On the evening of Friday, 5 August 2011, I committed twittercide.

While this was not pre-meditated, there was certainly reasoning behind the decision.

The decision also no doubt had its repercussions, as the act was performed without announcement or fanfare. While one could argue that there was opportunity to do so, there isn’t much point when the announcement is about to be made inaccessible.

Nonetheless, I recognize that there were probably those that were sad, confused and concerned. There were also arguably people who didn’t notice. While we all have an impact when we throw our rocks in the pond, the ripples get overwhelmed and lost quickly enough. Even without a bear, Twitter will continue on uninterrupted.

The reasons for deciding to leave were simple enough. To an extent, they were rooted in why I found Twitter in the first place. The past year has been a difficult one, personally and professionally. Faced with an extended period where Mrs. Bear (for yes, the bear has a partner, and a much loved one at that) was absent dealing with a personal crisis of her own, I found myself lonely, restless and in need of distraction. If that isn’t a recipe for Twitter, then I really don’t know what is.

This wasn’t a secret, to be clear, and it’s not like my partner doesn’t know I’m kinky or share my interests (at least, some of them). I also let it be clearly known that I was ‘on Twitter’ when the opportunity presented itself. But Mrs. Bear isn’t on Twitter, isn’t particularly a fan of Twitter, and doesn’t have any especial intention of ever being on Twitter. So her awareness of what Twitter is was limited to what the average bear (pun intended) typically understands it to be.

Which pretty much sets us up for the modern-age, on-line equivalent of an English bedroom farce. An exchange of private messages with a friend showed up on my phone, looking for all-the-world like a ‘smoking text’ of me having a conversation with another woman. Which, literally, was true. Those actually conversant with the twitterverse recognize that direct messages are certainly common enough, and that over time very real friendships develop online. The results was that an innocent conversation checking in on how I was doing as a bear looked a whole lot like an on-going and intimate chat. Cue the usual perceptions of how such behaviour would be interpreted.

Now, I’ve come to value my online universe and the people within it enormously. Over the course of the last six months, I’ve garnered a number of acquaintances — and a few of what I would consider good friends. For the first time in my adult life, I have also been able to openly converse about spanking and kink with a (very) broadminded community of people that share my interests. That means a lot to me. My primary partner, however, means a whole lot more. We’ve been together for 18 years, and she has known me longer than just about any other person on the planet. We get each other, we understand each other, we respect each other and most importantly we love each other.

So, if my online existence was in any way going to be perceived as a threat to my real life relationship, then there was only one outcome possible: the bear had to die.

In that you are reading this, things have clearly changed. After a very late night and not much sleep, my partner and I sorted out our feelings over what happened, why and the reasons for both of our reactions. We reaffirmed that we still loved each other – and still trusted each other. My willingness to abandon my online presence may or may not have influenced it, but what is important is that we worked through would could have been an ugly and escalating misunderstanding and made it through whole, happy and still together. And that’s a good thing.

There are those that may consider it unnecessary for me to have erased my online presence, or even be offended that I would do so. There may be those who view it as problematic that my partner had issues with my presence online if it really was as innocent as I profess, or that my being willing to abandon it would be something I would even consider. While I’m sorry this may be your view, I’m certainly not going to apologize for my actions. I did what I felt I had to do at the time. For those who felt abandoned or hurt by my departure, however, I do truly apologize. It pained me to leave, knowing there were many out there that I would miss being in contact with.

The consequences of twittercide are severe, however. Just as in real life, once abandoned you can never re-inhabit your original body. @insatiaboo is gone forever, and there is no getting it back; the laws of the twitterverse forbid it. A lot has changed, however, in six months. I started as an innocent neophyte, unschooled in the ways of Twitter, with an egg for a face. I evolved into a sarcastic, funny and thoughtful polar bear, lounging on my ice floe, swilling Badoit and martinis while mocking the Girl for her inability to cook without incurring severe bodily harm.

People in the community are encouraged to name and give voice to their identity. And so, after a very brief absence, I am pleased and proud to say that I am back. I am a kinky polar bear. And my name is @insatiabear.