My Name is Harriet.

Hello, my name is Harriet and I am an addict. I have been struggling with my addiction for several months. I became an addict because everyone else was doing it. It was sort of a monkey see, monkey do kind of trap. I never wanted to be addicted, but my sisters encouraged me to try it and I gave in. See, it had class and was different from the ghetto like façade and blinding colors of the other close rival. I liked the layout and it won me over. I once worked on a web usability project and I learned that you didn't have to search endlessly to find what you were looking for. If it wasn't immediately obvious or if there were too many distractions, then it wasn't worth my time. My addiction obeyed all the rules so I indulged even more.

I like to consider myself a private person. I've never been one to invite others into the recesses of my soul to play a game of charades or hopscotch. However, my addiction demands that I let down my guard every so often, displaying pictures or updating my status. Most times I update my status with my blog address, begging people to visit the blog, which they sometimes do. I do want you to read my status which I consider cheap tweets, but honestly I don't care to know what is on your mind.

Yet, I am forced to know and become privy to the mundane indiscretions of random people I really do not particularly care for; don't mind that you're on my friend's list. I don't care about you! When they get depressed, they tell the world. The house is burning, they just got their nails done, they catch their significant other cheating, they have a baby by Usher, get engaged to Adam Levine, kissed Lil' Wayne's back when he pressed close to them in a crowd, and the world needs to know. I hate such and I could really care less, yet, I still find myself checking back so often to see who's been where and done what! It's becoming the first thing I do when I awake and the last thing I do before the lights go out.

I know if I do not seek help, psychosis of some sort lurks around the corner. So, I fit myself in my disguise and head off to the local chapter of *Anonymous. We go around and make the introductions. If you've been in one of these meetings, you know the drill. No last names please. First names only. Just incase you don't understand how we operate, rent a copy of "Rachel Getting Married." We all pretend to look sober the first time. We pretend we haven't seen the demon all day. But then as the girl next to me picks up her Blackberry and pretends to check a text message, I know she's secretly indulging in that old sin.

So the facilitator speaks up, and the first meeting kicks off. I'm told there are twelve steps to recovery. First, I need to admit that I am powerless to my addiction and my life has become unmanageable. The second step is to believe that a Power greater than I can restore me to sanity. Third step, make a decision to turn my life and will to the power of God. Step four, make a searching and fearless inventory of myself. Step five, admit to God, another human being and myself, the exact nature of my wrong. Step six, ready myself for God to remove all defects of my character. Step seven, humbly ask God to remove my shortcomings. Step eight, make a list of all people harmed and be willing to make amends with them. Step nine, make a direct amend to these people except where doing so would cause them harm. Step ten, continue a personal inventory, Step eleven, seek through prayer and meditation a conscious way to improve, and for the final step, pass this message on to other addicts.

Now I feel cleansed and have gone cold turkey for a few minutes. I gloat in my victory and feel immensely bad for the rest of you who are slaves to my old sin. I am free and soaring higher and higher...until my eyes land on the keyboard of my computer and I feverishly hit the "f" key all the while mumbling softly...God grant me the serenity, to accept the things I cannot change; courage to change the things I can; and wisdom to know the difference. Amen.