ad hoc MOM

I’m constantly perplexed by the strange issues brought up by Facebook. I feel as if I need a therapist to help me navigate through the mine field fuck it presents me with. I like to trick myself into believing that I’m above the vanity of “do I look good in that picture?” or “does that status/comment/message I just wrote make me seem like an utter nut job on recent release from Bellevue?” But I’m not (yet I still can’t keep myself from writing said crazy post).  I’m obsessed with the vulnerability brought about by this application. I’m not sure if anyone else feels this way?

It’s strange because in my daily life I’m pretty comfortable with who I am; my idiosyncrasies, my neuroses; my darkness; things most people probably don’t share as openly. Not sure if it’s living in NYC where to have secrets is a luxury or if I’ve actually just become really comfortable with who I am?

But now that I’m a member of Facebook I question everything (and not in a healthy Socratic way).  I always thought that High School/Junior High, etc were simply years of my life, and quite honestly, once I left I never really looked back. Not that I didn’t like or care about the folks I went to HS with, for example, but rather because I was ready for the next adventure in my life. But I realize now as I accept friend requests or even update my status, those experiences made more of an impression on me than I was ever willing to admit.

Thoughts, feelings, and events I thought were long gone have come home to roost like a million homing pigeons crapping on my head. I mean, let’s be honest, we all want our past classmates to think we’ve “made” something of ourselves; impress them with our accomplishments. If I could take credit for Gehry’s museum in Bilbao I would or the most recent breakthrough in genetic technology to increase life span: yep that was me! We want them to believe that we have grown to be beautiful and confident in ways they could never have imagined.  But I can’t do that since in this blog I’ve discussed my insomnia, drug use, lack of confidence in mothering and the fact that I work as a struggling writer (read: poor): all of which doesn’t quite scream “SUCCESS.”

Also, how does one deal with all those past hurts/regrets that were supposed to be buried so long ago? Those embarrassing moments that I’d love to take back? I mean, really, I was one HOT MESS –think Courtney Love at 16. Maybe less sex…okay, a lot less sex… but certainly the erratic behavior, drug use, and ridiculous outbursts: those were all me. So, see, I have a lot to make up for.

I meant to go to med school and become a famous neuroscientist and win a Nobel Prize or two but, well, I guess, I got a little lost on the way. Studied art history and philosophy instead and forgot all about Alfred Nobel. But now with Facebook I have to come to terms with the fact that, while I can discuss Immanuel Kant and his influence on Modern Art: 1) no one cares and 2) my awards shelf is still empty.  I like to envision that I if I were successful I could wrap myself in its armor and tell all of those old thoughts, feelings, and people to SUCK IT.

But, I’m human, and probably more sensitive than some, and did I mention neurotic? So, perhaps even if I had a full awards case, cured cancer, designed the world’s greatest building and looked like Angelina Jolie combined with Jessica Alba, I would still be having this issue? Facebook makes you confront, in a new and evocative way, the YOU that was all hormones and self-esteem issues. A past, that you are unable to take back or deny, a present that perhaps isn’t exactly what you had imagined all those years ago, and a future that is a huge question mark at best.  I guess I’m back where I started: Hi, my name is Tonya, and this is me…scars and all.

**Most of the time I do enjoy Facebook and the friends I’ve reconnected with, I just wish I could be doing it from a yacht in the Maldives on top of a pile of money, surrounded by accolades and…minions…I’d really like minions.