Ten years ago, I was a 39-year-old guy in Windsor, Canada, slogging through a secure but soul-sapping government job. Divorced, no kids, and bored out of my mind, I was mulling a big life change – midlife crisis or just a longing for something more? I wanted adventure, so I did what a lot of single guys do: I turned to dating apps. No matchmaking agencies for me; I just wanted to chat and see where things went. I made a profile on Plenty of Fish, the OG of dating apps before Tinder and Bumble took over.
That’s how I met her – let’s call her Susan. She ran a tiny supermarket in a dusty Costa Rican beach town. Her profile was all sun-drenched selfies, beach shots, and one of her in a cowboy hat in front of a battered pickup, grinning like she’d just pulled off a heist. She messaged first: quick, funny, flirty, and unfiltered. The kind of woman who’d dance barefoot in the rain and sell you a six-pack at a markup.
I was hooked. We messaged for hours, and I started dreaming of a new life: surfing, sunsets, and a simple, beautiful existence with someone who seemed to be the answer to all my restlessness. But something about Susan made me uneasy. I’d get a knot in my stomach at odd moments – a red flag I ignored.
The Match That Changed Everything
There’s a saying in poker: if you can’t spot the sucker at the table, it’s probably you. In Susan’s game, I was the fish. I didn’t realize it then, but I was just one of many guys in her orbit. IBut was the one with stars in his eyes and a suitcase half-packed before the hand was over.
Our online and phone relationship grew intense. She told me about her life in Costa Rica – her past marriages to addicts, her love for beach town rhythms, her dreams and struggles. Her texts made me feel needed, special, chosen. I started picturing a new life: sun, surf, and a woman who embodied everything I thought I wanted.
After months of this, I quit my job and booked a ticket.
Landing in Paradise (Or So I Thought)
Costa Rica was a shock after Canada’s grey skies. The air was thick and sweet, the colors brighter, the pace slower. I arrived with hope and fantasies. The first days were magic. Susan introduced me to her friends and her supermarket. We drank beer on the beach and watched the sun drop into the ocean. I felt alive for the first time in years.
But then, things shifted. She’d get irritated over nothing, question my memory of conversations, and make jokes at my expense. Tiny cuts that left bruises. If you’ve never been gaslit, it’s like being lost in the jungle with a broken compass. One minute you’re sure of yourself, the next you’re second-guessing everything. She’d say, “You’re too sensitive,” or, “That never happened.” I started to doubt my own memory, my own sanity.
She’d disappear for hours, then return with stories that didn’t add up. If I questioned anything about her explanations, she’d turn it around: “Why don’t you trust me? You’re so insecure.” I started walking on eggshells. I’d read about narcissists and toxic relationships, but never thought I’d end up in one.
There were patterns: love-bombing – she’d shower me with attention and affection, then yank it all away. Ghosting. Subtle requests for money. The sense that we were playing a game, but the rules changed every time. I saw her still on the apps after we’d gotten “serious.” She laughed it off. “Just for fun,” she said. Maybe for her. Not for me. There was triangulation and competition with guys I never knew existed – until they showed up on social media.
Losing Myself
The worst part wasn’t the lies or the gaslighting. I was losing myself. I stopped calling friends and family, stopped doing the things I loved. I was so focused on making it work that I didn’t notice how small my world had become. I felt like a ghost in my own story. I’d wake up at night, heart pounding, sure I’d made the biggest mistake of my life. But I couldn’t leave. I kept thinking it would get better if I just tried harder, loved more, gave more.
It all came to a head when I mentioned the cash I was bringing to Costa Rica. That’s when she singled me out. After months of weakening my self-esteem, she was ready for the kill. What did she want? A car loan. When I hesitated, things got worse.
Hitting Rock Bottom
The fights escalated. The lies grew. I started to feel like I was losing my mind. That’s when I found help from an online therapist – a 70-something woman, expert in love addiction and toxic relationships. She listened, didn’t judge, and explained the cycle: love-bombing, devaluing, control. She told me I wasn’t crazy. I was just the fish at the table, and it was time to cash out.
Leaving wasn’t easy. But I did it. I moved to another beach town and found real friends. It wasn’t my final stop, but it was a reprieve from relationship hell.
What I Learned (The Hard Way)
Dating apps are a jungle where love, lessons, or sucker’s traps await. If it feels too good, beware. Love-bombing is manipulation. Trust your gut, protect yourself, and don’t be afraid to ask for help if you’re feeling abused.
