
PumpkinCrane823
chud
- Joined
- Nov 25, 2024
- Posts
- 246
- Reputation
- 220
i messaged first. That should’ve been the first red flag.
no Stacey with symmetrical bone structure and exs opens without an agenda. Yet I ignored it, because I was starved for novelty and digital validation had rewired my threat response. She said I had “kind eyes.” What does that even fucking mean? That my hunter instincts are suppressed?
Anyway. Within 72 hours we’re calling. By 96 hours, I’m on a train to meet her. She’s perfect — too perfect. Skin smooth as silk, laugh timed like a sitcom. Instant comfort. No social friction. We move through the city like a cinematic hallucination. She lets me give her a small kiss when we meet and we hug tightly. She doesn’t even look at her phone much — psychotic level of presentness. That’s not normal.
We go shopping and visit multiple stores; I give my honest opinions but have to mask. She “forgets” to bring another top to try on and asks me to “pop in” with her. She’s naked. No hesitation. No modesty. Just raw eye contact like a predator checking how much I can take before folding. I don’t fold. She’s sat straddled in my lap dryhumping me in a moment of raw passion. We make out in the changing room. It feels like I finally ascended.
She’s tactile. Smiling. Keeps using my name. I’m being mirrored.
I’m not being loved — I’m being studied.
Back at hers, we do what people do when their brains are drowning in novelty and oxytocin. I leave with serotonin depletion, already thinking about permanence and cringe at the stunted height growth.
Soon, two days later, I go hiking in Spain for a week in the mountains without connection. I send her a photo of a mountain. A dog I met. A trail sign in Gredos. She hearts the photo. Then… nothing. For a few days I keep up with her keeping conversation going but soon she just stops. After a week, gone.
Valentine’s Day. I open Instagram.
“User not found.”
Snapchat: Grey box.
WhatsApp: No last seen.
Even BeReal: gone.
Blocked. Everywhere.
I panic:
Here’s the theory: I was an emotional decoy. A human-sized stimulant to play out a fantasy, right up to the dopamine crash. The shopping date was a theatre act. The changing room was a ritual. The blocking was the ritual’s end.
I wasn’t “ghosted.” I was offboarded. It’s like she just forgot about me. It seemed so , so sudden. Only a week before we had shared a moment of such intimacy yet now she wanted to rid her life of me. It felt disgusting and immoral. Was it my height? My UEE?
Conclusion:
I loved her.
She loved the version of herself she could access through me.
And when that version faded, so did I.
find photos of our chats attached. this whole thing just causes so much rage for me because I had saved myself for so long and when I finally opened myself up she exploited me and took advantage of my vulnerability. what’s the point in dating. I feel useless.
no Stacey with symmetrical bone structure and exs opens without an agenda. Yet I ignored it, because I was starved for novelty and digital validation had rewired my threat response. She said I had “kind eyes.” What does that even fucking mean? That my hunter instincts are suppressed?
Anyway. Within 72 hours we’re calling. By 96 hours, I’m on a train to meet her. She’s perfect — too perfect. Skin smooth as silk, laugh timed like a sitcom. Instant comfort. No social friction. We move through the city like a cinematic hallucination. She lets me give her a small kiss when we meet and we hug tightly. She doesn’t even look at her phone much — psychotic level of presentness. That’s not normal.
We go shopping and visit multiple stores; I give my honest opinions but have to mask. She “forgets” to bring another top to try on and asks me to “pop in” with her. She’s naked. No hesitation. No modesty. Just raw eye contact like a predator checking how much I can take before folding. I don’t fold. She’s sat straddled in my lap dryhumping me in a moment of raw passion. We make out in the changing room. It feels like I finally ascended.
She’s tactile. Smiling. Keeps using my name. I’m being mirrored.
I’m not being loved — I’m being studied.
Back at hers, we do what people do when their brains are drowning in novelty and oxytocin. I leave with serotonin depletion, already thinking about permanence and cringe at the stunted height growth.
Soon, two days later, I go hiking in Spain for a week in the mountains without connection. I send her a photo of a mountain. A dog I met. A trail sign in Gredos. She hearts the photo. Then… nothing. For a few days I keep up with her keeping conversation going but soon she just stops. After a week, gone.
Valentine’s Day. I open Instagram.
“User not found.”
Snapchat: Grey box.
WhatsApp: No last seen.
Even BeReal: gone.
Blocked. Everywhere.
I panic:
- Was she lovebombing? Possibly.
- Was I a rebound? Could be.
- Was I an experiment? Most likely.
Here’s the theory: I was an emotional decoy. A human-sized stimulant to play out a fantasy, right up to the dopamine crash. The shopping date was a theatre act. The changing room was a ritual. The blocking was the ritual’s end.
I wasn’t “ghosted.” I was offboarded. It’s like she just forgot about me. It seemed so , so sudden. Only a week before we had shared a moment of such intimacy yet now she wanted to rid her life of me. It felt disgusting and immoral. Was it my height? My UEE?
Conclusion:
- If it escalates too fast, it’s not real.
- If it feels perfect, it’s performance.
- If she blocks you with zero warning, she never saw you as a person. Just a context.
I loved her.
She loved the version of herself she could access through me.
And when that version faded, so did I.
find photos of our chats attached. this whole thing just causes so much rage for me because I had saved myself for so long and when I finally opened myself up she exploited me and took advantage of my vulnerability. what’s the point in dating. I feel useless.