric (which was why I posted the song’s bridge and chorus). But instead of receiving it, she’s such a tyrant-all she wanted to do was fight me.
“Oh. Never seen it,” she replied.
I shook my head at this video junkie who was in the room when one of her employees and me had talked about the video a few days prior where I mentioned how Madonna was freaking Michael Myers while he was driving. She put her butt on his shoulder and she started twerking on him.
It was hilarious.
If Janet hadn’t seen it then, she damned sure saw it by this time-especially knowing that I liked it so much. (But I forgot that she wasn’t that fond of Madonna, so I chopped it up to her just being her same ole’ mean self again; jealous and hating to have any possession of hers give any attention whatsoever to anything else). She was already (still) jealous about Kim and the cat-printed hat…
Her turn (this little bitch):
“Yeah Cin, I think I’m going to get my brow pierced,” trying to make me jealous because her troublemaking ass friend [slash] lover (Shawn) has hers pierced.
I responded (cynically):
“Yeah? I never understood those things. Why one would pierce their eyebrow? I thought it was because of something you do sexually with it, sort of like how you can bat your lashes onto someone to tickle them. I always thought that’s what they were for-batting the brow instead. I can deal with the little flat barbell thingy but not an actual earring hanging from my eye…Something about that just does not compute with me.” I then giggled (to myself -pissing her ass off).
Smirking, I shrugged my shoulders with my lips tight, imagining the anger on she and Shawn’s troublemaking ass face over there saying, “ Oooh I can’t STAND her!”
I turned things up higher.
The next video was Mary’s “All That I Could Say.”
We were both commenting on it. Then I posted: “Did you hear Mary same my name baby? *singing* ‘Sweeter than CINNAMON.’ “ A few minutes later, some wild comment came through the room: “THE BLACKER THE BERRY THE SWEETER THE JUICE!”
I knew that was Shawn hiding behind the name.
Laughing, I replied: “It’s not sweeter than the taste of Cinamon though,” I purposely spelled it with one ‘n’-my nickname.
The next thing I know, I got disconnected from my computer-they rebooted me.
She turned things up even higher.
When I logged got back in, I didn’t say anything or ask why I was disconnected, nor did Janet apologize this time. We both just sat there watching conversation in the room.
This rebel started again:
“Oh it’s so refreshing to hear songs like: “Chante’s Got a Man,”
(she said that because of “No Scrubs” and “Bills Bill Bills”)
…I had been bumping both of those songs on my CD Room earlier that day and we had a discussion about both songs before.
She was in a rebellious and combative mood; ready to start an argument in the room around her buddies so that she could have an audience, because she knew that were waiting in the wings to assist her for when things got out of hand.
She only said that because once while we were in the room, she said that she liked “Bills Bills Bills” but she felt like the line: “You trifling; good for nothing type of brotha” was too harsh and that she could never say anything like that to a man.
To that, I responded: “Well, I love the song and every word in it. I think that if you listen to the lyrics of the entire song, I’d say he was a ‘Trifling good for nothing type of brotha.’ I don’t have a problem with it and am appalled at the responses I’ve heard from women complaining about ‘No Scrubs’ and ‘Bills Bills Bills’ when all day every day, you see men degrading women in their videos and in their songs like clockwork, while women are still singing about losing them, how to get and keep them. Here it is, you get two itty-bitty songs where women are degrading men, somewhat, and it’s a problem.
I cram to understand that whole argument, especially coming from women. Even before ‘No Scrubs’ got out good, some somebody had to put out a rebuttal to it. Men sing and rap songs like that about women like it’s a rite of passage. Women hardly ever sing songs like that. I mean you would really have to search your memory archives to find a song where a woman degraded a man, whereas it would take no time to pull one out about men degrading women. I’m appreciating this liberated approach to music that I’m hearing. It’s time, I’d say…”
I felt good annoying those bitches (with the truth). I could just see Janet rolling her eyes at me so hard that she gave herself an eye-ache.
They listened on. I continued:
“Sure, don’t get me wrong, I like snapping my fingers and nodding my head to some of the very same degrading songs and videos, and even though I am offended (as “woman,”) I am not offended personally, because I do not allow men to treat me like the women they sing about in these kinds of songs, nor would I ever entertain the thought of shucking and jiving in any video for any man who is rapping or singing about degrading women, so to each his own. It doesn’t bother me-either way.”
She figured I would respond about Chante Moore’s song because she knows I am an old Chante’ Moore fan (since her first CD-long before “Chante’s Got a Man),” but I didn’t respond-I ignored it on purpose.
Janet knows me like a book. She knew what to say to pick me-so that she could start an argument. She knows personally that although I do love the song (and played it a lot); I still feel Chante’s [story in the song] is a “situational” thing, like our story is a “situation”-an isolated special circumstance…
It’s like this. For the women who really feel that they have a man like Chante’s then I am happy, because everyone in a committed relationship should be happy like that. The lyrics to the song is exactly what women should wear, know, and feel all day everyday about a man that she commits herself to. But Janet, knowing me like she does, knows that I feel Chante has an exceptional “situation” that she chose to take a chance and sing about, which is a change from the “I need a man, my man left me, and my man aint no good,” kinds of songs.
“Chante’s Got a Man” is a song [in which most women whose situation doesn’t identify with Chante’s “situational ballad]” still fantasize about, which is fine and good, too. The poor woman could hardly even get through performing the song without all the “Amen!”’s and the: “I know that’s right” ’s and all. I saw her once on television performing it and I’d never heard so many cat-calls and praises during one performance in all my life!
However, Janet knows that I personally feel that there is such a difference in the way that we love today as compared to way back when. Back in the day, it used to be, “Only YOU Can Make Me Happy,” now, it’s “Only the LOOT Can Make Me Happy…”
Don’t get me started. Janet knows (first hand) that until I have seen a change in the ways that we live and love today; I will always feel that although Chante’s got a man, she’s got an exceptional “situation” too. And since all this was really about us being in the middle of throwing blows at one another, she was just ready to rebel and battle, but I wasn’t up for it. I ignored the fact that she even said: “Oh it’s so refreshing to hear songs like “Chante’s Got a Man.” She was sure that would conjure up a debate.
The next conversation was about “Gay Pride” weekend. Off in I.M, she told me she wanted go to one day.
My turn now -higher…
I made another comment that I knew would piss her off again (since we were already throwing blows at one another. Besides, I had a bone to pick with this cat since her “Booing” and “Hissing” at me the other day.) Fuckinwither (and knowing it would send her through the roof, I responded): “Yeah, I remember my East African friend asked me on my birthday if she could taste me for Gay Pride weekend, I thought that was pretty funny…”
The shit hit the fan then.
They started dropping down the nicknames to make fun of this friend to carefully identify her like:
That’s the kind of shit I’m talking about. She knew things and would hold on to them for her safe keeping-to use as an arsenal whenever she needed to fire (whether it would be about me or my friends) she would use her “overheard” information at opportune times.
It was getting ruthless in the room. They turned-up even higher than I did.
Next, they started making jokes about my personal business and dropping down nicknames and carrying on skits to let me know that she knew much more than I even thought she did from other people’s conversations that she was listening to-more stuff she hunted and gathered as well.
I sat and watched, boiling mad, as she kept posting to me in I.M: “HOODY HOOOOO!!!! HOODY HOOOOO!!!!” and “ Drop it like it’s hot, drop it like it’s hot,” over and over like she was jumping up and down on a mattress or something-like a hyper ass kid. That was turning me the hell off-for real.
I was sitting there like: “uuhhhhddd…fucks wrong with her?”
It annoyed the shit out of me.
Next, the nickname: “MeHo” came down, like: “Me…Hoe.”
I just sat there in shock. I could not believe the sight in front of my eyes. She and they were in rare form that evening. They continued to carry on conversations asking her if she still wanted me, and she responded: “I don’t know what I’m going do with my lil’ girlfriend y’all.”
“So much for nine and a half inches!” said one of her buddies (they all responded in “lolololol” laughter).
I just sat there shaking my head, pissed and hurt as hell-clueless as to how we got this far. It was so brutal.
Next, a sexual nickname came down as they made jokes about my “sexual prowess,” and treated one of mine and Janet’s lil’ sexual shin-digs like I was a completely packaged whore of hers and she was some dude who fucked me and treated me like a slut in front of his friends. I bit back-to mind fuck her: “Why envy? Perhaps if you stayed on your job you could’ve kept your man. Maybe I can show you how it’s really done one day…with a real man!”
She then posted a message to me over in I.M: “WOW! Really?”
I replied:
“Yeah…REALLY…and I can do that to a real man with a real thingy…How talented I am huh?…” I replied to her (laughing to myself).
Now, was the time to test my theory about what she 
thought about me and Rene…
Somebody responded: “Yeah Cinamon” …and posted some way to get to it through one of Janet’s links. Knowing them, they probably tapped every IP of every damned computer that clicked through the link to get to that man’s chat room from her room. I knew their moves. I laughed and responded:
“Do you really think I would go to Rene’s chat room through a Janet link? We would have NO privacy!”
Nobody responded.
Janet was pissed. She asks me in I.M:
“So Cin, have you been over to your friend’s house with the cat lately?”
“Um Lena’s house? No,” I responded.
“Dirty Pussy…” she rolled her eyes and posted.
I couldn’t understand at first what the hell she could have been talking about with that comment right there. Lena had no kids, and treated that cat like a newborn baby and it was cleaner than some people I know. I thought back to the day Janet and I first brought her cat (named Cleo) and Lena’s cat into the picture. We were joking about how prissy they both were because they were indoor exotic cats. Janet and I started joking about the dirty little cats in my neighborhood and how they were always outside screamin,’ fuckin’ and fightin’ every night. We busted out laughing because she responded: “Well you know those out door cats in the hood got to fight to survive…” and we laughed.
But this day, the cat joke wasn’t funny-this was about real pussy (so I found out). I cursed them all out in chat, logged out and drove over to my friend Lena’s house to find out why Janet would say something like that. I felt awkward bringing this conversation to her but I needed to know what sense Lena could make of Janet’s “Dirty Pussy” comment. I asked her had she been on her phone saying anything that had to do with the contents of what I had just told her [Janet posting: “Dirty Pussy”]. Sure enough, she informed me that she had told another friend of hers that she was upset about the smell of her vagina and that she had made an appointment to see her doctor. Turns out she had something in the yeast family (nothing sexually transmitted-BV), which let me know that was the reason for Janet’s comment.
I was l.i.v.i.d, and embarrassed for my friend and definitely tired of Janet’s shit. I wanted to kick her ass this day. She and they were all up in people’s business.
When I got back home, I made phone calls to Shauntay, Janine, and “Boomshacklacka.” I told them that they had my permission to talk about her like a dog, whereas at one time (many times), I would stop them in their tracks. Together, we talked about her from head to toe, inside and out, up and down. My energy was bursting out like crazy-overpowering theirs because I was soooo mad at her.
By this time, my friends had been so tired of me and Janet that they didn’t have the same angry energy they once had-the kind that would hurt me when they’d talk about her and I would stop them immediately: over the telephone (and face-to-face). I used to hate it when they would talk about her, because I had so many excuses for every bad thing she did to me.
But this time, I didn’t care. And the only reason why they assisted me-once again-is because they knew I was so upset, but their angry energy wasn’t there anymore the way it used to be, but they tried-for me.
By this time, they had gone on with their lives; carrying on with conversations on their phones without
even caring that Janet would hear sooner or later. I got angrier thinking about how much I even envied that. “How they could carry on?” I wondered, thinking about how trapped I felt. Thinking about all the things that was holding me back from carrying on as they did-wishing I could do like they were doing, knowing that had I not allowed my feelings to get caught up into this, none of this shit would ever happened (or phase me-at all).
All I could do next was get personal and tear into her physical and personal self-rip at her beauty and take back from her; every compliment and appreciation for her beauty she had ever known me to feel and reveal to her.
I began to talk about how she had the money to correct, remove, and change any limb, strand or clavicle on her whole fucking body if she felt like it. I talked about how stupid she should feel even talking about anything that had to do with me or my friend’s poor lil’ lives when she can afford to pay a cook to cook for her; three square meals a day, sit her at the table, put a bib on her chest and feed her fat ass from the next room, if that’s what she wanted.
I further insulted her by reiterating how everything she’s paid for I got naturally and how it all sits the same way in clothes as without clothes on. I went on to talk about how everything she has paid for, could be found naturally in these very same ghettos that she made fun of.
I would not stop.
I couldn’t stop.
I wanted to talk about her so bad and hurt her feelings to a point where she would be embarrassed to even try for me again. I wanted to hurt her so bad that I too, would be to embarrassed to take her back.
I talked about her like a dog-I know like she had never heard anyone do her before.
Any little thing I could think of, I said it. I had it with her ass.
When I got off the phone, I ran to my computer and began to completely uninstall any program or component that had anything to do with the Internet. This time it was working, unlike before when I didn’t quite know how. It was working one by one, but each time I’d uninstall one, my screen would freeze. Janet was on the other side of the globe trying her best to stop it. I rebooted the entire computer and start uninstalling again. She would keep working her end, but I succeeded one by one each time I would reboot; deleting programs until there were none.
Each program I would delete, I could feel her shrinking away to nothingness like the wicked witch in the Wiz. I could see her and feel her screaming, crying, and breathing hard as hell; melting in her puddle of tears that I’d created from talking about her so badly. She knew it was over for sure.
The next morning I was on my mission. I got up early to run to “BoomShackalacka” to tell her to make sure she made the boys go to camp even if they didn’t want to go. I made sure that I didn’t tell her on the phone so Janet and her digerati would not win this one.
I went to Kinko’s to recheck Hell Mail to make sure I had all the copies of mine and Janet’s emails in my files.
In the middle of my printing a couple of them, I got error messages:“This program has performed and illegal operation and will be shut down. If the problem persists, contact the program vendor.” and “Contact the server administrator. Try back later.”
…that screen froze too–from Kinkos! But the last important (and relevant) copy that I needed did make print.
I went over to the school lab to get back into Hell Mail to see if I could get in from there. They had deleted the rest of the emails that I didn’t get to get. I laughed, because I had more than enough printed already to help me with remembering what happened on different dates in order to finish the story-accurately and precisely.
My next mission was to call the National Enquirer tabloid on her and tell them the story. I was so desperate. I hated her this day. All niceness, reckoning, and bets were off-she crossed way too many boundaries and needed a swift lesson taught to her presumptuous ass.
The lady (who said her name was “Pat”/Patricia Shipp) told me she didn’t believe me and that they could be sued for slander if they even took my story. All I could do was yell at Pat from the payphone in the quiet building I was in: “THIS WOMAN IS RUINING MY LIFE!!!!!” I was so pissed, because at this point I felt like I was fighting a losing battle. Because if the smut mag wouldn’t take my story or believe me, who in the hell would? They too thought I had climbed aboard the Hale Bop Comet and was a nut, and quite frankly I was-that day. Because I had already told myself that there was no way I could explain this situation in a three to sixty minute conversation, but I went against that and tried any damned way.
I didn’t know what to do. I just wondered how I was ever going to be free of this woman and teach her the lesson she badly needed. She knew so much about me, my whereabouts, my child’s whereabouts, who’s, what’s, when’s, where’s, why’s and how’s-even what time of the month I came on my period.
After that day, I knew I had to make a plan. I knew there had to be a better way. She was wrong since the beginning. I know that I’m a good person and never had any ill intent from the very beginning with this whore, and I didn’t deserve this from her. But I knew if I took my time and prayed on it; something good would come my way to help me combat this situation…something.
────♦────
The next day-Saturday July 31st I got up first thing in the morning and went to the store to buy a printer for my computer. My plan was to finish the story and print each page, as I finished it, just in case Janet still had control of my computer.
After talking to the lady at the tabloids, I knew that exercising my First Amendment Right was the only way to battle this woman-the pen is mightier than the sword anyways…
When I got home, I hooked the printer up and started brainstorming and writing an outline for how I was going to finish up the story. I opened up a few Word documents and titled them: “MeHo,” just like Janet did me in the room. I left it up, just to see if she still had access to my computer. When I started brainstorming and writing notes, my fonts started to change while I was typing. At that point, I knew she still had access to my computer-uninstalling all Internet features wasn’t going to stop nothing she had going on, on it.
I had also gone through my hard drive’s cache to see what pages and pictures were in there from all this time. I wanted everything-all the proof I could gather. I found that all of our emails from Hell Mail were still there, but when I selected them they looked like this:
12-15 ÚÕÝÿ-ð•ÚnÙ^Ãy›J•mè kÉOÙ¹:Ë8°ñÙRý‘-¥ÝuŸjm*R¸”1QgÀ-¸Ã£ëä;êbð°zëD v,J:ì^µ8‰ÃDisÒ9iߦ•¥~Õ6ÃDcÔ ¯©ÅÊ?¨´‘GroovieB’GMíÝ $Íìº/ >6÷T•0Pû6-FÆÇ’Ô•‡ig¨‰EÀ¼ßI G©ÔGú” ÿÿ
Every email of ours had a date of “12-15” which had to have been manually entered onto them. I guessed they deliberately used the date of December 15 because that was the first day I had entered her room perhaps, I don’t know. Any and all pictures of Janet and anything that had to do with her or her room room-any web page, graphics, pictures-everything, was deleted from my cache.
Later, I decided to take the printer back to the store, since it was not going to serve its purpose. I jumped in my car and turned on the radio to a song playing that I hadn’t heard in years. All I could see was Janet’s face woven through the lyrics of this song blasting through my car stereo speakers: “Every Breath You Take” by Sting.
I never paid that much attention to that song until this particular hot summer day in the car while I was sweating and crying in almost 100-degree weather-wondering when, how, and if all this was going to end. I was so discombobulated.
The highest degree of pissivity traveled through me while the poignant and ironic lyrics encompassed me. I thought back to the time I had that dream about my friend and me watching her little sister fight it out with somebody, and how every detail was interpreted with the words of a chat script instead of us talking about it face-to-face. I thought about the time my friend Kia called me that Sunday morning crying; telling me about how she got a message from God telling her to tell me that whatever I was doing and whomever I was involved with would try to chip away at my spirit. I remember how she begged me over and over again, “Whatever it is you are doing Angie, I don’t care how good or enticing it is, it aint for you, leave it alone!…”
I thought about how one Sunday afternoon I had seen a made-for-television movie called “Closer and Closer” starring Kim Delaney as a horror-story writer. She was confined to a wheelchair-writing about a character that she unknowing brought to life-her life, (oh the irony)…Look at me…
In the movie, the guy was stalking her and while on route to her; was killing her friends and family. Each step of the way, he would send pictures of his “work” so that she could see. He’d yell at her in the computer’s chat script: “YOU CREATED ME! AND I MUST GET TO YOU!” He felt like he identified so much with one of her many horror story characters that she wrote about, that his goal was to save her for last. That freaked me out because (ironically) I saw this movie while going through this bullshit with Janet, and I never sit down on a Sunday afternoon to watch television-something drew me to it.
Although the movie actually looked like it was a lil’ dated, it still freaked me out, because it was synonymous with what I was going through with Janet; how she was intruding upon mine, and my friends, and family’s lives. The only difference was, instead of actually murdering them, she was killing me: emotionally, mentally, spiritually and financially; trying to maintain my sanity and buy shit to combat her that I couldn’t afford and never could outdo what she was doing.
Everything else: every warning, forewarning, song, lyric, person, place, thing or movie dropping in my lap, life or ear was too fucking surreal. I couldn’t BELIEVE how this shit was unpacking, unfolding, manifesting, and well–part kismet, too.
“You need to stick to pen and paper girlfriend-that’s the only way you can win,”
…was the only talk I could have with myself that gave me hope, because all else was gone.
────♦────
That Monday, August 2, I
From the next/upcoming chapter excerpt drop #6:
That evening, Shauntay called and told me that she had something to tell me. I kept asking her to tell me, but she told me that she wanted to tell me in person and that it was nothing major. Of course when we got off the phone, I hopped in my car and rushed right over her house to find out what it was. She just wanted to tell me that Janet had run the series of beeps onto her distinctive ring (second line) and knew for sure that Janet must have her normal line tapped in order to have gotten the phone number to that distinctive ring line that she hardly ever used. She told me when the line rang, she picked up and got the same series of beeps that Janet sent through to her normal line that same afternoon we sat over her house eating pizza.
I knew that she wasn’t lying, and that was just Janet’s way of letting me know that she still had everything under her control. Because it was Shauntay that she had just heard me call to tell about my day, she figured she would take it upon herself to go one step further and call Shauntay’s second phone line, so that she could put this “bug” in my ear: “I STILL got everything under my control, even a phone number of your good friend and confidant that YOU don’t even have…” (because I didn’t even have that particular phone number of Shauntay’s, ever).
I still ignored Janet. I didn’t go to the room and promised myself that I wasn’t going to, no matter what she did (because that’s what she wanted).
The next day, I went over to my mom’s house with my laptop to get away from home so that I could do some work on the story. I made a phone call and when I got off, it rang about two minutes later. My mom answered and the person hung up. I knew it was Janet, I just knew it was, but I didn’t say anything. So a few minutes later, I picked up the phone again to make another phone call, and right after I got off, she did it again. I told my mom that it was her-but she didn’t believe me. She kept telling me how she was going to admit me if I didn’t stop it. I was so frustrated arguing with my mother and brother about this, because there was no way they could understand what I was going through with this woman, hardly anybody could, I don’t even know why I ever tried explaining.
Being met with instant resistance would make me feel so defeated [how people with no computer savvy and monetary resources outside of a life on a budget]’s minds could never conceive such a thing happening. I was so upset with Janet by this time, just thinking about how many people would actually think I was crazy if I were to explain the whole story to them. I was pissed.
Pissed that she could even get away with doing all this shit from afar and all I could do was deal with it, or be labeled crazy. And if anything were to go legal, I was feeling like they would just throw my story out as a disgruntled ex-girlfriend of Janet’s that was trying to get back at her or some ole’ bullshit like that.
I remember I would talk to this chic named Allison from the café and although she believed me, she told me that I should be careful about who I discussed it with, because it reminded her of a situation that her brother had gone through. She said he was a brilliant Ivy League college student who had been involved in a story almost as similar as mine. He had known some kind of top secret that had to do with the Ivy League school.
As a result, his computer and telephones had been tapped, and the way it was all setup, the culprits took him through a series of things and he had been trying to get his story told. When all was said and undone, the situation backfired on him somehow, and he was admitted to some psychological hospital as a result of it. Allison said it turned out, years later, that what he had known had eventually been uncovered in some major scandal. To this day she said (although he was able to put it back together again-somewhat); his life had been ruined as a result of it all.
That story kind shook me up because a) it was my same story, and b) because it’s a shame what can happen when you are on the receiving end of a situation like his (and mine) and you only have your intelligence, what you know about the situation, your intuition, and savvy to guide you out of it. Yet, the culprits have the money, social power, status and resources, and for that reason; they come out on top and smelling like a rose-when they were the ones who came into your life and made a complete mess of it. I can’t even imagine having to be admitted to some crazy hospital for some crazy shit because of a crazy bitch herself who, little did the world know, was crazier than the brother who the world labeled: “crazy”-down to his death. R.I.P-may his soul rest.
After listening to that story about Allison’s brother, I knew then that I’d better shut my mouth and just be a “ BIDNEZZHANDLA” myself. Because little did Allison even know, I was already experiencing the scrutiny and shunning of my very own mother-having no (literal) understanding of what it was I was going through.
My mom and I argued constantly. I told her that if she did not believe me-fine, but just do me one favor and not mention it to anyone over the phone ever. Just drop it. Drop it like it’s hot. I didn’t even want my mother mentioning in conversation-anything about me merely sitting at her house “working on a laptop.” I especially did not want Janet to know that I still had the laptop because the last she heard tell of it was me talking to Shauntay- telling her that I was going to take it back because I didn’t trust it either, it was a waste of my money-I couldn’t afford it.
I wanted my mother to completely drop it also because I did not want Janet hearing anything additional that she could use for fun or fight. I definitely could not take her knowing that my big mouth mom would get on the phone blabbing her mouth about my being “crazy” while Janet and people sat and listened-laughing at their masterwork working. I figured that if she and her people could get a whiff of the sneers, shuns, and doubts in my own world, that would definitely make them feel as though they had some sick twisted inalienable permission to feel even better about what they were doing, all the while finding solace in the fact that the world outside bigger than my own-people who don’t even know me but are enamored by Janet-would certainly feel I was the crazy one and Janet was somewhere “sane” and overseas; too busy, and taking care of way too much business to do something crazy like this. I refused to let she and her buddies test-market their evil and giving them more courage to have fun while doing it-wreaking havoc in my life.
My mom and I still argued (non-stop) about the phone calls (and her needing to admit me). I was so pissed, just knowing how much control over the entire situation this woman had, and how she could just sit back and be some unseen force in this entire ordeal; making me look like the crazy one to everybody. I couldn’t stop crying, I was sooooo burning with upset and fury. I knew I had to finish the story. I knew I had to. I kindly reiterated to my mother, my need to have her not mention that I had a laptop at all-especially over the phone.
No sooner than I said that, her friend walked into the door and she started to tell him about what we had just argued about, so I knew she would do the same thing (over the telephone) when I left her house. My blood was boiling. I was so pissed that Janet already knew about what kind of relationship my mom and I had (from “overhearing” us).
She was the sister of sisters. She knew that if she wanted to know anything I was up to, all she had to do was keep the tap on my mother’s phone because her mouth was so very big, and [when it came to me and my life excursions, especially]-she was not the one to trust with things I didn’t want anybody to now. Right in my face, when my mom turned and told her boyfriend everything I had just asked her not to mention; I knew that Janet once again would win and have it in the bag with my mother. So I knew that I had to distance myself from my mother if I didn’t want my right hand to know what my left hand was doing, just like I always had to do when it came to her-ever since I was a kid (Janet knew that too-from many discussions over the phone with my mother).
At this point in this thing with Janet, all I needed in my life was not so much as “allies” (or even people to believe me). But what I did need was for any information about me: large, small, or irrelevant; not be mentioned over their phones. If I bought a candy bar that they never had before and shared it with them, I wanted them to not mention that over their telephones. I needed to contain everything that I could. And where I couldn’t control their being able to retrieve other information: bore them, like bleeding them out with weed-outs.
I already knew this was nothing new to them-I could tell it wasn’t. They had done this thing several times before. And I seriously doubt that I was Janet’s first (in this way). I would even lend credit to the notion that she and they have most probably done this to several other people from their own their private lives (that they loved or hated), and perhaps the “strange happenings and coincidences” in those people’s lives (for wanting to hang on to their sanity) kept throwing caution to the winds of “consistent coincidences,” (like I used to for a long while). Or they knew-but couldn’t do a damned thing about it. But me, unlike them, I seriously think that although I was most probably not their first victim; I most definitely was the one who: caught on, (and in her terms): “played the game so well,” but when shit got real: did something about it.
As far as the people from my private life, all I needed was for all friends and family members of mine to do for me; was to omit my entire existence from their mind in conversation on their phones-period-that’s all I asked–all I asked. Whatever we needed to talk about, we could do it in person. That was the only thing I needed from them-nothing else but to treat their lives (over the phone) like we didn’t even talk anymore-whether they believed me or not, resisted me or not, or called me crazy or all three–but just keep it in their heads rather than out of their mouths (especially over the telephone).
It got to the point where [during this very moment in time, and years later into this] whoever did meet me with the tiniest bit of resistance, attitude, questions, or a second guess (about my request); I had to cut them completely the fuck off…nice, swift, abruptly and silently. I had to-because little could they ever understand, to not do the simple thing I asked-only helped Janet and her buddies in waging easy strategies with this technological and psychological warfare going on in my life.
To resist the simple thing I asked, was to elect to be against me, to elect to hurt me, and as far as I was concerned: kill me slowly-which was all the things that Janet and her buddies were doing to me every single day that I was waking up fighting [which ended up being for years]. I did not need my friends and family to unknowingly assist in giving them more to do than what was already being done to me. And as far as I was concerned, after I told them (what not to do), and they did it anyways-then as far as I was concerned; they knowingly and willfully assisted Janet and her buddies.
This little request of mine caused a whole lot of problems that otherwise would not have been a problem had I not opened up the can of worms-by going down the line connecting Janet’s dots-per-friend (as told to me by Janet): the stories going on in their own lives that they hadn’t even told me as yet. Connecting the dots wasn’t hard to do, Janet had a nickname for each friend based upon something they did, or some character trait about them that I would automatically know.
My asking them to exclude me from their minds (even in the most innocent of conversations on their phones), made many of them (who were really upset that I knew some things about them they hadn’t told me) second guess if this was something I would probably grow to enjoy laughing back and forth with Janet on-for our entertainment. Not hardly. They had no idea about the promises I stayed firm on when I found out she was listening in on my telephones calls. They had no idea that I was never going to give her the comfort of discussing with her; anything that may hurt or upset her that she took upon herself to “overhear”-ever (and I never did-even if she “overhearing” something that caused concern or care about me-or what I was going through). I would never give her the comfort of thinking that what she was doing was ok-ever. I fought the good fight on that.
I remember Janine’s words constantly ringing in my head: “Angie it’s like her rich ass is playing all of us like our poor little lives as compared to hers has no value-like we’re these little toy soldiers on this lil’ chess board game that they’re playing. We’ve got lives, dilemmas, problems, and stuff, and our shit is like…entertaining her. We didn’t consent to a reality show for this bitch! She aint paying us! I mean serious!” That stuck with me.
My friends earned “me.” Janet didn’t earn “me.” Quite frankly, she didn’t earn her way into my life. Despite my heart being open, my eyes and my mind stayed open too. As far as my friends were concerned, my thinking was: appreciate the fact that I revealed to you, what I hope you too, would reveal to me (if the shoe was on the other foot). Extending my loyalty and informing them-that they didn’t have any privacy too-made some of them lose trust in me. And if they resisted and fought with me, then I couldn’t trust them to honor my request in excluding me from any conversation on their phones [so as to not give Janet anything to work with-so that maybe she would get bored and leave them alone]. It was a science and a strategy to this shit that took a good brain to understand.
This whole thing forced everyone stand around like that scene out of “Scandal” where everybody drew guns on the person to their left and then the person to their right. It got crazy-the paranoia (and I understand that), but my (four-corner) thinking was all this: The logical reality was, as annoying as this thing was to everybody…there wasn’t a damned thing either of them could do to Janet about it by way of nobody (but me). She wasn’t talking to them—she was talking to me. Having said that, I’m the one holding the: “can do anything about anything.” If you can’t allow me to position myself to do something about it altogether; that means I don’t have your trust, therefore-I don’t have your loyalty. And I’m not the one with the money in this. I’m only the one with the truth, the pen, and the patience-period -nothing else. I cannot buy your loyalty. So while I’m positioning myself to do something about it, against the people with the money-they can afford your loyalty (if they needed to), and if you weren’t doing what I asked; then you gave it to them for free.
So with that (and as far as I was concerned) you belonged to Janet’s team in my eyes, so get to stepping from my sight (any family member or friend who fit that bill). Because in my life, there would be no other test of loyalty and support greater than this one-ever. My fight against a big superstar wouldn’t be just with her-it would be against a brainwashed world of people too-who loved her for just singing and smiling. If I ever needed loyalty-the time was this time.
To hell with your only understanding of loyalty being my being there for you as you cry over some dude that doesn’t want you, or want you calling his phone, texting him, crying to him. To hell with crying over some dude that barely wants to sleep you with except near payday. To hell with mending “unbreakable bonds” over gossip about who showed up to holiday dinner with a bigger mouth than what they brought in a bag through the door but had the nerve to sit at a table and feast but didn’t wash dishes and shit. To hell with mending fences over punk ass twenty dollar loans and countless other petty, basic, muddleheaded bullshit. How about being full-on loyal over some unusual, life-altering shit that I needed your help, trust, and support with-unyielding?
How ‘bout the loyalty and support I needed with shit like wayyy before the Internet opened itself up the way it is today, when I was on letter writing campaigns, faxing, paying money for time and consultations so much so that I couldn’t even pay my rent because of — risking
…and drove up to this café’ in the neighborhood. It was a nice lil’ basement joint where they sold smoothies, coffee, and bagels and stuff. Upstairs, was the dining area where they served brunch, lunch and dinner and throughout the entire place, you could work on their computers located in the bottom of the establishment. It was something like a mini-Kinkos going on except it was dim, had brick walls, and resembled a dungeon.
I stood there in front of the girl making my Monkey Joe; crying my heart out talking around what I was going through with my computer at home and my laptop. She began telling me her story about her hacker experience as well. This story of hers that couldn’t light a candle to what I was going though, so what she was talking about went through one ear and out of the other.
I turned around and banged my head to the wall, while the loud speakers in the dungeon-like cafe’ were blasting “Obsession” by Animotion.
My head was spinning and rocking back and forth to the crazy lyrics screaming at me and giving me the shakes-thinking of Janet. The bass guitar was loud like I was at a rock concert or walking through a nightclub. It was a movie moment: my angst and my heart danced to the hard rock beat. It drove me nuts. I had been done with pinching myself trying to see if I would wake up and this all would be a dream. I knew I was just being tested. I’m too good a person at heart, and I definitely was good to her. I didn’t deserve this at all.
I had to keep telling myself to stay strong over and over, and that something good was going come my way. Sure enough,
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