Splitting from poison pal
so very hard to do

My name is Keisha and I'm in a mentally abusive relationship. I want to leave, but I'm afraid that if I tell her she's an emotional black hole, the fallout will be tremendous (and I'll never get my Angie Stone CD back). I also know that if I continue on, it will only get worse. Wasn't it the Clash that sang, "If I go there will be trouble / if I stay it will be double?"

First of all, she acts like she's my man. She rings at all hours of the night, expecting me to pick up. This would have been acceptable, oh, I don't know ... 16 years ago in the seventh grade, when I had nothing better to do than accept a barrage of silly phone calls and stress over the bounce quotient of my bangs. I'm no longer responsible for bouncy bangs, but I am for my family.

When I paint the town with someone other than her, I get the silent treatment (thank God). Ah, but the sweet silence never lasts long. When I do steal away with my other, more sane friends, I'm constantly looking over my shoulder. Is she following me? Why do I feel like I'm cheating?

She's the jealous type, too. When the two of us are in a group, she expends mad energy to get people to notice her. Not just men, oh no. Men and women alike within 50 feet must all prostrate before her fabulousness. I'm not kidding. Once, when were in line to get into a club, the bouncer (built like a refrigerator, but cute enough) started chatting me up. What does my friend do? Feigns a coughing fit -- an eyes-rolled-back, arms flailing coughing fit! Of course, after the bouncer dude moves close enough to cop a feel, she's miraculously all better.

Come to think of it, the fake coughing spell was the last straw.

It's bad enough that she's my de facto boyfriend, but she also wants to be my mother. For example: I mentioned that I might like to hit the beach on Saturday, but decided instead to lounge about in my Underoos and watch the MTV "Cribs" marathon. What does "Mom" do? She blows up my cell all day, texting me every half hour before finally idling her Mercedes outside my house. I had to invite her in before the neighbors called the cops.

P.S. She yakked like a Chatty -- freaking -- Cathy throughout the entire marathon.

The only thing worse than mother and boyfriend inhabiting the same body is mother and boyfriend sharing the same loose lips. My grandmother would say she's like a broken refrigerator because "Can't keep nothin.' " Tell her a secret and in the heat of the moment, there it comes, dribbling into the public domain.

If my friend were a man, I could just dip into the time-honored "It's not you, it's me" or "I'm just going through a difficult period right now." But there's no reasoning with a female friend; truth is the only recourse. It's not me, it's her. I'm going through a bad patch and it's all her fault. And, no, we can't be just friends. Just give me back my CD and leave me alone!

I feel much better now. So much so that I'm going to march right up to my future ex-friend and explain how she's the malignant cancer on the lung of my life. Or, something like that.