To catch up on the series, read Love, sex, drama and self-discovery: The escapades of Violet Online.
Social media is a huge part of my life. I'm on Facebook and Twitter and I very occasionally post a pic on Instagram.
Admittedly I only use Instagram to post pics of my boobs because if men can do that then so can I, but I use the other forums for news and fun and most things serious.
I remember long ago how I used to use the internet for sex - or scrabble stuff, but that was a long time ago!
I’ve met some incredible people on the internet and made some genuine friendships. I love that I have new friends that in a 'normal life' I just wouldn’t have met. Social media has been good in that way.
But now I’ve had my heart torn apart by a relationship that I had on Facebook and I’m struggling to get over it. It’s a difficult one for people to understand.
'Oh come on Violet, you’d never even met him. Get over yourself. Get real'.
My friends roll their eyes collectively while I agonise.
I don't know what the 'get real' means. Because even though I hadn't met him, and was never going to meet him, it was a very definite real.
It may have been online, but it was an online friendship that has been going on for years. He lived in another country - Greenland, who is ever going to meet anyone from Greenland for goodness sake - and we had totally different lives. Somehow though, we connected.
A brilliant emotional connection. For about five years we chatted almost every single day about art, poetry and politics.
We also chatted about life and love and the meaning of both those things. We were philosophical friends. Maybe, because I knew I was never going to meet him, I told him things about myself that I had never told anyone else.
I sometimes felt that he knew more about me than even my closest friend.
He knew my darkest secrets and I knew his. We trusted each other, maybe because of the distance.
And now my biggest secret has disappeared. Just like that. Boom. Bang. His Facebook page has gone. Maybe something huge happened.
Maybe he died. Maybe he was knocked off. Maybe the final picture of my boobs on Instagram killed him.
I have no idea. And I’m devastated.
But I've also decided I'm not going to try and find out. I have to accept that we gave each other the gift of real-but-not-real conversation for five years. It was amazing for what it was and we both learned a ton of stuff.
And maybe if I do find out, I'll learn something that I may not want to learn.
And maybe now it's time to 'get real'.
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