I’m addicted to Facebook.

There. I said it. I’m not proud of it. But acknowledging the problem is the first step, right?

The whole thing started innocently enough. About a year ago a friend asked me to sign up on Facebook so we could play Scrabulous when we had downtime at work. I was a little reluctant because I was afraid to put too much information about myself online (this, my friends, is called irony), but I signed up, put minimal information on my page and kind of forgot about it. Over the summer a couple of good friends from high school found me on there. We caught up and it was like 20 years hadn’t passed.

Over the holidays I was totally dying sick and spent a lot of time in bed, napping or zoning out to the TV. I was bored out of my head after a while. I didn’t have enough energy to get up and do anything so after checking out all the blogs I read, I logged into Facebook and actually spent some time digging around to see who was there.

I found a boy I went to grammar school with, and through him I found my best friend from 1st through 8th grades. It was so great to catch up with her again (Side note: I also realized that my best friends in life have been Ann, Ann, Leslie and Lesley. Is that weird?). I’ve also reconnected with a bunch of friends from high school.

For the most part it’s been great. I’ve missed some of the people I’ve reconnected with. But it’s funny—and not in a good way—how some of my old insecurities have resurfaced.

I’m older, I’m happy, I’m happily married, I have a great career, and nothing to complain about. But old grudges and past slights never really go away. Some of my online conversations have dragged me kicking and screaming back to a time of raging insecurity. The other night I e-mailed with a woman I haven’t seen since I was 13, and I felt a flash of anger, resentment and insecurity at the end of the exchange.

I will never forget a few key things about her, the first being, when we were in 5th grade, she broke my arm playing Dodge Ball. She was a total tomboy, tough as nails. I was a small, painfully shy, quiet kid who read a lot. We were playing on opposite teams and she had been picking on me and taunting me all through recess. She chucked the ball at my face with all of her might, and when I put my hands up to block it, the force snapped my forearm. I wore a cast for 6 weeks. Later, in 7th grade I had a Halloween party. I just wanted to invite my best friends, but since there were only 40 kids in my class, my mom made me invite all of the girls (there were about 15 of us), not just the ones I wanted to invite. (Don’t parents know there’s a reason you don’t want to invite everyone?) Needless to say, at some point during the party I ended up in tears in my room, wishing she would just go the fuck away, stop picking on me and leave me alone. Having someone totally ruin your party blows. And when you’re 12 it’s the end of the fucking world.

I thought all these years later things would be different when I talked to her, but oddly they aren’t. She thought those stories were hilarious; I want to scratch her fucking eyeballs out. But part of me wants to thank her. Because of girls like her, I learned to stand up for myself. I learned how to be more assertive and push back. I know how to manage bullies and fight like a banshee if I have to. (And in 8th grade I learned how to perfectly aim a softball. Right in her back. Payback is a bitch. And so am I.)

I love seeing how everyone looks now. For the most part we’ve aged well as a group. I’d be lying if I said I didn’t take some pleasure out of the fact that some didn’t! Personally, I think I look better now than I did then. Plus, I don’t think I ooze insecurity anymore, which helps.

Aside from that, reliving the days of school dances, Madonna, New Wave music, bad perms, foot-long cans of Aqua Net (Sebastian hairspray if your mom was cool), Glamour Shots and every other bad ’80s cliché, Facebook has been totally awesome.

I am a junkie. And Facebook is my crack.

Senior Picture (1987)