It was later rather than sooner that I've realised I was in fact going through the five stages of grief. It came in a kind of light bulb turning on moment. Not a eureka! moment but more like, "huh, so that's how that went".
For those who happen to read me, maybe the connection was made that I'm B from the previous diary "Notes to Self". After some time off and a little tweaking, I decided to start fresh for maybe the fifth time on here. That last diary lasted though, it was good to me and good for me, and I wanted to begin this diary by explaining to myself what had happened, and that includes telling this story. Humor me, I need this. So if you're simply not interested then stop here and ignore the next four entries as well.
Simply put, I believed a lie. I'd made sure not to read too many diaries but there was one in particular that caught my attention. Of course there was doubt at first and I asked if what was written was fiction. I guess the diary writer was very committed (or simply sadistically manipulative) because he claimed truth and gave the impression that a friendship ensued. We talked of music, of books, of art from time to time, of topics that seemed worldly which I now would prefer to forget. I'd come into this place in need of a particular kind of friendship without realising it and this person seemed to offer just that. I've had online correspondences before and I always kept in mind how these things don't last. But whenever a conversation was renewed, it was renewed with more... I almost wrote passion there, but believe me when I tell you that sex or lust or being in love were not involved. I developed care for a person, and maybe the word crush was said jokingly, but in my mind I was realistic, so to speak.
However, forwarding to the moment of truth, I'll just say that an additional party revealed to me just how much of the whole affair was fiction. It was always a possibility, I suppose, but I had no frame of reference to see what others saw as obvious. Denial came in the form of questions. Before, when there were red flags making me question the story was authentic, now I was recalling other details that solidify it's genuineness instead. Memories were battling each other, falling back and forth between columns labeled "truth" and "lies". I coped with it by disappearing for a month. I focused on my trip, on relaxing, on being so amazingly distant. I hadn't fully believed that person, only because she was new and I didn't know her and it was her word against the word of someone I've been talking with for longer.
After I came home, I realised it wasn't over. And when I logged on, on October 29, I saw two detailed and long messages sent to me exactly a month before, September 29, a day after I logged off.
What I read was an absolute enlightenment.