My journey on the road to captivity all started very innocently. I had no idea that such innocuous activity would ever result in captivity. At first, in high school, it was just occasional, included none of the damaging aspects I would later discover. I had to sit down to write papers and stories. Then, when I went to college, I found out that I had something called Electronic Mail. I didn't really know much about the system at all. I realize now that my ignorance was my friend (if only I hadn't been so intrigued by my Captor, or had realized that it was, in fact, a Captor, it may not have held me so firmly in its clutches). But at the time my intrigue did not seem to be a negative thing. People whom I trusted introduced me to my addiction. They showed me how to use email. Almost immediately, I saw the usefulness in such an expedient method of communication. It didn't feel like a captivity, but rather a new way of sending information-thoughts, beliefs, and feelings- from one place to the next, one person's mind to another's. I faithfully believed that I could leave at any time. I began to send email to my acquaintances who were suffering from the same captivity. For some time, I felt that I had total control over when and how often I needed to send or read email. I still believed in my Captor's elaborate ruse-that it was there strictly to benefit unsuspecting students who would fall prey to its undeniably addictive vices. So, I let myself be pulled into its web of deceit.

After some time, a dear friend showed me how to "talk" to someone through my email account. This sick new ritual enables one person to hook directly up to another - to chat real time, without delay! The two are given a split screen. One types what he is saying on the top of the screen, and the messages of the other appear on the bottom. I suppose my natural penchant for meeting people, and talking to strangers contributed greatly to my immediate enchantment with this form of communication. My first encounter with this new "talk" function rendered me sleepless until 4 in the morning. Yet even the drastic period of sleeplessness caused by my first experience did not jar my consciousness enough to make me realize the evil inherent in this new addiction with which I was toying. For about a week after that, I "talked" to many people with my computer. I found myself interrupting papers and study time in order to open my email account. Even still, I thought I had control. I still viewed the Internet as a harmless tool for communication.

After about a week, one of the people I was "talking" to on my computer introduced me to something called "Internet Relay Chat", commonly known to its users as IRC. This aspect of my Captor was what eventually engulfed me beyond possibility of escape. I began to spend more and more time on IRC. I became familiar with my fellow captors (The people on IRC), and even enjoyed communicating with them. Few of us ever acknowledged our status as captives, but there were those, the brave of spirit, who assessed the situation for what it really was. One of these witty individuals enlightened me as to the REAL translation of IRC. It is: "I Repeat Classes." Internet Relay Chat was just a clever pseudonym used so that we victims of the Captor were more easily brought into the circle of prisoners. My final battle with my Captor occurred at the end of my first semester in college.

During the last week and a half of the fall semester of 1994, the realization that I had ten papers to write- and a week in which to write them- suddenly hit me like a ton of books. Now, I realize that this is a close to impossible task anyway. But as an English major, I had foolishly taken classes which all involved essay writing in lieu of final examinations. These papers forced me to sit at my computer. I could not just attempt to stay away from it all together. I had to deal with the proximity of my modem staring me dead in the brain while I attempted to utilize only the truly useful aspects of the computer- The Word Processor. I realized that it could have serious detrimental effects to my grade point average, and my life, if I was unable to survive the craving... a need knawing insatiably at me like a mouse ever-so-carefully avoiding the metal trigger which brings certain death.

The tragedy of it all was I had once been an outgoing person. I was always to be found somewhere out and about, at almost any hour of the night. But, if my Captor conquered me, I would be forced into a life of introversion, known only my IRC "nick" and the words read by others on their own screens. My former friends, once an important part of my existence, would become an unobtrusive background as I sat at my computer, mesmerized by the hypnotic scroll of the senseless babble. This realization washed over me with painful suddenness. It made me feel helpless, and I was unsure exactly where I should turn for help. Nothing was able to penetrate the web the Internet had woven around and through my consciousness. I needed to be there just to communicate with all of the other users, yet each time I went, the need became stronger. Already, my hands flew as if possessed across the keys. (At least I had gotten something good out of this captivity - I could now type quite rapidly.) If I did not win this battle, I would never get my papers done.

I did my best to prepare for the impending struggle. I had to keep reminding myself that many of these papers counted as a great deal of my grade. If I did not do them well, I would lose my Humanities Scholarship and be reduced to a student with no Financial Aid, Struggling to keep my head above water, and my GPA above 3.5. I made a list of the papers that I had to do, and when each was due (and, therefore, in what order I would tackle them). Then, I began to write. I did everything I could think of to arm myself. I worked on the papers only for allotted periods of time, and then I would turn off the computer- without ever visiting my evil Captor. At first, it seemed to be working. True, I was still staying up until the wee hours of the morning, but now I was working on papers, using my computer creatively- being constructive. However, I made a fatal mistake. In feeling such a sense of accomplishment at finishing the Papers One and Two, I would reward myself with a few minutes on IRC. I would finish one of the papers, and decide, as tired as I was, of course I would only stay with my Captor for a short time before my body would relinquish itself to the impending rest it so badly needed. But some inhuman force propelled me. I would find myself dragging my weary body to bed at such obscene hours as 6 and even 7 in the morning. But it was the end of the semester and I knew that everyone was pulling all-nighters nearly every night. So, even still, the levity of my situation escaped me.

The climax of my battle was when I began my English 301 paper. It was the eighth of the 10 papers I had to write for the semester's end. I began writing, and found I could not concentrate. I made myself some soup (Ramen noodles), and contemplated the subject matter. I read and re-read the story I was analyzing. I concentrated on every detail of every description. I examined the motivations of every character in my mind. Still, my mind wandered. I thought about my great Captor, IRC. I wondered which of my fellow captives was there! I wondered... was the channel full of activity and life, or were there only a few people chatting? What was everyone saying? Were they were all dealing with the combined stress of finals and captivity, just as I was? I needed to be there. I couldn't help it, couldn't stop myself. I had to know that they were all intact in their otherworldly existence. And, I had to visit IRC... I HAD TO CONNECT TO THE INTERNET!

So, I saved the pathetically short introduction I had thus far written for my paper, and I closed WordPerfect. As I dialed the online number, I could feel the expectation running through my veins. I sat with my fingers perched above the keys in anticipation. Who would be there? What would they be talking about? I didn't know, but I couldn't wait to find out. When I got onto the Internet, I was immediately sent a message from one of my fellow captives. It was a person to whom I talked often, and who was one of the main reasons that I was so addicted. So, my friend and I got on the same channel, and chatted. We talked about things of importance, like school, and grades. We talked about things that were totally trivial (So much so that I can't remember what they were, a short 4 months later). When I finally looked at the clock on my desk, I realized that it was already 5 am. I had only written a paragraph of a paper that was due in five hours! I explained the situation to my friend, and we parted with promises of meeting each other there again soon. I exited IRC and hung up the modem before anyone else could catch me (though at that hour, even the avid captives sleep). I opened WordPerfect and retrieved my file. I forced my mind to concentrate on the task at hand. I wrote another paragraph, then another, and another.

Finally the end of the paper was achieved, and I began to revise it. I realized that it was going to take quite a lot of revision. I glanced at the clock to check the time... a glance was not sufficient. I had to wait a few moments for my weary eyes to focus on its incandescent red numbers silently tolling the extent of my folly. It read 8:30. I expunged an audible sigh of relief, and began the revision process. First, I reread it, to make sure that it had some kind of coherent theme. I used the Spell Checker, to back up the processes of my weary mind. I am usually an excellent speller, but exhaustion weakens the mind... the Spell Check took much longer than usual that morning, taking time to pause on many more mistakes. I weeded through the misspelled words as patiently as I could. I tried to ignore the dull throb in my legs which had been asleep since 7 am. Likewise, I patiently read the paper at the snail-like pace with which my eyes were able to focus and transfer information to my equally incapacitated brain. I continued to work. Finally, 45 minutes before my deadline, the paper was finished.

I leaned over to flip the power switch of the printer, and make sure the paper was in the right place, then I hit "print". The scream of the printer pierced the serenity of the otherwise tomblike quiet of a college dormitory in the early morning. It was such a contrast to the comforting "click, click, click" of my fingers as they formed words and sentences. After what seemed like an eternity, the fruits of my labor had been successful transposed to the traditional, tangible form of ink on paper. I stapled it and slipped my feet into a pair of shoes. I did not bother with jeans, but wore the sweat pants that I usually sleep (and/or IRC) in. For some reason, my brain was not as weary as my body, and on my way to the Fine Arts building I contemplated my pathetic state. As I crossed the street, I mused that it may not be so bad to be hit by a car. I remember not bothering to look both ways. My feet somehow carried me to my destination without the knowledge of my brain. I turned in my paper, and trudged back to my dorm. I went up to my room, kicked off the shoes, dropped my jacket from my shoulders to the floor, and climbed into my bed.

As I lay down, I felt each vertebrae in my back pop from sitting for so long in front of the computer. I felt a piercing pain in my lower back but even that was not enough to penetrate my cloud of exhaustion. I felt that - - for now - - I was free of my addiction, and could finally rest. I was asleep in seconds.

That evening I woke up. I slid feet-first off my top bunk and hit the floor with a thump. I walked over to my desk and pulled out the assignment sheet for paper number Nine. As I browsed over it, I walked to my dorm-size refrigerator and got myself a Pepsi. Then, I went to my desk, turned on the computer, and sat down in my chair. I pulled the keyboard to its familiar position in my lap.