Where what was none of my business becomes all my fault.

I know you’re under stress and you are flaming out every week. That it seems to be about me this time, but yet looks nothing like me, is not surprising. Last week it was over a mutual friend who deleted you out of the blue. I tried to tell you that I knew she had priorities to set in her own life and MySpace took a backseat to IRL. Everyone who has known you for any length of time knows your propensity to blow things out of proportion.
Even with the “Mike” thing, you didn’t manage to show him to be any more than a button-pressing dickhead. Admit it, there are other things in your life more stressful than knowing that an asshole breathes in Arizona.
I think your general tactic of preying on the unhappy by empathizing with them and pumping them for information, sitting on their heads and then noisily threatening to dump them is reprehensible. Whether you ARE Sonia or are merely manipulating her with your spy characters, I find your behavior in either instance despicable.
That you appear the most vulnerable at the same time as you are most despicable is a problem. You make yourself appear so unable to deal with reality and I have no wish to destroy you.
As to your dealings with me:
When I ask you a straight question, your secret societies of interconnected “colleagues” keep getting in the way of you giving me straight answers. Your attempts to control my relationships with other people by hinting vaguely at how I am aggravating their secret pains smacks of plain manipulation.
If a girlfriend cannot answer a girlfriend: “Is that guy flirting with me,” and “You said you know him; is he available?” Then what good is said girlfriend?
Even though I appreciate your enthusiasm for my April-May project, “Mumsy Darling,” I have come to regret keeping confidences with you.
I wrote on a page for you, knowing full well you were trying to attract the attention of someone whom you would not name for me. I was actually drawn in mainly (and what other reason would I have, besides my sheer delight in writing [but in this instance, not under my own moniker]) by wanting to know the object of your deceit. Is that so wrong, considering? You micromanaged me, and apparently other writers, right off of the page. It was hard to freely write without crossing your secret agenda(s). Think about that. No one can help you when your goals are so unclear. What do you really want? Consider where your tactics take you, time and again. Your dramatic calls for pledges of felty from people who really are unable to help you is painful to watch. I wish that you could keep for yourself more of the self-worth that you deserve for the things you have accomplished in life. You treat yourself and others as buckets or sacks that are either grandiosely full or entirely, contemptuously, devoid, dependent on the current wind. That is not how it is.