"Go on and go free, yeah; Maybe you're too close to see; I can feel your body move; It doesn't mean that much to me"

Like a teenager excited about her first crush, boyfriend, or love, I felt the tingles, inexplicable excitement, and simple joy at being desired. It moved quickly and before I realized it, my sweet Internet connection had envisioned a world in which I might be barefoot, surrounded by children, and in a kitchen serving breakfast.

Within forty-eight hours, I had canceled my Tinder account, spoke exclusively to this man named “Henri” and couldn’t wait to meet him and hear an authentic French accent.

On day the start of day three, the pink flags burn bright red and blind me. Henri now exclusively calls me “baby” and texts, “I’ll be thinking about you all day” with a kissy face emoticon.

Imaginary sirens deafen me as a cartoon character with a megaphone shouts “Too much. Too Much. Too Fast!” and runs around like a maniac in my brain.

I casually reply by asking him to slow down just a bit. I want to meet the man, but am beginning to doubt his existence. Furthermore, I'm just not ready for a ring to be welded onto my finger.

Instantaneously, Henri vanishes. In his place, Dr. Jekyll makes a grand entrance spewing atrocious accusations. Among the most abhorrent, he accuses me of twisting my ex-boyfriend’s psyche so that he would choose to rape children. After all, he was likely wholesome before I entered the picture.

Shockingly, anger does not enter my mindset. Amusement, yes. I watch the insults appear on the screen in rapid fire succession. When he finishes, or rather, I block him, confusion sets in.

Later, I ask my newly-appointed therapist about the situation. She replies, "Oh, Brandice. 'Henri' is a catfisher."

I gasp and collapse in the chair, staring at her in disbelief. "Why? What's the purpose?”

“Likely to extort money from you.”

Huh.

Henri consumed just two days of my time, taught me an appreciated lesson, and better equipped me to handle online dating. I reset my Tinder account with a new outlook, eager to spot catfishers, and play games of my own.

With Henri gone, my mind drifts back to the man who made an eleven-year impression on me. He’s been outside my physical space for eight weeks, but still ever present.

As kind-hearted people insist I need to take time to heal, I wonder how I do that.

Thirteen years ago, when my father passed, I could not feel, did not feel, and made horrendous decisions that jeopardized my safety and sanity. Eighteen months later, after ruining friendships and facing a dark depression, I began to return to the Brandy I knew and loved.

When my best friend was killed, twenty-four years ago, I was overly emotional and couldn’t make sense of the smallest feelings.

I am determined to make this time different and in the past eight weeks began significant home remodeling projects; tackled financial hardships with intelligent solutions; made time for restorative yoga with reiki; prioritized my canine baby’s need for ambitious jaunts through the neighborhood and nature walks where she can roam free without a leash; journaled and blogged; and tried to figure out the psychology of the man with whom I shared a home.

The result: he didn’t really exist, not in the way I needed. He lived via transactions and placed his selfishness above all else. The majority of our relationship was spent indulging his preferences – movies, vacation destinations and the dates we went, TV shows, activities, even chores and our schedule for the day. Presents he gifted me were also self-serving: concerts to see his favorite bands, football games to see his beloved Jets, and on my fortieth birthday, he took me to his favorite restaurant with the preface: "I’m paying."

When I expressed concerns – specifically our diminished intimacy – he ignored me, created excuses, but said enough to make me believe we were in our relationship together, and then turned the tables to assure me I was the problem.

When crises that could have been avoided occurred, he downplayed the consequences, refuting responsibility and negating appropriate actions. After all, it was never that big of a deal. It wasn’t his gaming console that was stolen, just my sentimental and expensive jewelry. And, maybe I overreacted when I insisted the shades be pulled down and the stereo turned on every time we left the house.

He supported my work and hobbies, but also gaslit and manipulated me. When we argued, more often than not, it seemed I said "sorry" and didn’t want to hurt his feelings. He never expressed remorse. Early on, he told me he didn’t believe in apologies. Instead, he bought me flowers. Red roses. In the beginning, I received one. By the end of our relationship, I had been given a dozen when he hurt my feelings. It never dawned on me, until now, he could be giving them for more reasons than I had been made aware.

So, yes, my healing is definitely different. I insist on remaining proactive, even if it means exploring Tinder, dating, and seeking attention that had been purposely withheld from me.