I'm sorry... I'm not in
love with you.
This
was one of the only lines in a blog that I could focus on. On Halloween night
my junior year of high school, I'd written a blog that professed my feelings
for Ray.
Cringe-worthy, I know, but I thought it was a brave move.
Turns out, it wasn't. Ray and I had reconnected that past
summer, and had started the usual form of instant messaging and blogs. But it
wasn't the same. We'd stopped talking as often, and as much. Blogs started to
shift toward other topics and new people.
In a desperate move, I'd tried to rekindle our dying flame,
but to no avail. Ray had moved on, and hadn't entirely forgiven me for shutting
his feelings down, months prior.
So what does a 16-year-old girl do that just got her heart
broken for anyone who reads the blog do? She retaliates.
I'd write a cutting poem. He'd write one back. I'd write a
blog about wanting someone better. He'd write one about how this new girl makes
him smile. And so the battle went. For months.
If he updated his song list, I would do the same. If I
changed my profile section, it was almost right before he would update his.
A game. A stupid, foolish game that neither of us ever
seemed to win. It was ridiculous, and went nowhere. My friends tried to talk
some sense into me, but I wouldn't listen.
I loved him. I needed him to see that. No matter how long it
took.
I would stay signed onto my AIM on the desktop (a new
development for instant messaging) just in case he would message me.
He never did, and soon I discovered that Myspace wasn't as
great as I'd once supposed. I would stalk my numbers of blog views.
I would post notes of quizzes so he'd see them. I would update photos, check his comments, and write blogs. It was a terrible, vicious cycle.
The
internet had become my new prison.
Yeah, I was losing it.
If
I could count how many websites I visited on how to get him to like you, or to
see if we were compatible--It would be a very high number.
It
also made me seem crazy, which was not my character. I was the oldest, I was
calm, and I was rational.
Except
online, apparently.
By
the time I turned 17-years-old in May, the blog war had been going on for seven
months. I had cried, screamed into my pillow, and gone onto AOL more than I
slept or spent outside, combined. I'd finally had enough. My mom had just had
her last child, Jacob, and I'd started developing feelings for a boy that
actually went to my school.
So
I decided to throw in the white flag. I apologized. I wrote a blog that I'd
thought was honest and sincere. I didn't even know if he'd read any of my other
blogs, but I wanted him to know, just in case.
Then
he wrote one back, and it wasn't apologetic or forgiving. It was biting,
portraying me as a horrible, heartless person.
I'd
been devastated that his image of me had drastically changed, but still I
refrained from retaliating. A few days after that he messaged me and asked if
we could stop.
I
told him yes and that I'd missed his friendship.
And
so the blog war ended. Myspace and AIM had consumed my time and suddenly, I
remembered that the sun was now shining, and my friends were waiting to hang out.
Ray
and I tried to remain friends, but it had been too little, too late.
The
damage had been done, and no treaty was able to repair it.
Still,
I'd learned a valuable lesson.
The
internet could become a place of solace or a place of devastation.
It
depends on how you use it.
