Extreme Limerence Needs Strong Intervention

Obsessive love often flares up when life feels empty and the ties to people and pursuits that bring joy are weak. Limerence is what happens when that intensity tips into something like an addiction, and in severe cases the fixation can pull a person into a much deeper mental-health crisis. Today’s letter comes from a woman called Sherry, who finally developed feelings for someone but now finds her life unraveling. She writes: dear crappy childhood fairy, can you please help me understand and cope with what I believe is a severe case of limerence before I ruin my health and my relationship with my daughter? I am completely obsessed with a man who probably doesn’t think of me at all. This has taken a heavy toll.
Right, time to take a closer look at what’s happening in Sherry’s life. I’m 50 years old and have been single for nine years. I wasn’t actively dating because I hadn’t met anyone I truly wanted to be with; mostly I was fine with being on my own, content with my routines and used to spending time with my daughter, who is grown at 19. Still, after that long a stretch it felt normal to crave companionship — both emotional and physical. Then I met a 45‑year‑old man at work. After about six months of regular workplace contact, casual chats, and mutual disclosures, I found myself genuinely attracted to him. He was leaving our location, so I decided to see if he would be willing to meet outside of work. We hung out a few times at his house, cuddling and talking, and it felt wonderful to be physically close to someone; he was gentle, warm, and polite, and I was smitten. There seemed to be attraction on both sides.
After four weeks I asked if he was interested in me and whether he was still active on dating sites. He said he couldn’t give me what I wanted because he was still dealing with hurt from his divorce. He seemed honest but abrupt, struggled to talk things through, and eventually ghosted me. I had never experienced ghosting before and it crushed me — I was practically nonfunctional for weeks. Joy vanished, I felt hollow, my whole body ached. It was summer; I stayed in bed, slept a lot, and cried. I pulled away from friends and family and was in the worst emotional pain of my life. It felt like people could tell by looking at me. The intensity of my reaction baffled me because it didn’t line up with the amount of time we’d actually spent together; this wasn’t typical for me.
A few weeks later, still thinking about him, I started texting but tried to keep messages light — little check‑ins like “hope you’re doing okay.” At first he didn’t reply though he would read the texts. After many attempts he eventually messaged back and we met again a couple of times, but whenever I brought up anything emotional he would shut down and stop contacting me. That would trigger another round of my texting until he decided to reply, which was usually a gap of about six to eight weeks. We repeated that pattern a few times. Never once did he apologize or explain his behavior. After reading and researching to make sense of both our behaviors, it became clear he was highly avoidant while I tended toward the anxious side. That cycle repeated about four times before deciding not to ask him out again. Even then we cycled through phases of messaging, brief contact, and silence. The last conversation happened about a year later, a couple of months ago. Feeling drained from giving him so much patience and understanding, I asked point‑blank if he was interested in me because he never showed genuine curiosity about my life, keeping conversations superficial. He didn’t know how to answer and left abruptly; he has not reached out since. I have no intention of contacting him either.
The problem is that over the past year a self‑destructive pattern emerged: obsessive preoccupation with him for most of the day. Concentration is difficult, thoughts are scattered, and emotions swing wildly. Relaxation and sleep are elusive, my heart races at times, and I’ve gained 45 pounds in six months. Self‑esteem is suffering; one moment there’s a flicker of hope, the next my chest hurts imagining him wanting someone else. I wonder whether he ever thinks of me and find myself watching YouTube pick‑a‑card and tarot readings, desperate for any insight into his feelings even though I know it’s irrational. My phone has become a source of anxiety — a wrong text or missed call sends my heart into turmoil, and when it’s not him I feel devastated. I’m terrified of running into him because I might break down; I’ve driven past him several times and he didn’t notice. I’m constantly scanning for his car make or model, and when I’ve seen him driving I’ve had extreme physical reactions: shaking, uncontrollable crying, teeth chattering, blurred vision. Once I sobbed in the car for an hour and eventually crashed out from exhaustion. The episode felt traumatic and I’m afraid it will happen again. Emotionally exhausted, I have little left for myself or my daughter. She’s aware that I’m struggling and knows it isn’t about her. I’m often withdrawn at home, irritable, forgetful, moving through a haze; my health is deteriorating and I feel out of control.
I’ve tried many approaches to manage this but still long for him, which feels insane. No contact hasn’t helped because instead of easing the obsession, it intensifies it — the hope that he might reach out keeps the fantasy alive. I know this is dysfunctional; I’m stuck in a destructive loop. Is this limerence? Is it partial reinforcement? I’m not sure what that means. Please give your opinion and concrete suggestions for how to make this stop for good. Thank you, Sherry.
Here’s a blunt reading of the situation: on some level Sherry probably already suspects what follows. The pattern described amounts to a full‑blown addiction to someone who clearly isn’t reciprocating. This is deep limerence — the kind that takes over a person. There also seems to be denial about personal agency when recounting the different phases; the choices that kept the dynamic alive are not being fully acknowledged and responsibility tends to be shifted onto him.
You mentioned being single for nine years without meeting anyone you were interested in, and then this connection opened up. There was no history provided about previous relationships or childhood, so while past wounds don’t by themselves fix the present problem, they can help explain the vulnerability that got reactivated. The interaction with this man — a short, intimate sexual connection that quickly moved into physical closeness — appears to have cracked open an old trauma wound tied to survival and emotional scarcity. Take this seriously: this functions like a hard addiction. It has hijacked body and mind in a way comparable, in its urgency and destructiveness, to substance addiction, and it needs immediate action.
This should be the last discussion about him as a focal point. He has demonstrated, repeatedly, that he doesn’t care to invest in you: he responds sporadically and mostly when it suits him, often for sex, and he withdraws whenever the conversation turns toward feelings. Repeatedly he has made clear — through action if not through a gentle explanation — that what he wants is different from what you want. Sometimes people soften rejection with reasons like “I’m still dealing with a divorce,” but if he truly were incapacitated by grief he likely wouldn’t be having sex; those kinds of statements often mask the simpler truth: he is not that into you. It’s essential to learn the dating language: “I’m not ready for a relationship” or “I’m not looking for something serious right now” is the honest boundary people use when they don’t want to hurt someone more directly.
Cuddling and intimate physical contact are not the same as building a committed bond, and many people — certainly many men — will engage in sex without developing reciprocal emotional attachment. The rapid move to sex made it harder to clarify intentions and build mutual understanding, which left room for misinterpretation. After only four weeks of physical intimacy, asking if he was genuinely interested was a warning sign about how quickly emotions were being invested without establishing mutual commitment. A healthier approach for the future is to make interest and intentions explicit before allowing physical intimacy to become the glue that binds expectations.
When he ghosted and reacted poorly to emotional conversations, he was avoiding difficult honesty. Persisting in texting, especially repeatedly and when he made clear he didn’t want the relationship, looked desperate and likely communicated neediness rather than dignity. Repeatedly pursuing someone who has set a boundary or shown disinterest reduces self‑respect and fuels more rejection rather than building a relationship. That cycle — intense longing, begging for contact, brief reprieves followed by abandonment — is classic reinforcement of addictive hope. It’s not love; it’s compulsion. If there were genuine love from both sides, the other person would meet you halfway instead of taking advantage of vulnerability.
The body’s reaction — sleeplessness, aches, weight gain, exhaustion — is a signal that this arrangement is not sustainable. The logical mind may try to explain things away, but the body is broadcasting that something is wrong. Continued texting after being rejected, long waits for replies, and tolerating being used for physical intimacy are behaviors that reinforce the problem. It’s painful and unfair to be taken advantage of when clearly in love, but ultimately the responsibility to stop the cycle lies with the person being harmed. Continuing to enable someone who has shown they won’t offer what’s needed only deepens the wound.
Labeling the other person as “avoidant” might be partly true, but his primary behavior here is simple: he is not interested enough to commit. Even if he has avoidance tendencies, that would be manageable only if he were actively trying to meet you halfway and grow. Anything less is not a relationship that can give you what you need; it is an empty, damaging pattern. Chasing that hollow connection is like driving on fumes and ignoring the fact that a gas station is not actually around the corner.
At the point when it became clear this was a one‑sided pattern, the healthiest move would have been to cease contact entirely. Block him so that sudden messages or accidental re‑engagements can’t reopen the wound. He has not apologized or explained — and in a sense, he doesn’t owe an explanation if the dynamic has been a sequence of consenting to sex without committing emotionally. But recognize that even if his behavior is poor, continuing to pursue him guarantees the same outcome and undermines dignity.
The extreme preoccupation, the recurring crying spells, the phone anxiety, the hours spent on tarot and pick‑a‑card videos — these are hallmark signs of end‑stage limerence. Many people in that state desperately seek any external validation that promises relief. The online industry of tarot and psychic readings profits from offering quick hits of hope — “he loves you,” “you had a past life together” — which feeds the obsession rather than heals it. Stop seeking answers from those sources. They give temporary relief but ultimately reinforce the addictive loop of hope and disappointment. The man’s own words and actions — “I can’t give you what you want” and persistent silence — are the clearest evidence of how he feels; any other narrative is wishful thinking.
There is likely a deeper well of pain and earlier wounds under these reactions. The physical meltdown in the car and ongoing haze suggest old fearful and resentful beliefs about worth and survival that are now driving compulsive behavior. One effective path is to name those fearful thoughts, write them down, and work to release them — whether through spiritual practice, therapeutic techniques, or structured recovery work. Doing that creates mental space and quiets the constant internal chatter.
A practical recommendation is to consider recovery groups that understand sexual and romantic addiction, such as Sex and Love Addicts Anonymous (S.L.A.A.). Seek women‑only meetings rather than mixed gatherings to avoid encountering others who might re‑trigger romantic entanglements. Use 12‑step programs to learn from people who have walked this path and can model recovery — not as a way to meet partners, but as a place to learn how to stop repeating destructive patterns. If a program feels too rigorous, find mentors within it who can guide the work; the structure and accountability can be lifesaving.
Recovery requires distancing from triggers: not only the person himself, but also the cultural and media cues that romanticize obsession — movies, commercials, and stories that normalize longing and fixation. Instead, build a life rich in connection, hobbies, and friendships that bring consistent pleasure and meaning. Joy and engagement in everyday life dramatically reduce limerence’s power; the condition tends to flare when life is bleak and empty. When daily life is satisfying, romantic obsession loses its hold.
Practical tools include firm boundaries (blocking him and cutting off contact), avoiding tarot and other reinforcing sources, and choosing therapists or support people who will hold you accountable rather than allow endless ruminative talk about him. It’s important to be rigorous about who helps you: don’t let a therapist or companion enable prolonged rumination. Use therapy or recovery meetings to process and release the feelings for a while, but don’t let conversations become weekly rehearsals of what he did.
The core question to focus on is not only “why did this happen?” — the why is often complicated and partly unknown — but rather “how do you stop?” The path out of the groove starts with a total halt to the behaviors that keep the pattern alive. Replace obsessive thoughts with intentional happy or grounding thoughts and don’t indulge the mental reflexes that keep replaying the person. Like a physical reflex, these reactions are conditioned responses to an old wound; they don’t define the whole person and don’t have intrinsic meaning. Stopping the behavior creates space and peace to rebuild.
In practical terms: block him, commit to no contact, stop the tarot‑seeking and other hope‑feeds, join a recovery community that understands this form of addiction, and build a daily life that is fulfilling and full. Name the fearful and resentful thoughts, get them out on paper, ask for help in releasing them, and surround yourself with people who will support both laughter and tears through recovery. Healing can happen faster than expected if there’s genuine commitment to the work.
Finally, don’t minimize the job of facing what’s wrong. It’s not enough to understand intellectually; recovery depends on concrete boundaries, practices, and support. With effort and the right help, joy and meaningful friendships will return, and limerence will lose its grip. Over time, if a healthy partnership is meant to happen it can — but not until the pattern has been healed and the jagged edges that this experience carved into the psyche have been smoothed. Move quickly and determinedly toward the solution: no contact, no talking about him as a way of indulging the obsession, and active engagement in recovery. That’s the way out. For those who want more clarity on how limerence develops and escalates, a sequenced list of signs is available in a free PDF download. See that resource for a step‑by‑step view and begin the work without delay.