Currently listening to: make up sex – mgk feat. blackbear
You’re my only drug, you’re my only vice, yeahFighting then we fuck, you’re my only type, yeahMixing bad decisions up with one-night stands and HennessyAll I got’s this broken heart, but you can have the rest of me
Recently, both a patient and a friend shared eerily similar stories with me about their experiences with online love interests. Each story began innocently, sparked by casual conversations on social media or dating apps. The men came across as attentive and charming, showering them with compliments and flirtatious messages. Over time, these interactions grew deeper, making the women feel genuinely cared for and valued.
The men claimed to work on oil rigs—a detail that added a sense of rugged mystery. They explained their inability to video chat due to poor signal, a plausible excuse that made their absence of face-to-face communication seem reasonable. Yet, miraculously, they always managed to stay in touch when it mattered. As the relationship progressed, the tone shifted.
The men began sharing stories of injuries or emergencies, pleading for help. It started with a small request for money, accompanied by heartfelt promises to repay it as soon as they could get back home. But as trust was established, the requests grew larger. Before these women realized what was happening, they had been manipulated, their money siphoned away, and their supposed partners had vanished—ghosting them without a trace.
Both my patient and friend shared their stories through tears, their voices trembling with shame, confusion, and heartbreak. They were deeply wounded, not only by the betrayal but also by the vulnerability they felt in being deceived.
As my friend recounted her story, she suddenly burst out, “I loved him, and I miss him.” Her words hung in the air, raw and vulnerable, carrying the weight of her longing. After a moment of silence, I gently asked, “Is it love? Or do you miss the way he made you feel—special, loved?”
Her response was a revelation. She stared at me, wide-eyed, before the truth spilled out. “I miss how he made me feel. It’s been so long since I felt that, and I just wanted it so badly.”
I replied, “I’m so sorry…” and wrapped her in a hug as she broke down, her tears soaking my shoulder. In that moment, I felt the depth of her pain—the heartbreak of not just losing someone she thought she loved but also the loss of the feelings of validation, connection, and worthiness he had given her, even if fleetingly.
My patient’s story ended with devastating consequences. She had taken out a second loan on her home to send money to her love interest, and when he vanished, she was unable to recover. Eventually, she lost her home—a painful and humiliating chapter in her life.
My friend’s situation, though different, was equally heart-wrenching. She had borrowed money from her family to send to the man she thought loved her. When her family discovered the truth, they intervened. They made her move back home, closed her dating apps, and blocked him from her phone to sever all contact.
In that moment, I realized how universal the need for connection is and how easily it can make us vulnerable and blind to red flags. Love—or the illusion of it—has the power to lift one to the greatest heights, but when manipulated, it can leave a trail of devastation. Le sigh…
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