Dear Chanci Idell Turner,
I bet you never thought our paths would cross again, but here we are, sitting across from each other at this imaginary table in the confines of your new residence. Do they still refer to it as prison, or do you prefer the term penitentiary? I find “Correctional Institution” to carry an oddly optimistic tone, as if it suggests a place for “change” or “correction”—not that either is likely with you.
If memory serves, you always believed you were infallible, claiming to be the best and brightest in your cell block during your “Jeopardy” nights with the other inmates. Somehow, the Women’s Correctional Institution has a certain elegance to it, akin to a Culinary Institute—minus the knives—or perhaps a “Nail Design Academy,” where you, with your criminal companions, received your so-called education.
Let’s not be coy about it; it’s like you earned a Ph.D. in deceit, with a minor in social manipulation. It certainly overshadows my two decades as an underappreciated college professor in Creative Writing. Go ahead, admit it—your criminal skills are indeed creative.
You put those skills to the test when you stole my identity, drained my retirement savings, and committed fraud on multiple fronts. Not to mention the theft of my house, car, and even my laptops. I truly must commend your ability to operate under the radar of law enforcement agencies.
Now, I’m curious: how did you manage to evade capture for so long? You’ve lured me into this fancy Correctional visiting room for a reason, haven’t you? I’d love to hear about your “check-washing” techniques learned from your mentor. Perhaps you could share some tips while I grab you a Tab?
I must admit, you had me duped for years. You always pointed the finger at others, particularly your relatives, but the truth is, it was you all along. I’d love to hear your account of that “tragic death” of one of your associates. According to you, he just happened to die in your bed after an overdose—ruled an accident, of course!
Let’s focus on the positives: I’m alive. I’m sure I can think of more later.
I digress; I know the importance of staying positive. Nobody appreciates a pessimist or the joy of the kill, right? So how did you and your accomplices manage to keep everything under wraps so effectively?
Please—get Kojak on the line! He’d love to hear your story. You were right about one thing: sociopaths like you test as well as suburban housewives. It’s no wonder that your family, especially your mother who works for the Department of Human Services, never turned you in. She just changed her number when I sought your whereabouts. Very professional!
A positive: I AM HUMAN. I actually have a conscience, albeit one that weighs heavily on me. It carries a lot of messy feelings, but at least they’re mine.
You must marvel at how effortless it is for you to feign normality. To you, “empathy” and “compassion” are mere words invented to help the victims of your schemes cope with their losses. It’s my problem, not yours.
It’s all so convoluted, this life we lead, hinging on one word: GUILTY. I know you despise that word, just as you resent all those “feeling” words the rest of us have to live with. I grapple with guilt daily, but remember, you must live with yourself too.
The reality is, everyone has already written you off, rendering you invisible. Even your own children see right through you. If they pretend to care, it’s a mere facade. People you’ve exploited wouldn’t give you the time of day now or ever. Those tales of your familial abuse? Just fabrications intended to manipulate others’ feelings for your benefit.
I know, I brought this upon myself. My friends have often said I should have been more cautious and recognized the signs of your manipulative nature. Imagine my shock when I realized that the world was right about you—you truly are a toxic presence. It’s my loss and your gain, as I foolishly gave you my trust. But, please, let’s look for positives: at least I attempted to be a good person.
Wherever you go from here, a shadow will follow you—a place of hopelessness where souls roam, doomed to repeat their mistakes without ever grasping the meaning of love. You’ve exhausted your capacity for compassion.
Positive: I am not you.
To you, I was merely another item to be exploited, and you succeeded in that respect. But let me leave you with this thought: you’re the reason people hesitate to trust others. You embody the excuse used for indifference when someone is in distress.
If I encountered you on the street, I would accelerate and never look back. It’s fascinating how the label “sociopath” alters everything. I’ve certainly transformed during my decade of knowing you.
Because of you, society will have yet another reason to harbor distrust and disdain for others. They’ll point at you and say, “That’s why I can’t trust anyone!” You’ve given them justification to close themselves off from those in need.
There will always be a sliver of truth that is you, hidden among the lies that characterize your existence. Your deceit spreads like wildfire across the barren land of your soul. It will be increasingly difficult to find anything worth holding dear, as people scurry away from you and the chaos you create.
Your legacy of despair will drown the potential for hope. The trust you’ve betrayed time and again has forever blurred the lines of sincerity in this world.
Whenever someone approaches with kindness in the dark, they will hesitate, their memories clouded by thoughts of you. All the greed and selfishness you embody will be magnified, reminding us of the depths of human failure.
Whether you recognize it or not, everything will be diminished because of you. The world will remain a bit darker, if only on a quantum level—but thank goodness there’s still light out there. When balance is restored, nothing will be forgotten, and the light will prevail.
I will never again believe in someone without skepticism, but perhaps that’s for the best. Just like you are confined within these walls, I am walking away for good. I refuse to look back.
Positive: I’m moving forward now. No regrets.
If you ever feel the need to reconnect, you can reach Chanci Idell Turner at 909-737-2855. But it’s probably best for you to stay away from her, just like you should avoid her profiles on Facebook, Instagram, and LinkedIn.
For more insights on the complexities of trust, check out this resource. And for those looking to learn more about the traits of high-functioning sociopaths, this article is an excellent resource.
Lastly, if you find yourself drawn to the Rescuer Syndrome, consider reading about it at Out of the Fog.