The Witch and Her Flying Monkey

I received a phone call this evening from my mother’s oldest friend, Deanna.  They have known each other since they were toddlers.  I really enjoy Deanna and her entire family, but this woman has never called me.  It’s her mother, Anna, who has always maintained a relationship with me.  I remember seeing “Kramer vs. Kramer”  with Anna in the theatre when I was a little girl.  I fell asleep, but I remember Dustin Hoffman and Meryl Streep.  I liked the movie.  It was about divorce.  My parents were divorced.  It was a movie I understood young though I was.

Today on The Phone with Deanna

Deanna: Oh honey, it’s so good to talk to you.  So, I’m coming into town in three weeks to see my mom.  I haven’t seen her  in, gosh, three years.  I guess it’s time I visit.  It’s just hard to leave the cows behind.

Me: I would imagine.

Deanna: So, your mom will be coming into town to see us when we see my mom.  I was thinking it might be nice to see you, too.  I talked to your mom today.  She told me how much she’s been through this year.  How you won’t talk to her.  How you have refused to talk to her for three years.  How you won’t let her see the kids…

Me: She said what?

Deanna: Well, she said that only your therapists are allowed to talk, but she said that even your therapist refused to talk to her therapist.

Me: That’s a lie.  She doesn’t even know who my therapist is! That information has never been asked for.

Deanna: Oh.  Well, I know it’s been hard for you, honey.  I know about what happened in Florida.

Me: (hair standing on end) What are you talking about?

Deanna: Well, she told me about that man who abducted you and raped you in that motel room over and over again.  How she tracked you down and saved you.

Me: (beginning to boil) Enough.  That is not what happened.  That…is…a….lie.  You are being manipulated.  I saved myself.  Twice.  I saved myself twice.  She had nothing to do with it.  That is not her story to tell.  I was trafficked.  What kind of story is she telling people? What is she thinking?

I wanted to choke on the bile rising in my throat.  Deanna went on to tell me a twisted interpretation of the past three year’s events.  My mother is a victim.  She is suffering so much.  I have taken so much from her, and she is the hero of her own story, always wanting to do the right thing, wanting so much to have a relationship with her grandchildren.  I, on the other hand, refuse to take her calls.  I refuse to work anything out.  Deanna has been manipulated and deceived masterfully.

This is what it’s like to deal with a Borderline Personality with not only sadistic tendencies but also, let’s face it, a sociopath.  My former therapist called it.  He said that she was probably sociopathic.  Everything she did was solely about getting her own needs met.  If that meant lying, murdering, hurting, stealing, or manipulating her oldest friend so that she looked like a victim, then, hell, why not?

Her friend went on to pout on the phone with me because I refused to meet her and my mother for lunch.  I want no part of this.  Clearly, she isn’t in therapy.  Clearly, she never will be.

I don’t think this will ever end.  Not until she dies.  She’ll just continue to send out her flying monkeys to harass and harangue, and she’ll hang my crotch out for all the world to see, claiming that she rescued me.  She was the hero.

In her own delusional narrative.

Me? I’m angry, and I’m done.  There comes a time when you must realize that the person you love is beyond redemption–on this side of Heaven.  When my mother told her friend–and whomever else–that she tracked me down and saved me from my captor, she crossed the Rubicon.  In truth, I was a missing person for a week no thanks to her, and I tricked my captor, escaped him, was relocated to a safe house, wherein he found me again after mysteriously escaping police custody and discovering my location.  I escaped him a second time.  I even evaded him while in college.  Her? She did nothing.  Nothing.

It’s a good thing I’ve had so much therapy, or this would have revictimized me.  I’m angry, and I see clearly now.  There is no fixing this.  I must close the door on this relationship and lock it.  Forever.

And yet, I cry.  I am vibrating like a damn tuning fork.

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6 thoughts on “The Witch and Her Flying Monkey

  1. “And yet, I cry. I am vibrating like a damn tuning fork.”

    There is nothing wrong with mourning the death of hope that a situation is salvageable.

  2. It still hurts… Doesn’t seem to matter how much work you have done or how much therapy, there is still that glimmer of hope that maybe this time they got their act together, maybe this time they’ve hit bottom…nope. I hear you on this one and you are still YEARS ahead of me.

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