I made myself cry.

This I can handle.

I went to my post about my history of sexual assault just now and noticed at the bottom three “Related” links.

One was clearly related (I may give mixed signals, but No still means No) and two were completely unrelated ( and ).  I get fucked for days is what made me cry.  Thank God I live in a city that’s too cool for itself and a crying woman at a table isn’t worth looking up for. 

I cried at the reminders of my desirability.  I cried at the memories of the dinner party, Downstairs Neighbor who’s long since disappeared from my life.  I cried at the connection, the real mother fucking connection, that I shared with The Neighbor.  I cried because it was so so sad to see how contorted I had become to make it work with him.  And I cried because I have absolutely none of that beauty in my life anymore.  Not like that, I don’t; I live on scraps and stolen moments.

I feel hideous and undesirable.  That pic I posted the other day is one of the most awful things I’ve ever shared about myself and has given that wicked inner voice of mine a platform from which to scream at me about my ugliness, my oldness, my fatness.  My zero-ness.

I don’t use PhotoShop on my images, but I clearly put my best foot forward with a good pose and some filters.  Baring what I fear to be the ugly truth about myself has peeled back my skin.  It’s fucking horrible.

I have avoided all the dizzingly beautiful responses because it’s too painful to address; I know that what everyone has said is true, but it feels so impossibly fantastical that my runaway brain has shut it all down.

I know I am more than my looks.

I know that I am more than my body.

I know that I am worthy, wonderful, capable and lovable.

I know that if this were someone else I would find it a breathtaking image of beauty and reality.

I know all of this, but tell that to the sad, lonely, rejected little Hy inside of me that tries to make sense of her solitude, loneliness, and abject rejection.  She wants to point at that flabby body and ridicule it, slash at it with razors, dehumanize it.

If it’s because of my body then it makes me feel a little more in control.  I can “fix” that, you see??  It’s separate, solvable.

I know the logic is faulty and ridiculous and reaching: juvenile, but it’s my go-to line of thinking when I am strung out and spinning emotionally.  Reading that old post sucker punched me on so many levels I can barely breathe.  I’m still gasping for air.

I put on a good show for you all.  I share my body online in order to see myself through others’ eyes, to see my own beauty – it’s what Boobday is all about – but here I am admitting that I have yet to master my own cruel inner voice when the stars align just so.  I feel fragile.  Please forgive me for that; I wish I were stronger.

I am admired by so many from afar, lusted after, admired, loved.  I don’t know what my life would be like with the absence of so much beauty and acceptance – it’s a priceless gift which makes me weep with happiness.  I just wish I could make it manifest in real life, here on the ground in the city that’s too cool for itself.  Next to me and for real.  For always.


February Photofest

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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14 thoughts on “I made myself cry.
  1. Oh Hy. I just want to hug you, if you’ll let me, and remind you that what you describe is so relatable and although it’s lonely you aren’t alone. Moreover, you’re beautiful, exquisite and inspiring, inside and out. I wish you peace on this, I wish those tears away. Stay strong and know that you are an absolutely heavenly creature, so gorgeous and so gifted.

  2. Hy, first of all… hugs. Just hugs. Until you’re able to breathe again.
    Then… remember that poor lonely shy, self-conscious soul who started participating in your weekly Boobday because she needed it (as in her life depended on it) desperately?
    To see herself through the eyes of your Internet Boyfriend, to realise that she wasn’t as ugly as her $*%(# ex had tried to make her believe, that she was still desirable?
    That shy woman you empowered, like you do so many? Supported when she first started rediscovering who she was, and her sexual side too?
    I wish I could extend the same sort of support to you. Because you are beautiful. You are you, and thus are beautiful. And deserving of love.
    One of the things that took me the longest to come to terms with: “Love thyself as thy neighbour” means I’ve got to love myself too.
    We are all deserving of love. The Neighbour, me, YOU. All of us. And the first love we deserve is our own.
    Having someone love me helped me love myself. I hope you get to experience this soon. It is a beautiful feeling.

    Hang in there my beautiful friend.

    If I snap a very unflattering picture of myself and send it to you, would it help? ;)

    Sending you love. Lots of it.

  3. Feelings are important… the key is to let them rip roar through you… acknowledge them, thank them for their opinion and then choose. I am a world expert on beauty it amazes me how many women are in your very position… that their inner voice has no connection to their outer self… My opinion is just words… and would land as such… just know that you are loved and you always have a choice…

  4. Hy, you are an incredibly intelligent and beautiful woman. Your sensuous sexuality makes me want you even more even though I don’t fit your profile. Keep writing Hy and keep posting gorgeous photos.

  5. I know it’s nearly impossible to convince a lying brain of what we “know” to be true. So instead you have all the warm, squishy hugs I have to give. ((((HUGS))))

  6. I have been taking photos since the third grade. For the last forty years I have carried a camera every day. Photos by their very nature are lies. The fact that they are two dimensional really lays this out. Imagination is required of the viewer and that is really something to contemplate. Color is just impossible to recreate in pixels or in dye. Skin is the worst. There was (maybe still is) film created just for skin tones. My digital camera has a setting for ‘portraits’ that carries the admonishment that the results should be judged before the ‘money shot’ as they may not be satisfactory. People almost always hate photos of themselves. It is perfectly OK to take the initial result and work on it a bit in order to mimic reality to a greater extent. Changing reality in accordance with ones ethics or beliefs is OK too.


  7. You are stronger than you know. You display a tremendous amount of vulnerability, both in sharing the picture and sharing how the picture makes you feel. To be that vulnerable, even with the veil of anonymity a blog provides, takes strength and courage. You also show wisdom in that you acknowledged your understanding about how illogical it all seems. I know how conflicted it can be to know ones thinking is unhealthy, but still being helpless to stop thinking that way.
    For what it is worth for you to see yourself through my eyes, here it is. I see inner beauty comprised of strength, courage, and willingness to be vulnerable. I see the outer beauty of a wonderful form, a sexy and sensuous form, a form that I am sure is the envy of many and I know is the envy of at least one (me).

  8. I don’t really know what to say in response to this post, other than to say I’ve read it, I admire you and that photo is *still* the favourite one of you you’ve ever posted! Xx

  9. Changes in our lives especially the loss of something precious are so hard to deal with. I haven’t had much contact with you Hy but I take the words of people who have, as an indicator of your worth. Your words –
    “And I cried because I have absolutely none of that beauty in my life anymore. Not like that, I don’t; I live on scraps and stolen moments.” were so poignant the sentiments so familiar.
    For me at 65 life has changed, and changed and now changed again thanks our little community. I’m just now starting to do things I could not do all last year, and a few months ago I felt as if I too was living on scraps, and would till the day I die. Now I’ve slowly come to treasure the scraps, because its not only better than nothing. it gets me out of bed every day., and points of beauty and connectedness – an unlikely web of support.
    I know this online presence is an alternative life to the me I see in the mirror every day, the me with the wounds I’m attempting to deal with via writing – just like you do, the me who used to self harm because I believed I was a foul human being. But I also know that on another level it’s real, people care, it is different, but people do value you – looking at the comments above confirms that.
    I send hugs too – if permitted – from a stranger who you will probably never meet. And I encourage you to see the beauty and connectedness in those scraps…
    Indigo Byrd recently posted…Sharing is – PlayfulMy Profile

  10. I can understand the inner voice, unfortunately they remain powerful no matter how many times we are told otherwise, our perception of ourselves is always much harsher than how others see us. One day I hope you read the comments, they were made with care and enough love that people wished to comment. And online our inner fears, worries and hatred of ourselves and our bodies can prove cathartic, we can allow ourselves to be judged. Who knows what the future holds? Chapters close and we turn the page to a new and unknown chapter, I hope it brings warmth, friendship and love. I loved your photograph, I am you and you are me, but we are both beautiful x

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