The Moron

I have had a love-hate relationship with Face Book for quite a long time. I love it for the opportunities it has given me to find and connect with old friends. I love being able to see pictures and get updates. I love the discourse, political and otherwise, that it affords me.

It’s also a huge time-suck, which has been bothering me for quite sometime. Sometimes I go on-line to check my messages and find myself in the same spot 3 hours later. Waste of time.

Only recently, though, have I realized the ways that FB actually hurts me. Yeah, the sitting around on my but when there are so many other things to do…

But that;s not what I’m talking about here. And it’s hard to admit all of this.

I have always been incredibly political, from peace protest and marches during Vietnam to candlelight vigils prior to the invasion of Iraq. I’m a woman, and vehemently feminist. I have always been a Democrat, but I lean way to the left of that, especially now.

And FB in the hands of someone like me can be great, and can be awful. Because, you see, there are times when I cannot accept another’s viewpoint. This has been a particularly awful week with the crazy Akin pronouncements, and the way they have been used by both sides.

Well, I chose to use that too. In a particularly mean way. I made a pronouncement on FB that was done in the heat of the moment. As I wrote it I was wild-eyed, right, intense, sure of myself.

And so sick. Really.

That place I went to was so destructive and so sick, and made me so crazy that I wrote something I didn’t mean, or at least shouldn’t have written publicly.

It hurt me; I was de-friended by several people and hurt peoples feelings.

But that wasn’t the real pain. It hurt ME…so badly. It made me so sick, so anxious, so righteously angry, and anger that I cannot afford.

It hurt my heart, my soul, the person I am trying to become, The person that does have strong and cherished beliefs, and acts on them,  but doesn’ have to make you wrong to make me right. That place is a place I do not want to live in anymore. That is the place that makes me want to drink.

This all became very clear to me this week, and I am grateful for it. Fb taught me a new lesson. I actually apologized on-line and dropped out of the insanity. Will I never re-post something particularly wise, or make a comment about something I strongly believe in? I probably will…but my tone will be different.

I have always loved the quote from A Course In Miracles that asks the most important question ever…

Would you rather be right or happy?

I choose happy. I TRY to choose happy, I’m not perfect. But, oh I do not want to choose so hurtful ever again.

And the other really important question that I need to ask myself is whether I am moving closer to or further from a drink. This last week I was walking the line, the scales could have been tipped so easily. And seeing how I did that to myself is a huge part of this lesson.

Notice I am not saying here what I said there. I refuse to insult anyone in that way again. Will I de-friend them, ignore them and silently scorn them? Well, the first 2 for sure, and I hope I can keep my silent scorn to a minimum.

This is my acknowledgment and my accountability.

And my sanity and my sobriety.

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2 Comments

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  1. There are so many things I love about you & most of them are in this post. I get it. I’ve done it. I totally understand. Thank you for your humility & introspection. I’ve fallen flat on my face so many times in front of so many people & eventually I get back up & dust those knees off & that, my dear, is how I’ve stayed sober all these years. Well that & medication 🙂

  2. Also from A Course in Miracles, “If your brothers are part of you, will you accept them?” I love that you recognize that in hurting them you hurt yourself. Some people never get that. Facebook pushes my buttons too and when I find myself taking it too seriously, I have to unplug. I’ve said things I regret for sure and so has everyone else on Facebook. The point is that your using this experience to strengthen your sobriety.

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