Sometimes you miss the one who hurt you the most.

In the depths of my fears I think of only one voice and feel only one set of arms around me as the storm slams against the shutters: his.

I long for his calm words, his thoughtful response, his bulldog ways.  When I was broken he rushed to my side.  Always.  He was my safe place.

It’s been one year and 4 months since he showed up to my house to stay the night and instead asked for a break from me; 8 months since his tear-streaked face left my home for the last time; 6 months since he brought his new woman to my gym class;  5 months since he clutched her in photos and kissed her smooth, smiling cheek; and two days since he last looked at me online.

The knot of suspicion I carried with me like a baby clutched close to my chest left when he did.  I celebrate its absence, dance on its grave each time I breathe with a lightness which eluded me when he was close and yet I pine and I miss.   I miss him.

I am ashamed.

I am embarrassed.

My longing proves my weakness, my failure.  The seasons have changed and I have not.

I have raged against the machine of men clamoring to get between my legs and bellowed at the one or two who have dared to acknowledge my heart.  I have no safe place, I am unmoored and I have no one to blame but myself.

I hate that I miss him still, this soft and sad part of me.  It clings to me like the scab that it is and I want it to be gone, to peel it away with a long, low sting to reveal the fresh pink of health below.  But maybe there is no health beneath all of this.  Maybe I will always be lost and stubbornly stuck in the rot of my life.


The gale of confusion and impersonal betrayal I experience in my dating life has worn me down to a bloody stump; doubt in men has seeped into my consciousness and it scares me.  If I lose hope then who am I?

I scour the transcripts of my interactions searching for clues and force myself to put one foot in front of the other only to admit to my own subterfuge.  I am abnormal, extraordinary.  I turn an innocent afternoon of get-to-know-you into a mastermind game of deflection and redirection: do not get to know me, get to know what I’m willing to give you.

Sex is safe, I am not.


He will be leaving my life soon.  All the way in the way that the internet can afford us, anyway.

I will no longer be subjected to his fancy black car parked neatly near his building.  Checking my mail will be an ordinary event: I will no longer feel compelled to open the little brass door only if I am sleek and beautiful.  Walking to the office, to the pool, living my life in my little square block will become an empty theater.  My audience and potential critic will be gone.  Not that he probably cared anyway, I’m sure.

Longing for his support when the clouds have blocked the sun is an outright betrayal of myself, of my determination to heal and move on.  I recognize I have no control over how I feel and that this is [obviously] part of the process but I am moved to tears nonetheless.  Why have I found nothing to fill the void he left behind?

I still feel the spring of the curls on his chest beneath my palm, the scratch of his beard on my face, his beautiful cock buried deep inside of me, his taste.

This is an extraction.  Nothing will grow back.  I’ll have to chew around it.

On occasion I find myself in that filthy sess pool we call Facebook.  I slap myself with knowledge I have no right to know and grind on happy thoughts, toss darts on the board of Good For Him.  I walk away stiff-legged and raw, armed with ammunition to continue my quick clip away.  Thankfully.

This cycle of need, burn, and retreat is like the earth around the sun: there’s a summer when it’s hotly uncomfortable and a winter when I am cold and distant.  How many times do I have to go around him?  How many seasons must pass before I break loose and no longer taste him?

The gift of hindsight left a present at my feet: I have never loved anyone as much as I loved him.

When I loved him, when the loving was a thing I did every day, it became a part of my fiber and when it was stripped away I was left bereft.  A tree in the dead of winter, naked and bare.  Starving for a spring that has yet to come.

Instead storm after storm and a longing for a man who didn’t want me, who never wanted me, pounds at me.  I foolishly throw myself to the wolves hoping one of them will recognize me instead of devour me.  I own that.  But I must rest.  I must stop.

I must surround myself instead with my other anchors.  The batwomen and sisters I rely upon, the one or two or three men who encourage me to be sensitive, the sister who now knows that I write and is proud of me.

To look at me you would never guess at my continued heartbreak.  To read me you might not guess it either, but it’s time to be honest. It’s true: I am still heartbroken.

I still feel his absence.  I still wish that things were different, that someone, anyone cared about me, but most of all him.  I am terrified of attempting to find someone new.  In fact I feel wholly ill equipped to do so.  I am a big, fat faker.  I only go through the motions because I derive some sick purpose out of it.  I am a masochist to a frustrating degree.


Longing and heartbreak are the same as it was a thousand years ago.  I am blathering on about nothing, as usual.  I wonder what their advice was then all those long seasons ago.





A 40-something single mother who writes honestly about sex, body image, D/s, relationships, her nervous tics, and how much she loves to fucking fuck. She also likes to show you her tits.

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12 thoughts on “Sometimes you miss the one who hurt you the most.
  1. Oh Hy!
    I ache for you reading this.
    All through it, I was wondering: does she still go to therapy? I think it could only help. Help sort through the thoughts, help you realise that you’re enough, you don’t need anyone in your life. You may wish there was someone there, but you don’t need them. YOU are ENOUGH. You are perfect the way you are, with all your flaws and doubts and needs of reassurance.
    I’m glad he’s soon moving out. It must be a huge relief, as well as the final straw to your aching heart.
    I don’t know what to say, but don’t give up on men. There are good ones out there. You just need to find the one who will draw the best of you and accept the less glowing bits. He’s there. But first, YOU have to accept yourself.
    That’s what I’ve been feeling, reading you, for a little while.
    I hope I don’t sound too harsh, or too shitty. It is meant with all the love I can share.
    Sending hugs.
    And love.
    And hugs.
    And go get them Tiger, you’re going to rock Europe!

    1. Thanks for the love, Dawn. I am always in therapy. These are my rawest feelings, rational or not, and at the core of my struggle. This piece is about realizing I still miss him and upset it makes me. I truly thought I was past all that!! It bums me out to know there’s still so much pain there to be had, but I won’t give up. I’ll keep working to move on. I kind of have to, right? xx Hy

  2. You are so skilled at helping us feel your heartbreak–it leaps off the page. I think time truly is your best friend here. It can take a very long time to move past a love so deep. When I’ve imagined how I would feel if I lost the love of my life, I tell myself that I would feel gratitude for having experienced a love so deep, that I wouldn’t regret it despite how painful it would be to lose it. I’m wondering if you are able to take any comfort in similar thoughts.

    1. The gratitude is there, but it doesn’t erase the pain. I just gotta grin and bear it, I suppose. And I certainly don’t regret him despite how he haunts me. xx Hy

  3. If art is truth-telling and good art is telling deep truths, then, my dear Hyacinth, this is truly good art.

    May the ink continue to flow, and, in turn, the tears subside.

  4. Oh my lovely… It’s so fucking difficult to accept that empty place inside. I believe you will find it filled someday – there is someone out there who will love you exactly as you are. If I do, some man certainly will :)
    I too struggle with accepting the void within and having friends and family be enough. I want someone – a man – in my life, and feel like that’s not the right answer somehow. As much as I know I can survive without, it feels like settling and I hate to settle.
    Your words are beautiful even in pain and sadness. I almost booked Eroticon yesterday and of course would be in the audience for your session :)
    Ann St Vincent recently posted…I took a shower and went up to Bill | My Grandmother’s sex lifeMy Profile

    1. The void I feel is one of substance that he actually provided: a safe place. Certainly I have myself to rely on, but sometimes I crave somewhere to lean. That’s what it feels like I’m missing with him gone and I’m surprised as hell by it. I had no idea I even needed it!!

  5. Hundreds of years ago I think their grief was just as acute, however they didn’t have the internet and tinder et al to distract and confuse them. Fanny Brawne, the fiancee of the poet John Keats mourned his death for 6 years (Their love letters are quite a thing). Queen Victoria mourned a whole lot longer. I can empathise with your writing wholeheartedly and with your previous post about dating. I’ve been there and back again over the years. They suck you back in with their promises and algorithms but I believe there is such a thing as dating burn out. I’ve reached that place. I dated and hooked up a lot before someone came back for me, someone I thought was the one, whom I embraced and endured for, only he wasn’t. Took a while for me to catch up to that, turns out I was merely just a crutch for a difficult situation. I have missed him at times, but then I realised those times were the ones when he would have known what to say and there are other true friends for that. Nothing is as perfect as we look back and imagine it was. I’m not sure there is such a thing as a perfect combination of sex and personality, life is a series of compromises for most of us. Back to the dating burnout. I have discovered this is a good thing because it teaches you that you can be yourself more. Take a break, for YOU, enjoy being yourself, find yourself even. I’m not advocating that we should all do a Julia Roberts but its true. We are all at heart social beings, surround yourself with people that matter. The ones that you can’t be with, it’s ok to mourn the loss, you will never forget but you learn to let go, live with it and learn from it through creating new experiences. Sex is a difficult beast, one the one hand we are blessed to be able to enjoy, crave even, plenty of good sex but we are cursed if we do when men treat us like yesterdays news (The Welder). They exploit our trust and ruin it for the next man who comes along as we just that bit more jaded. I do believe that men put women into two camps, the ones you’d take home to Mom and the ones you have sex with. My theory is borne out of the number of dissatisfied married men who like to hit on me on a regular basis! I’ve wised up and gotten good at batting them off now. There are some good guys out there obviously, and they will come when you least expect it. BTW I read Ann’s blog too, we all share so much in common. More than you realise! Your answer lies in what you have written above. Stop chasing, you owe yourself that, remove expectations and trying to pre-empt what men are thinking. They are most definitely from mars, OK maybe there a few exceptions ;-) ! You have a trip to look forward to and with it maybe a whole lot more excitement, take care of your ‘self’ , surround yourself with those you know trust and love and the rest will happen. I am currently glad of my own space, to indulge myself in things I want to do, instead of the things I feel I ought to be doing for someone else. It’s a breath of fresh air. Enjoy Eroticon and England!

  6. Hy please don’t beat yourself up that you still have feelings for TN. When you’ve loved someone so deeply and been so hurt, 8 months is no time at all.
    I adored my TN – he once said that no-one had ever loved him as much as I did and like your TN mine was also never on the same page as me – even thought at one stage he professed love.
    I just always chose to disregard the glaring warning signs and only take into account the stuff that corroborated what I wanted it to )
    VERY glad that your TN is moving away. Mine lived next door to me for a year after he walked away. So, so painful. It drove me insane and I so get what you mean about the theater aspect.
    I do love the way you have written your saga with TN – its been my story too – and as Ann says you are a beautiful writer putting into words what lots of us have felt and been through. Thank you for that.

    For the record it was four years for me before I picked myself up enough to be in a relationship and have sex again. – sounds pathetic but was so frozen inside after my TN walked away there was no way that I was going to open up to be vulnerable and intimate with anyone else for a long long time.

    You will get over your neighbor – but give yourself time Hy……For the record four years down the line…….I went on a first date with a guy – not an unusual occurrence but this time I spent the whole date distracted from what he was saying through wondering what it would be like to kiss him & then I knew I was ready to jump start my heart again.

    Three years down the line we’re still together and I feel so valued and cherished – This relationship is so different -its like going out with a proper man instead of a little boy. You will get over TN Hy but maybe the final healing with happen when you find a partner who can reciprocate fully the love that you give

  7. Hy. I don’t know what to say here. Last night I started reading blogs again, opening up an e_lust for the first time in…fuck…a year, more than a year, I don’t know how long. I wanted to reacquaint myself with the bloggers whom I had come to “know” and, yes, in the way that I believe is possible even across the void, across the internet, to love, through all those years of blogging for W.

    Or my plan was to start reading through the list, but instead, I got stuck here, on your post about Ben, and then, of course, down the rabbit hole trying to discover what happened…and landed here. I know this is the past, and where you are now is beyond this…but still, I had to comment. To say I’m so very sorry for your grief.

    I wanted to tell you that I understand your grief, that all those conflicted feelings are ones I have had, and are normal, etc., etc…which is all true, but sounds like platitudes. But they aren’t. I sit here with tears in my eyes, feeling every moment of sadness, of confusion and conflict, of loss and fearful hope with you as I read it. My grief…was…is…different…but loss is loss, and the fears and anxieties of moving through it and moving on are the same. Sometimes, I think my way was easier – I didn’t have to see him in social media, or walk by my house every day, or with his new love.

    Sigh. I’m making a hash of this. Just know that you are in my thoughts.


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