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Mr. Henson addressed the group before him. "Next I would like to introduce Rachel Jordon. Ms. Jordan has agreed to share her experience with us in the hope that it will help to encourage us to stay strong in our goals. Ms. Jordan."

There was a small pattering of applause from the twenty odd people sitting in the borrowed classroom. A woman in her fifties or sixtiesit was difficult to say rose from the front row of seats and took her place behind the podium. She was not unattractive except for the haggard lines and shadows about her eyes and mouth. She held herself in a somewhat drooping stance, almost as though she wasn't accustomed to standing.

She looked tiredly out at those before her and made a slight clearing of her throat. Then she spoke, in a voice that had once been melodious, but now seemed listless and worn.

"I appreciate the opportunity to be here and testify to I. A., although it is very difficult for me to do so," she began. "I must begin with my confession. I, Rachel Jordan, am an addict." She paused, letting this information settle upon those who listened, some now leaning forward with a more intense interest.

"My addiction began 3 years ago, with what seemed a harmless invitation from a friend to join an internet social site. I joined half heartedly, more as a favor than anything." She stopped and released a deep sigh.

"Three years later, I'm standing here before you, confessing my awful weakness and addiction and where it has led me. Yes, you of Internet Anonymous, I am a cyber junkie!" Her voice cracked with emotion and she lowered her head with shame. She stood like this for a moment. There was not a sound in the room. At last she raised her head and looked at those in the room.

"I didn't know!" She cried out as she raised her hands to them imploringly. "I didn't know!"

She took a sip from the glass of water that sat before her. "I thought I could control it. I thought my obsession with being on line and the commenting and chatting and posting blogs and pictures would grow old soon and pass. Six months later, I was still up at nights past 2 A. M., with my eyes glued to the monitor and my fingers, as ever, poised over the keyboard. My real life family and friends all stopped calling. They tired of my distraction and lack of attention as I continued to stay on line and interact and post while on the phone with them. They would talk to me, but when we hung up the phone, I couldn't remember what had been said.

I stopped cooking and cleaning house. My

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