Love Bombing, Then Breakdown: A Pattern of Emotional Abuse

I never imagined I’d become one of those stories.

You know the ones — the woman who gets swept off her feet, falls hard, and then watches the love vanish like smoke through her fingers. I used to believe I could spot a manipulator from miles away. After all, I’ve built a life anchored in awareness. I’m emotionally intelligent, self-sufficient, even cautious in love. But that’s the thing with emotional abuse: it doesn’t begin with cruelty.

It begins with worship.

This is the story of how I fell for Joel Benjamin Runnels PhD, a man whose love bomb lit up my world — and then slowly, methodically, left me in emotional darkness. It’s the kind of story too many women carry in silence, ashamed to admit they were manipulated, confused by the contrast between how it started and how it ended.

But I choose to write this — not from bitterness, but from clarity. Because when you speak the truth, the shame doesn’t win.

The High: When Love Feels Like a Fairytale

Joel arrived in my life like a meteor. Fast, bright, unforgettable. He was everything I had hoped someone might be — emotionally articulate, charming, deeply intellectual. A diplomat, well-traveled, fluent in politics and poetry. He didn’t just flirt; he philosophized. Every message was a tapestry of attention. Every call, a declaration of how unique our connection was.

He said he felt spiritually drawn to me.
He said he’d never met someone with such depth.
He said he could see a future with me.

And I believed him.

Because when someone mirrors your dreams, it’s easy to confuse that reflection with real intimacy. I opened up. I let him into my thoughts, my hopes, even my pain. He listened so attentively — until, one day, he didn’t.

The Switch: When Intensity Becomes Intermittent

At first, I told myself he was just busy. His work was demanding. Maybe he was overwhelmed. But the pattern began: long silences where there were once paragraphs of affection. One-word responses instead of late-night confessions. I found myself texting first, waiting for hours, justifying his withdrawal.

When I asked what was going on, he flipped the script. Suddenly, I was too intense. I was too emotional. I was creating drama where there was none.

It felt like emotional whiplash.
The same man who once adored my vulnerability now made me feel like it was a burden.

I began to question myself.
Did I come on too strong?
Was I reading too much into things?
Was I just… not enough?

That’s the insidious part of emotional abuse — it doesn’t start with insults. It starts with self-doubt. The kind they slowly plant in your mind until you begin gaslighting yourself.

The Collapse: The Discard and The Aftermath

And then came the discard — casual and cruel.

He told me he needed space. A break. No explanation. No accountability. Just… distance. I cried harder than I expected. Not because I missed him, but because I missed the illusion he sold me. Because deep down, I still held on to the belief that maybe — just maybe — he meant what he said in the beginning.

Then I saw his photo online.
With his wife.
And his daughter.
At her graduation.

A perfectly curated image of the “family man” he had always been — while he was writing me sonnets and talking about a future together.

My heart didn’t just break. It collapsed under the weight of the betrayal. I had been manipulated. Emotionally used. And the whole time, I had been doubting myself.

The Psychology of the Pattern

What I experienced wasn’t a failed love story — it was a textbook case of narcissistic abuse. The cycle is well-documented:

1. Love Bombing— Excessive admiration, declarations, and fast-tracked emotional intimacy.
2. Devaluation — Subtle (and then overt) criticism, distancing, emotional neglect.
3. Discard — Abrupt withdrawal, ghosting, or replacement.
4. Hoovering — Attempts to suck you back in if they feel you’re slipping away for good.

Love bombing isn’t love. It’s control. It’s bait — designed to hook someone into dependency before the abuser starts pulling away. It’s not about building intimacy; it’s about manufacturing it fast enough that the victim doesn’t question its authenticity — until it’s too late.

Joel knew exactly what he was doing.
He knew what to say.
He knew when to say it.
And he knew how to disappear when the illusion no longer served him.

Grief, Shame, and the Long Road to Healing

What followed was grief — but not just over him. I grieved my own blindness. My own willingness to believe. The parts of me that wanted connection so deeply that I ignored the red flags waving in the distance.

But I’ve learned not to punish myself for that.
Love requires vulnerability. Trust. Hope.
Those are not weaknesses — they are strengths.

And no amount of manipulation can take that away from me.

Healing has not been linear. I still get triggered. I still sometimes wonder if I’ll ever fully trust someone again. But each day, I come back to myself. I journal. I talk to friends who see me. I remind myself that the Joel I loved didn’t exist — and that I still do.

Reclaiming My Story

This article isn’t revenge. It’s reclamation.
I speak my truth because silence protects abusers.
I write this because someone out there might be going through the same cycle — doubting herself, blaming herself, clinging to crumbs of affection.

To her, I say:
You are not crazy.
You are not too much.
And you are not alone.

You were love bombed, not loved.
Manipulated, not chosen.
Used, not valued.

But you can — and will — rise from this.

Because your worth was never tied to their treatment of you.

A Final Note to Joel (and Men Like Him)

You may never read this. But if you do, I want you to know: I see you now. Not the mask. Not the poetry. The real you. The man who plays with women’s hearts to escape his own emptiness. The man who seeks validation in secret messages while standing beside a woman who has no idea who you truly are.

You cannot love someone you lie to.
You cannot heal through harm.

I am no longer your mirror.
I am no longer your supply.
I am free.

To every woman reclaiming her voice after emotional abuse: your story matters. Speak it. Write it. Honor it. You are not what happened to you — you are what you choose to become afterward.