The truth is, our pasts – and the people we have lost or let go of over many years – do occasionally return to haunt us, literally and figuratively. This past December, during that super Gemini full moon (and long after, sadly), a figure from my past, happily and gratefully no longer a friend for ages (though not nearly long enough), came back by way of this site. Oh hell. Oh no. Oh ffs.
It didn’t go well. She’d been directed to a blog post by another former or even current local, no doubt, concerning one of our resident citizen predators, praising me for outing the guy, although unless you know who, what, and where, you would not be able to tell who it is, and maybe not even then. She also did another thing she’s done more than once before, she sent a second message demanding that we reconnect, although demand might be too strong a word. Here is that message:
We have separated over 20 years. We have common friends and I’d like for you to step back and realize life is short. I encourage you to reach out to those that remember you as you were.
First of all, no. And for many very good reasons, one of which would be 20+ screaming, ranting voice messages left on my phone twenty-four hours before my dad’s funeral. Why? Well, because I once again refused to be her friend in a moment that was 100,000% not about her or our former relationship. Remember those insane, screaming rants, you crazy bitch? I sure do. Second of all, you’re encouraging me? Really? You’d like me to step back and realize what I already know, that life is short – although there are moments like the day I heard from you, hon, that make life feel verrrrrry, very long indeed.
Ironically the blog post she praised re: our local predator(s) and the two teachers who sexually assaulted me when I was eighteen and a recent HS grad (as was she), featured this demanding, language challenged not my pal anymore thank GAWD person as my ride or die bestie, the one who told me I deserved to be assaulted by teacher numero uno the following day (maybe, just maybe another reason we’re not friends any more…y’think!!?). She either didn’t recognize herself in the writing, or has lost so many brain cells in the course of her long, crazy-ass, drug, sex, and booze soaked life, it was simply beyond her ability to recall.
To be fair, however, as I strive to be, she’s been dry for a long time, but – and it’s a big but – she still has all of the delusions, paranoia, shame, convenient memory loss, and ‘it’s not ever my fault or responsibility’ bullshit of an active drinker. And a strong need for co-dependency, which sucked me in for a decade at least when we went our separate ways after high school. How? Because I felt guilty for all the drinking we did in our teenaged years, which left me wondering if I, somehow, bore partial responsibility for her alcoholism. I didn’t. Not one ickle little bit then, or ever.
I replied, and not kindly, the following day, ending with the thought that if she were reading my blog, the post entitled How We Grew: Penny, Penora, Penelope might interest her for reasons with which I shall not insult your intelligence, dear readers. Subsequently, over the following five-plus hours – and since then (the 1st week of December) – she has sent me over 105 threatening, ranting, nutso email messages, demonstrating YET AGAIN why we aren’t friends, and probably should never have been, or would never have been, if we hadn’t both been born and raised in a town so small the choices weren’t simply limited, they were practically non-existent. Practically? Definitely. Let’s say limited to the point of non-existence for all intents and purposes. There y’go.
Below is a curated sample. And yes, she found and read that other post, the one I recommended she read, all about her, albeit from my point of view. Oopsie!! I am a writer; it’s what I do. Deal with it. I’ve had to, Penny, Penora, Penelope, living inside this personality and temperament, carrying this brain around for 39* years?! Sheesh. The person I dissect most vehemently, believe me, is myself.
Here goes!!
You are a sad, sick miserable woman. Your words mean nothing to me. Look at your life? I laugh at you! Get some help! Send another harassing email and I will press charges and have you arrested!!! Trust my words!
NYS troopers are now aware and have documentation of your defamation and assaults.
…after that I responded with, “Wait, you don’t want to be friends anymore?!!“ I know, I know, I’m so mean, after which I received many, many other equally charrrrming but thankfully brief messages, like these:
I’m having you arrested ASAP!!
I have a claim number for warrant and arrest for you. Your attacks on people are over!
You are sad and you are sick. Everyone in that town knows it.
Let me know when the troops show up. I’m ready!!!
For the record I am 100% sure she once again meant NYS troopers, and whaddayaknow, days and weeks later, they still haven’t shown up!!! Of course no such report, claim number or warrant for my arrest exists or will ever exist, but her imagination has always been active, if, sadly, in a harmful way – harmful to her and (one supposes) to the people who care about her, among which number I ain’t. This next message made me laugh out loud. Can you tell why?:
False claims? They are black and white. I have them. Be prepared. You’re a sick demented woman who no one seems to debate. You’ve crossed the wrong woman and your disgusting sick sociopath behavior will come out. What a cute pic of me. I have numbers of defendants that will be beside me. Along with documents.
False claims refers to my having spoken to my attorney – and responding to her after having done so, as well as with a county Judge who knows us both; all in light of her writing that she was involving NYS Troopers, re: warrants and etc. because while it’s important to trust that you know what’s what (i.e. I know for sure she’s full of shit, she always has been), but to also verify, regardless. To wit, in NYS it’s actually a real, live crime to threaten people with false claims of arrest and certificates of warrant for same, especially when those threats include and involve family members actively working in law enforcement at the time the messaged threats are sent.
The following was a doozy, and also arrived via this website:
I received a message from a dear friend. Moj Mueller had posted a hateful blog about me.
May I share that I am a happy 66 year old who has reached out to others to encourage hope, health and happiness. I don’t encourage hate and vindictiveness that thrive on attacks of those she hates. To continue her hate makes her sicker than she is. Sad but true. Shes a sociopath. (punctuation and sentence structure – or a lack thereof – is all hers, by the way)
The weird truth is, she has long reminded me of those men who kill their wives or girlfriends when they don’t get their way, have been left or are on the verge of being left. Her narrative of who I should be, and how we should be friends, her need that we be friends, has always verged on the obsessive and hysterical. It is also grotesque.
In those ranting messages in December and January she also refers several times to a “cocaine addiction.” Wait, what, mine?!!, which claim also made me laugh out loud, given I haven’t had any coke since the spring of 1980 (and yet I remain 39* years old, how is that possible?!), and, as a pharmacist’s daughter, I never did drugs in a serious way, including coke, which I did, I think, three times, total?
Now, her brother Ch______ was addicted to coke for a long time. No, wait, heroin. Ch______ was addicted to heroin – and there’s an actual warrant out for his arrest in NYS for grand larceny; a real, live state trooper sat outside their dad’s funeral, just in case Ch_____ showed up. It’s entirely possible he was addicted to both heroin and coke as well as booze; in fact, her entire family is riddled with addiction, mostly to alcohol, like so many families the world over. That is a tragedy, albeit a common one. Addiction is a disease, and must be treated, not just with the aid of the AA Mafia – but also with serious therapeutic intervention(s), patience, and time.
Still, as Anne Lamott said so brilliantly, “If people wanted to be written about nicely, they should’ve behaved better at the time.” If a former friend has said “Oh Hell no.” – which I did years ago for the 2nd or 3rd or 4th time (still, much too late, believe me), yet again telling her to fuck off when my father died and she made it crazily about her as per usual – believe them, and don’t, please, circle back.
Ultimately, I had my attorney send her a cease and desist letter mid-December on the recommendation of the local sheriff’s deputy who assisted me, as well as her relative in law enforcement; he (the relative) also apologized via the deputy for his family member’s crazy behavior, which has led to his insisting on very structured and limited contact with her in his own life. I appreciated the apology, but Penny, Penora, Penelope‘s tsunami of bullshit and messaged harassment of me is not his problem or fault to apologize for, the poor guy!
Another doozy:
This will be my last message to you….then lights go out for good. Have you ever thought of your past? Cocaine addiction. Sex with strangers in Central Park. Eliminate me from your sociopathic life. Thank you.
You’re welcome. But hey. Stranger, not strangers. He was another dog walker I’d been flirting with for weeks, so not unknown, FFS. Plus, it was Valentine’s Day, and I’ve blogged about it, probably under Mistakes I’ve Made or some such (he was really, seriously hot).
As to that being the last message from her, uh, LOLOLOL. Nope. I wish!!
Penny, Penora, Penelope responded to the cease and desist letter from my attorney as required, and within the proper timeframe, promising all directives therein would be followed, including no more messages or contact of any kind from her directed toward me.
Since then – because she is a crazy fucking idiot – she has sent me dozens more threatening and harassing emails, including the one below, which was followed immediately by a bunch more. Y’gotta laugh. Or, anyway, I do. I haven’t responded since the first 72 hours, which was weeks ago, per my attorney and the local county judge’s advice (thank you, Lenny and Gary), but who needs a response when your own scrambled mind fills in all the blanks for ya, right, Penny, Penora, Penelope?!
This experience engaging with you has been a nightmare like no other. I will never, ever reach out again. Never. I wish you well.
If only. I have received 30+ messages since then. Perhaps many more by the time this posts? Oh well!! And as for the cute picture? See below.
Maybe not so cute, after all.
*It’s true that I am significantly older than 39, but, like Jack Benny, it amuses me to no end to pretend that I am not.
*I realize that I could choose to ignore her entirely, delete the Penny, Penora, Penelope blog post (now over 2.5 years old) as two childhood friends have recommended, as well as not posting this one. Nope. Not gonna happen. I won’t be silenced or bullied by anyone for any reason, ever – but I especially will not be silenced by a crazy bitch I should’ve cut loose when I was 18.
Just because you’ve known someone since forever, toss those bad fucking pennies away, y’all.
