Oof, 'Tell Me Lies' Is the Most Accurate Depiction of Toxic Dating I've Ever Seen—and I Have My College Diary to Prove It

When I first read Tell Me Lies, I was a sophomore in college. I devoured it in 36 hours flat. Like Lucy, the main character, I had become hopelessly addicted to a guy I could never quite ‘get.’ And now—seven years after my entanglement has long since ended—I’ve been unwittingly sucked back into Lucy’s world. The myriad of TikTok fodder about the show has felt like picking at an old scar that never quite healed. The chase, the push-and-pull dynamic, the over-analysis of his every movement—it’s raw in a way that takes me right back to said guy’s bedroom in 2017. 

Yet, as someone who writes about dating for a living, I have to ask: Why are so many of us—especially women in our twenties—drawn to men who can’t give us what we want? What is it about the uncertainty that makes us cling tighter instead of pulling away? I decided to go back to some source material for my research.

Here, an excerpt from a journal I kept in 2017: 

Waking up in his denim blue sheets felt like winning the Powerball. The window was slightly ajar on this particular Saturday, and the crisp autumn breeze reminded me of waiting for the school bus in October. It was a rare moment of serenity—no shouting sorority girls, no rowdy frat boys—just the two of us, cocooned in stillness. I turn to face him, taking in his profile as if I’m committing it to memory.

Bradley wasn’t what anyone would call conventionally good-looking. Yes, he was attractive, but his look most definitely eschewed the typical frat bro trope. He had the bone structure of a much older man and he always donned bags under his eyes like he’d just returned from a hard day's work. Paradoxically, this was exactly what made me putty in his hands. His sad blue eyes wore a latent expression that told me life wasn’t easy. It’s what always urged me to stay a little longer—to dedicate more time toward figuring him out. 

Slowly, he peels open his lids. He kisses my forehead routinely; like we do it often. I lift my head to meet his gaze, melting when I see his signature mischievous grin. 

"What?" I needle.    

"Nothing," he says, pulling me close to his chest. "I just enjoy waking up to that face." 

Euphoria.  

But then my subconscious interrupts: So why doesn’t he want to wake up to my face more often? I reflexively shoo away the gnat of doubt, desperately trying to reclaim the bliss I felt just moments before. Wait, but who was that girl he was talking to before we left last night? The avalanche of uncertainty is already underway. Did he actually want me to sleep over, or was this just convenient? Does he want me to go? I’m suddenly overcome with a familiar, anxious pit in my stomach. I feel like I’m running on bided time. 

In one swift motion, Bradley pecks me on the forehead and reaches for his phone. He glares at the screen with a distracted, somewhat vexing expression—one that confirms my gut is always right. The alarms in my body are blaring, CALL THE UBER. Over my dead body would I be the girl who lingers where she’s not wanted. I hastily type “928 E 3rd St.” as the drop-off location, catching his side eyes on my screen. He says nothing.  

Don’t let him know you care, I say to myself. Just be chill. But my nerves accomplish the opposite effect: I jolt out of his bed like I’ve just been struck by a taser. I haphazardly gather my belongings from the floor, cursing myself for last night’s wardrobe choice: Tube top, platform heels, no jacket. "What are you looking for?" Bradley interrupts as I move on my hands and knees like a dog. "Bag… shoes… my brain…" I feign distraction. He hops out of bed toward his closet, reaching for an oversized Giants crewneck. "What's mine is yours,” he says, tossing me the sweatshirt with a wink. “I don’t want you to freeze.”

I didn’t hear from Bradley until five weeks after I left his apartment that morning.

I’m suddenly overcome with a familiar, anxious pit in my stomach.

After dredging up my old journal entries, it’s clear how undeniably addictive the ‘not knowing’ was. I replayed that morning over and over in the weeks that followed, grasping at straws that would make sense of his silence. Was it something I said? Did I imagine the affection in his smile? It was no use. Bradley, like Lucy’s sometimes-requited love, Stephen, was an expert at leaving me in the dark. He gave me just enough to hold on to—a flash of vulnerability here, a spark of connection there—but with no tangible sense of security. I was possessed by the chase. The less I knew about Bradley, the more I wanted to figure him out. If I could only crack him open… I was sure I’d find someone special. A guy who’s worth sticking around for (and who would make the chase feel worth it). 

Looking back now, however, I see that Bradley was far from the complicated enigma I believed him to be. Just like Stephen, he simply benefitted from the chase—he could keep me at arm's length with nominal effort. Meanwhile, every unanswered text, every vague explanation, felt like being dealt a losing hand in poker. It’s exactly what our relationship became: A game. I was so focused on getting ahead of his next move that I forgot to plan my own. Never was it about what I wanted from him—it was about getting him. Winning the game, and by proxy, the validation I couldn’t give myself. 

At the time, I was convinced my relationship with Bradley was unique. His icy-hot behavior felt personal, like a toxic mold designed just for me. But after witnessing the camaraderie over Tell Me Lies, it’s clear that our dynamic was far from individual. This was a universal experience. Countless women have chimed in on TikTok, all citing different versions of the same relationship: Girl hopelessly addicted to guy, guy keeping her just out of reach. One user sums it up best: “This is one of the most accurate shows I’ve ever seen when it comes to dating in your early twenties. The conversations, the arguments, the emotional damage… it’s all SO REAL.”

When your gut tells you there's something off, it’s probably because there is. If you're confused about where you stand, it’s not a coincidence—he’s keeping you in the gray for a reason.

I won’t claim to have all the answers. But after abruptly ending my relationship with Bradley (cause of death: he had a girlfriend all along), I realized I was more than just a victim of his deception. I, too, played my part in this game. In my own warped way, it felt safer to fixate on a frat guy who was emotionally unavailable—I didn’t have to risk being vulnerable with someone who was capable of true intimacy. In fact, there was a strange comfort I found in chasing Bradley. It kept me distracted, preoccupied with solving him, so wouldn’t have to confront myself. So long as I was immersed in what he wanted, I could avoid the more difficult question: What did I want? And, more importantly, why wasn’t I asking for it?

It took me longer than I’d like to admit, but eventually, I came to find that real intimacy is daunting—especially when you ignore your instincts. Every relationship will come with faults and fixes, but they don’t require you to be a bystander in your love life. You have agency, just like him, and you get to decide what feels right and what doesn’t. When your gut tells you there's something off, it’s probably because there is. If you're confused about where you stand, it’s not a coincidence—he’s keeping you in the gray for a reason. 

As I revisit Tell Me Lies nearly a decade later, I now see a version of love I left behind in college: One that romanticized the chase and mistook mystery for connection. Sometimes, maturity is all it takes to accept that chemistry doesn’t mean a never-ending stomach flip.