"The Fine Print", by Michael Schrader

COLUMNIST, STRIPPED AND EXPOSED

(Written and posted 09 February 2010)

I am an addict. My wife has been telling me that I am, but I didn’t believe it. “I don’t have to have it”, I told her. “I can stop at any time.” That’s what they all say! It took a catastrophic event, a death, for me to believe it. So here I sit, mourning my loss, and suffering through withdrawal. Let me just tell you it doesn’t feel very good. In fact, it hurts.

It hurts knowing how addicted I have become over twenty years. It hurts knowing how much time I wasted when I could have been spending time with loved ones. It hurts knowing how many of my precious few brain cells committed suicide rather than be subjected to any more self-induced stupors. It hurts knowing that the death may have been my fault.

It all started simple enough twenty years ago. It was a simple diversion, really, something new that I had never tried. Just a bit here and a bit there; I kept it simple. I laughed at those who were already addicted, but secretly I envied them. I had had a taste, and really liked it, and wanted more and more. Of course, to have more would have required more money than I had, and I couldn’t justify the cost, so the craving went unsatisfied.

Eventually, I was able to go to the next level. It felt so good. Every day I had to resist the urge to do it, because that is what gave me the greatest enjoyment, and as my marriage started to crumble, it provided an escape, a way for me to forget my problems for a while. While I was doing it, I could be someone else for a while. When the family would be sleeping, I would sneak down into the basement and do it for hours. So what if I lost sleep; sleep was unimportant. Getting more was much more important.

Over time the stuff got better and better, and with it, my desire to have it. What was frustrating for me is that every time I could finally get the better stuff, even better stuff would come out. It seemed I was always a step behind, and always wanting more. Lately, I have discovered that I can spend hour upon hour upon hour in a mindless stupor. I would get onto others for their addictions, and I was just as bad. Now, thanks to a death, I will be forced to pretty much go cold turkey. It will be hard.

You see, I am an Internet chat junkie. Twenty years ago, I was introduced to the Internet through bulletin boards, where strangers from across the globe could exchange messages. I must admit, I enjoyed talking to others, especially when I was feeling blue, which I was quite often, as I was mired in a rocky marriage. I would scour the USENET and exchange messages with total strangers about a variety of topics. Since I was devoid of much human interaction, this became the next best thing.

I got hooked with the advent of AOL. I remember loading up the software, listening to the handshake on my modem, and being able to talk in real time with people from all over the country. I could ask them how their weather was. Suddenly, I became familiar with places and cultures I never would have become familiar with. I could talk to people about movies, music, or whatever. People were polite and decent and, to me, it was the virtual equivalent of sitting on the front porch having a spot of tea. However, instead of being outside interfacing with a person that I could see and touch, I was hunkered down in a corner of my basement at a computer for hours on end. I didn’t care.

With the ascendency of Yahoo!, Internet Explorer, and DSL, all that the Internet had to offer became available instantaneously. It became THE place to live and place. Who needs to actually SEE someone when there is MySpace and Facebook and Twitter. Suddenly, everyone could post there thoughts and feelings for all the world to see, good, bad, and ugly. Who needed CD and DVDs any more when they can just listen off of the Internet.

My computer died last night from a nasty virus. I am one of six possible people who could have infected it. It’s just too easy to point and click.

I am fortunate that my father gave me his old Windows ME era computer that I am now using. It still has a disk drive. It does not have a portal for high speed Internet. I am now forced to access the Internet through a dial-up connection, which means that my surfing days are numbered. I can do simple things like post this column, for example, or read simple website, or respond to e-mail. Beyond that? Well, let’s just say that gone are the days of interactive sites like Facebook; the old boy just can’t process it. Don’t get me wrong, I am not complaining, because at least I still have a computer to use; I just never realized how much I had become dependent on technology to fill my day.

While I will miss the opportunity to surf the web anywhere, any time, I will not miss hearing the kids bicker over who can and can’t use the computer. I will not miss having to nag my daughter about staying on the computer hours on end. I won’t miss having to look over my children’s shoulder’s to make sure that they aren’t sneaking on the network. I won’t have to watch my daughter chat with a friend she is talking to on the phone. As an added bonus, since I am now using dial-up, I can make sure that my children obey the “No Phone calls after 9 PM” rule by going online and using the phone line!

It is amazing to me how much we, as a society, have become addicted to the Internet, how we spend more time talking to strangers on the computer then we do talking to those who live with us. Perhaps being less connected is a blessing. Perhaps. But I will sure miss my computer. Rest in peace.

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