How I Got Catfished Before Catfishing Was Even a Thing

Back in the early days of the Internet, when AIM was where your friends hung out and Xanga was where angsty teens went to vent their frustrations, I found myself in a peculiar situation. At the impressionable age of 13, I was in love and dating my first boyfriend: a boy I’d met through a computer game and had never actually seen.

The game was called Runescape, and it’s essentially a slower, lamer version of World of Warcraft. But I was obsessed with it. I played every day when I got home from school, and I had a circle of friends that played as well. We’d discuss tactics and accomplishments over AIM or in the rare in-person encounters 13-year-old gamers have with one another.

My reasons for starting (and quitting) Runescape were simple and predictable: I wanted to get attention from a boy I liked.

At 13 I had yet to be in my first relationship, which was devastating as almost everyone I knew had been in multiple relationships already. Some people were even making out, and I was losing my patience over my crush that would only speak to me from behind a computer screen.

We’ve all probably been at the point in this digital age at least once where it was easier to speak to someone from behind the shield of a screen rather than face them in person. Type out a quick, “I really really like you,” and hold your breath while you watch the other person type their response for what seems like ages.

He was clearly interested in me — he ended all our correspondences with “love ya” (note: love, not luv) and flirted heavily up until then. It left my preteen heart craving the feel of another’s hand in mine, yet he just wouldn’t make a move. I needed love, dammit, and I refused to get left in the dust as everyone around me crossed life experiences off their lists while I stood around scribbling in the margins.

One day I was playing Runescape when another boy that I didn’t know started chatting with me. It began with strategies about the game, but soon we were freely talking as if we’d known each other for years. He eventually private messaged me and asked for my AIM screen name. I enjoyed talking to him so far and happily surrendered it.

This boy became my official first boyfriend, doing what the other one was always too nervous to do: he asked me out. I eagerly said yes, finally uncapping my pen to cross a life event off my list just like all my classmates had.

There was always something off about him, though. The screen name he used was a girl’s name (he claimed it was his sisters, but that his whole family used it). He also refused to send me any photos of himself or talk to me, but his “little brother” was always eager to chat. I didn’t have a microphone on my computer (or if I did, I had no idea how to use it), but his brother would constantly connect his and speak to me, begging to hear my voice. When I’d ask him to let the boy I was actually dating talk, he would always have conveniently just walked away.

So I think we can all figure out that what appeared to be an overly enthusiastic nine-year-old tricked me into being his girlfriend, picking up on my desperation in a way that boys my age either couldn’t or weren’t interested in doing. When I first realized what had happened, I was mortified and vowed to never tell the story. Now, however, I recognize it as a warning tale for how easy it is to take advantage of young minds on the Internet.

I want to say I quickly realized what was going on and put an abrupt end to it, but in actuality, I didn’t figure it out until a few years after the relationship was long dead and buried in my mind. Instead I remained loyal to the relationship I so badly craved, never actually speaking to the boy I was supposedly dating yet keeping up a healthy one-sided rapport with his little brother. At least his family approved.

What broke the spell, aside from my increasing disinterest and boredom in the entire situation, was a day that was actually notable in my life-changing events notebook: I had a real first boyfriend — one that I could look at and hold hands with and maybe even kiss one day! (We never kissed. In fact, we never even held hands.)

I broke the news to my Internet boyfriend in what I thought was a gentle way via AIM, but he/his little brother took it really hard. I didn’t speak to them for a week or so to give the situation space. The silence came to an end when I got a message from his brother telling me that my “ex” was dead. He speculated that it was done intentionally because there was a note left behind addressed to me that said something along the lines of, “I will always love you, Nicole; you’re the only person who understood me.” My response was to block that crazy ass screen name on AIM and never look back.

Maybe I was a bit insensitive, or maybe what I did was entirely appropriate and warranted. In the grand scheme of creepy Internet personas, I was incredibly lucky — I wasn’t the prey of an older predator, and there were no threats of coming to find my family or me. The kid never even cursed at me.

Maybe this boy was a group of little kids playing pranks on the types of girls that played video games every day. Or maybe he was a very lonely child that just wanted someone to talk to. The Internet is a slippery slope, one that I’m happy to have experienced mostly in maturity and with the capacity to make rational decisions.

Regardless of what his intentions were, I don’t fault him because I still cringe when I think of the things I said and did online in high school. I can’t imagine having that type of power at my fingertips when I saw myself as a victim of the world still or had no filter. For him, I’m sure it’s just another weird story logged in his memory that he also doesn’t really think about.