It’s a cold morning in February and I am circling a west London square in a frenzy. Why? I am looking for the person who catfished me for eight months. I rummage through rubbish bins, read countless names on letterboxes, peer through private gardens and analyse every image shared with me from hundreds of hours’ worth of WhatsApp and Instagram chats to see if I can match the façades with the photos. This is not my usual lazy Sunday, and after three weeks of persistent — and abysmally failed — searching, I finally admit that I have gone a bit crazy.
The prospect of dating terrifies me. My previous partner took their own life. It was a relationship that left me broken, both physically and
https://www.thetimes.co.uk/article/i-was-catfished-on-instagram-it-left-me-with-dating-anxiety-58bnb98px
