I am filled with hopelessness.

Today has been a very rough day.

I woke up and took Peyton to school and on my way in and out of the apartment complex I hid my eyes from looking at the cars parked next to the gate.  I don’t know if you were parked there or not.

When I got home I was filled with a restlessness, a curling, clinging feeling that I’d been fighting for days.  With Peyton gone and no work ahead of me I decided to succumb to the urge scratching beneath the surface of my skin.  I felt guilty, but helpless to fight it.

Hy in CA
I left my heart in San Francisco.

I walked into my room and dragged the Hitachi out from under the bed and pressed the buzzing head against the wedge of my legs as I leaned against the wall.  I wore my California state flag shirt and pair of panties.

As the orgasm ripped through me, so did a cry.  It was guttural and primal and I began to sob.  I dropped the vibrator and cried against the wall for a few moments.  The orgasm reminded me of you; it was painful and heart-wrenching.

I miss you.  I miss you so so so much.

Two more times I returned to my sun-filled room and brought myself to a sobbing orgasm.  The sensation split me open and broke me apart; I imagined you doing the same thing for the past two weeks and I sobbed openly with my face in an ugly, pain-filled grimace.

I felt at once lighter and much darker; I had seen a clear image during my ascent to climax:  I saw you come to my house carrying a box.  A box of my things.

In about 26 hours I expect you to make contact for the first time in two weeks and then all my wondering will be finally put to rest.  I’ll know what’s going to happen.

Saturday I became a little angry with you as I imagined you really loving this time away while I wallowed in complete and total misery.  But it quickly dissipated within hours and I was filled again with doubt, remorse, and worry.  It has since morphed into total hopelessness, a numb helplessness.

I don’t believe you want me anymore.  I just don’t.

I come from a marriage background where when things suck and are difficult you hammer them out.  You don’t.  You’re still of the dating mind: it sucks, you leave.  At least that’s where I think you are.  I don’t know…

I looked at my little ovulation/sex calendar on my phone today and I can see exactly how we’ve petered out.  The last time I made you cum was in December of 2013, approximately 2 weeks before I told you I loved you.  It broke my heart to see that.

Hy's calendar

I’ve been sleeping with your Ohio sweatshirt for days.  All balled up like a teddy bear.  And today I wore a pair of your underpants.  I liked how the legs gripped my thighs and with every stride I took I thought of you.  I also wore my new bralette; you’ve never seen it.  You don’t even know it exists and you might never know.  That also makes me sad.  So very sad.

And I packed up all your things, everything I could think of.

Your DVDs, your pizza pan, your clothes, your cups and plates and spoon, your drill and flip flops that I bought you just for my house.  When you say the things I’m almost certain you will I don’t want to look around and see any reminders.  The heartache will be plenty.

I don’t want to be unprepared tomorrow night at midnight or the following morning or whenever you’re going to bring the hammer down.  If you end things I will hand you your bags and tell you to leave me alone.  Maybe for ever; at least for a very long time.

I hope I’ve proved something to you during this time, TN.  Namely that I’m immensely stronger than you ever thought (but I always knew) and also that breaks aren’t real.  This just feels like a preliminary breakup to me; I don’t think “a break” can exist in a relationship, quite frankly.

Unless you think of it as breaking someone’s heart, in which case I fully believe.  You can break a heart.

Hy in TN's underpants

I admit that this is awfully pessimistic but I am really struggling with being hopeful.  Fourteen days of no contact from you.  You didn’t end it early, you haven’t left a crumb, and the last time I saw you your eyes were red with tears and heartbreak that we caused you.  How could I possibly be hopeful?

Though, like sunlight hitting the floor of a forest, there is the tiniest wedge of hope in me.  I wouldn’t be me if it were all hopelessness; I am an eternally, relentlessly glass-half-full kind of girl.  I’m shy to admit that there is  a sliver of hope in my heart about this.  It really and truly is there — I swear — but it is so starkly terrifying to admit to that I’m really just whispering it.  A spider’s shadow.

It scares me.  My hope scares me.

The hopelessness is so very huge and looming over my little spider of hope its presence seems woefully small — so small — but it’s there, I can’t deny it.  And it makes me feel a little brighter than I probably should.  The wiser side of me says I should expect only the worst and none of the best, but the Hyacinth deep inside of me won’t let the darkness take over.

Behind my vision of you carrying a box of my things to me on Wednesday to leave me forever  is also the hope that you’ll come to me with renewed love and commitment.

And then our love will blossom and glow like a tender ember.

Or maybe not.

Maybe I’ll just be left alone in my living room taking raunchy pictures of myself in your underwear for thousands of strangers.  Oh wait, that’s already happened.

Please don’t leave me, TN.  Please… I’m exhausted and sad and hopeful and a whole lot scared and all I really want from you is to not unilaterally decide what happens to us now.  I want a say in all of this.  Yes things will have to change if we stay together, but I think it will be a colossal loss to discover I have no recourse here.  I want to make things right between us for the both of us.

I believe in us, TN.  I really and truly do.  That flame isn’t afraid to burn; it’s confident and proud.  I’m afraid to hope, but not afraid to say I’m competent enough to figure shit out.  There’s a difference there, I think.

Twenty-four-and-a-half-hours now…

With all my broken heart,





All I do is think of you.

I’m in your Ohio sweatshirt again.  It’s not very warm; my nose is cold in my apartment.

I went to bed last night with the tiniest glimmer of hope that I’d wake up to a midnight text from you ending this break of ours.  I didn’t.

Then I let the glimmer return until I saw it was past your alarm time this morning.  You didn’t text me then, either.

I know you well enough that if you were to end the break today those would be the two times you’d do it.  I mean, why wait?  Why prolong the misery?

I’m not spending too much effort on trying to figure this out anymore.  The thought occurred to me that if you knew you wanted to dump me today, you’d do it now.  I don’t think you’d make me wait an extra 7 days just to hear some of the worst news I could imagine coming from your beautiful, bearded face.

Your car was parked by the gates again this morning.  I imagined you’d left to get food or to work out because I also saw a car that resembled yours at 3 pm yesterday outside your building.  I wasn’t going to go verify it was yours — it was an accident that it’d caught my eye in the first place — but my brain did mean things to me.

If it was you, some ideas crossed my mind as to why you’d be home so early: you were heart-sick, you were actually sick, you met a woman and had a nooner, you pushed back on work and stayed home/came home early, you were depressed because you’d decided to dump me later tonight, you were taking care of yourself for a change and played hookey, you had some kind of apartment thing to do.  Just ideas…

It’s hard not to sound crazy right now.

I slept with your wadded up sweatshirt cradled like a stuffed animal in my arms.  I’m not ashamed of that.  I feel empty, lost, and I’m too fucking busy this week.  I feel like a robot about to short-circuit.  Move here, type there, do this, do that, must complete, refuel, rest, repeat.  Oh and: don’t fall the fuck apart.

I am numb from holding my breath. My hope ebbs and wanes with every passing minute.  Twenty seconds of hope, 40 of despair a thousand times over since you left my sight 7 days ago.

I’ve been taking some pics for my Instagram account.  It feels ridiculous, like a cosmic joke.  Normally I send you those pics.  I’m just going through the motions, a robot again.  I don’t feel sexy or beautiful or desirable.  My orgasms are orgasmic.  Nothing more.  I’m almost too sad for that, but cumming makes me think of you and us in happier times.

I think of you stroking your cock and spurting hot semen on your hairy belly and I get jealous.  Of you.  Of your ability to be there with you for that.  How ridiculous is that??  I’m jealous of you for getting to be with you.  I guess this is where I start sounding crazy again.

The idea of anyone else being with  you, of making you feel like I once did makes me want to scream.  It’s how I know I’m not ready for this to be over.  I’ve never cared about others moving on before and so I turned my back on them and blithely walked away with swagger.  With you I will walk woodenly, jilted and wounded, but walk away I will, of course, if that’s what you want.

I told Peyton last night that we’d likely not see you this week due to busy schedules.  It went over well, but there was disappointment.

I’m empty again. 

I’m  trying to connect the many dots that you’ve scattered out there.  I can’t.  They’re simply everywhere, TN.  Which is when I hug patience tightly to me.

I keep wondering why I’m not mad at you for this.  I’m not.  At all.  I feel a gaping space of fear and bewilderment, a little hope and a lot of strength, but I’m not angry.  I feel badly for you that you are hurting this much to require such a drastic thing as pushing me out of your life completely for two weeks.  I know how much you love me and how important I am to you.

Should I be mad, though??  I just can’t be.  I wouldn’t be mad if you’d broken your leg and couldn’t walk.  Your heart is broken about your life right now and you can’t be you for a spell.  I get that, I really do.  Heal, think, learn, be and hopefully you’ll come back to me.







Somehow I feel even worse.


I saw your car today for the first time since our break.  It was in front of the office, just past the gates.  I’d had to park down the hill by the mailboxes at 7:30 last night, so if you’d come home after that I can see why you were forced to park there.  Or maybe you were out having fun.  That stupid thought crossed my  mind.  Not that you aren’t allowed to do that.

There was something very jarring about seeing proof of your nearby existence, though, and it really sucked.

Peyton asked when we were going to see you last night.  I wasn’t expecting it, though I don’t know why.  I just stammered something about you being busy and I didn’t know.  I missed you terribly last night even though I don’t normally see you on Mondays.

On my way back from my morning hike with the dog my eye was drawn to the make and model of your fancy black car.  Two times, two different cars.  When I got back home yours was gone.  I suspect you were one of the two I saw.  I felt like I’d missed a golden opportunity to at least lay my eyes on you as I passed through the gates, but the Universe had other ideas.

I’m nervous about tonight for some reason, and for tomorrow.  You might call the break off because it will have been one week and I am filled with doubt and worry, hope and love.  I’m jittery and scared.

I’ve been going over the past year with a fine-tooth comb and I can see why you’re where you are today.  I couldn’t even make you cum once.  That breaks my heart almost more than anything because to me it speaks to a much deeper chasm between us.  Something truly happened to me and you when we admitted our love for one another.

I got mad at so many things.  I just didn’t feel important; I didn’t know.  Maybe I was, but I wasn’t getting the message.  If transparency is the high-level rule, the one below it, the one that predates it is feeling important.  If I knew how important I was to you, even the transparency wouldn’t be as important.  I never knew and you were always so hurt by that.  And look at where we are now…

I’m in a very dark place today.  I’ve been up since 4 am doing my damnedest to NOT think about everything.  Eventually I just got up at 5:30, made breakfast, took care of all the living things relying on me to keep my shit together, ran the dog, got ready for work and now I’m writing this, avoiding my tears, wearing your Iowa sweatshirt you gave me.

Friends have advised me to wash all your things or to sniff them with pleasure, but the sad fact is none of your things smell like you.  Somehow your scent disappeared in my closet.  Maybe that’s the problem in general: you disappear when you’re near me and all my complexities and buzzing, busy, complicated life.

I am so sensitive about all of this that I have been virtually unable to respond to any of the wonderful people reaching out to me with love and kindness and incredibly thoughtful, intelligent things they’ve shared with me.  Their own stories, their own takes.

Not one person has missed the mark about you and therefore I feel like I have done you justice on the pages of my blog and the stories I’ve shared with my in-person friends.  I think I know you, though you like to correct me any time I make a “TN statement.”  It’s true, though: I know you.  And I still love you.

My therapist asked me a powerful question last night.  She wondered what I was trying to heal by dating aloof, elusive men who are apathetic and uncertain about me.  I told her that I learned that rejection came with real love as a child and therefore I must be rejected and loved in order for it to reach me.  My exhusband rejected me as a person and insisted that if only I did X differently he wouldn’t be anxious/agitated/stressed/whatthefuckever.

You, at least, never blame me.  You love me and like me and accept me as a person, though, I suspect, you reject all the swirling madness of my life.  I have so many complicated moving parts as part of my package.  It’s that unspoken rejection that I am drawn to.  I’m not sure how to resolve that at this moment.  I told you all this years ago.  This is no surprise.  It blew my shrink away, though.  So that was fun.

She was upset with me that I hadn’t called her sooner.  “Hy,” she said, “If you’ve been like this for 5 days you need to call me!  That’s what I’m here for!”  I had burst into tears the second the door shut behind Peyton in the waiting room.

I’ve never called a shrink in my life; I’ve always waited for our appointment.  I’m tough, right?  Her upset with me was enlightening.  I truly have issues with asking for help and admitting I’m in pain.  I don’t typically get a good response from people in my life when I do.  I’m certainly struggling with it with you right now.  You know, all the little Hey, don’t do that, that hurts my feelings chats.  They’ve sort of backfired, no?  Oh, well.  I can’t take those back, nor would I.

I want so badly for you to come back to me and say, “Hyacinth, I’ve searched my soul and I want to try to figure this out.  It may end up that we can’t be together, but I want to pledge to you a real effort to figure it out first.  With you.  I’ll be ok, I can handle it.  I think we are worth it.”  I’ve never had anyone fight for me before.  I’ve never fought for anyone before, either, but I know I could.  For you.

I can’t believe it’s already been 6 days.  Unfuckingbelievable.  They’re all a blur of tears and Friends.  Everyone keeps checking in on me and I feel loved, so supported.  How are you feeling?  Are you ok?  I’m so worried about you.

As much as I hated seeing your car come and go this morning it was a relief to know you were still breathing.  Yes, the unthinkable has crossed my mind.  I don’t know what’s going on with you and this is all so drastic and desperate.  People do horrible things to themselves sometimes, as you are well aware.

I’m a little horrified to think you might actually read these letters, too, but I’m not writing anything I wouldn’t say to you in real life.  You get to see my more theatrical, lyrical side certainly, but I’m not ashamed.  I love you.  This is what happens when I’m filled with emotion: I emote.

I hope this all ends happily and I hope it all ends soon, this not knowing.  I suppose I have one more long night ahead of me tomorrow before I know what I have to look forward to: will it be another 7 days?

Till then my feelings for you have not changed, though self-recrimination has increased as has my hopelessness for the future.  Please don’t judge me for being filled with doubt.

Your ever loving and [kind of] hopeful,




I write you a letter.


Every day I wake up, my room filled with fresh, peach-colored sunshine, and sink into a bleak darkness.  There is a hole in my life and in my heart, melodramatics notwithstanding.  I miss you.

I think about you countless times throughout the day and feel a gut-wrenching loss alongside a strange, unstable hope.  I believe that if you choose to stay then all the things I know remain between us which cause me grief may be up for change.  You’d really be in it with me.  But that is the hopeful girl in me.

The woman in me knows that real love, the unconditional kind that my child and I offer you, is an emotional hurdle for you.  You don’t want to hurt us, my baby especially.  I’ve latched onto the idea that it is the beauty that we could have that is most frightening for you though those words never left your lips.

You told me that you are stressed and have no pleasure in your life.  You said that you used to look forward to seeing me with great urgency, but that is gone now, too.  You are weighted down with sadness of your own.  You never see the sunshine.

I will continue to give you this gift of space because I want to show you how strong I am; you believe such odd things about me sometimes.  I am devoted to you and I want you to feel better, I want you to be happy.  But I also believe that happiness is much like health: you must pursue it, it doesn’t just happen to you.  You must eat right and move your body as much as you must surround yourself with good people and exercise your mind, clear away the clutter and heal emotional wounds.

I know how to do that while loving you.  Maybe you don’t, maybe you aren’t as good a juggler as me.

I am not at all ready to let this go, but I am very aware of my powerless position.  If you decide you can’t do this with me then I will let you go.  I won’t want to, but that’s not the point.  I won’t beg you to stay.

I will, I’m sure, tell you how stupid I think you are because I will be ferociously angry and hurt that you’d be willing to throw away what we have.

And then I’d probably apologize because I never call anyone names and that just isn’t me.  Who knows, maybe by the time that happens — if it does — I won’t even be that angry and I’ll just let you slip away like a leaf on a river.

You’d be proud to know that I have neither drunk myself into a stupor, eaten my weight in food, or broken our agreement to not pursue anyone else since we’ve last spoken.  I haven’t even bought cigarettes.  The idea of confessing to you on the 11th that I fell apart has kept me from my usual self-medicating haunts.

Though I did eat pizza for dinner two nights in a row and bummed a cigarette or two from Amy Saturday night after a couple of bottles of Prosecco.  But I wasn’t alone and I wasn’t out of my mind.  It was just a [slightly sad] Saturday night with a girlfriend who was trying to cheer me up.

The idea of another man near me, in me, or on me makes me want to vomit.  I can only think of you, your scent, your weight, your cock, your sounds and voice.  I have no idea what I’ll do if you leave me.  I’ve never been alone before and not immediately a heat seeking cock missile.  I’ve never been dumped before.

When I left my husband I was devastated — my life was completely over as I knew it — but I wanted it.  I don’t want this to end.  I’m not ready to give up.  But maybe you are…

You see your therapist today and so do I.  I have no idea what mine will say or yours.  You say she’s a ball-buster.  I hope she asks you what the fuck you’re doing and tells you that relationships are hard, that you can’t just walk away without working on it with your partner, that I am an amazing woman and girlfriend and that despite how it feels to you I am an exceedingly good match.

None of my friends would date a man with all of your restrictions; none of them could handle it they’ve said.  They think I’m a saint, but can see why I do it when we’re together.  They love you and think you’re great, have remarked on how much you’ve opened up since knowing me and growing closer.  But they also see how sad I am that you have kept such an enormous distance between us and they hurt for me.

I tell them not to worry because the trade-off is YOU — I get to have you — and that is enough for me.  And it really and truly is.

Last summer I nearly broke it off with you several different times.  I was frustrated and confused, angry that every little thing I did set you off or shook you up, that I wasn’t allowed to be pissed at anything you did if it didn’t make sense to you.  You need a Hyacinth Code, but sadly there isn’t one because sometimes I’m ok with you being late and other times deeply hurt.  It’s contextual; be transparent with me is the only rule I have.

But to you, that kind of transaction, the missed opportunity at transparency and my negative reaction, deeply unsettle you.  It’s another little bean in the scale of Hy and TN Don’t Get Along.  For me, it’s a bean in the Relationships Are Work jar.  It’s not a scale for me, it’s all just part of an Us.

These are the things I’ve been thinking about.

It seems things took a turn for the worse around October, but I’m not sure why.  You became much more distant and sex happened less and less.  You were anxious and upset about your impending trip home for the Christmas holiday and, I suspect, spending Thanksgiving with mine.

When you came home you seemed different, but in a good way.  You were more affectionate with Peyton, you seemed to have settled into our little routine.

Every Monday we had “off” and would just chat on the phone then Tuesday and/or Wednesday you’d come over for dinner and maybe stay the night one night.  Thursday was up in the air and Friday we almost always spent together.  Sometimes you stayed the night, sometimes you didn’t.  Saturday mornings I went into work and you headed to the office in the afternoon for a few hours.  When you were done we’d figure out what we might do that night.  Sunday I had off, but you went back into the office for a few hours and might pop over for a little while that night, you might stay the night. You worked out every night after work; your goal was 7 days a week.

You felt like you were on a loop: work, gym, Hy, [fitful] sleep, repeat.  I didn’t want to become a chore, but I think somehow I did.

You turned me down a lot for sex and I learned to let it go.  I also stopped trying.  You used to be filled with a buzzing, virile energy, but you have stopped buzzing.  You are sad and tired and overwrought.  I am so sorry for that, TN.

I want you to be vibrant again and happy to see me.  I want you to be excited about us for the first time probably ever.  I want you to see the great thing we have together and fight for it.  I want you to fight for me and for us and say to me that we are worth it!

I have some hope that you will, though I am not filled with it.  I have lots of room for doubt.

I miss you so much and know that this is probably as awful for you as it is for me.  This letter sounds so stupid to me when I read it again, but it’s all true.  I’ve been yelling at the dog a lot lately whenever he gets worried I’m going to leave.  Ha.  I find that kind of funny, actually.

Today I have a lot of freelance work to do and a gym class I want to attend, then therapy, then I get Peyton from school and it’s extracurricular fun times for a little while, then the chiropractor, the grocery store and finally getting to hug and hold my big little baby, dinner, nighttime routine, then bed.  It’s been brutal being alone these last 5 days.  I wish it were all over already.

I’m out of real coffee and have a disgusting mug of instant instead sitting beside me.  I’m on the couch in my pajamas, the dog is sprawled out on the end of it, and the cat is in his kitty tree basket in front of the window spilling over the top like a loaf of bread, his tail hanging over the side like an icicle.  I can even hear his kitty snores.  It’s a beautiful moment, yet I am filled with sadness.

I have lost things before, but never anything I wanted to keep, TN.  I want to keep you.  Please come back to me.

I confess I have a secret wish that you will end this break after one week instead of two.  It’s what you wanted until I insisted on the 2.  I wanted you to feel like you were getting all the space you could possibly need, but I am ok with you ending it sooner.  It’s all for you anyway.  I don’t need more time to know I want you.

With all my love and wishful hoping,



We’re on a break.

If you’re reading this then I decided to hit Publish.

Our plan for him to stay the night didn’t happen.  Instead, as soon as he came over he told me we needed to talk about our relationship.  I set my gym bottle down by the sink with a thud that matched my stomach’s.

In three years he’s never instigated a conversation about “us.”

Last night, as he was telling me how stressed out he was about his life, I half-jokingly asked if he wanted to take a week off.  Now he was saying it out loud.  For real.  “One or two weeks…”

I bounced around the apartment not knowing what to do with myself.  He’s not happy, he’s unraveling at the seams due to stress, he’s anxious when we’re together, have I noticed how little sex we’ve been having because it’s not a good sign.

I burst into tears and sobbed ugly sobs.  I also sat stoically and let the tears stream down my face.  I asked questions and got upset.  It’s not fair for him to say it sucks, but not tell me what the matter is.  I mean, I know it’s sucked, but it was getting better, wasn’t it??

His eyes were red and filled with tears, some slipped down and disappeared into his beard.  He has no answers.  He’s just… ambivalent, unhappy, anxious.  He didn’t say it, but the bottom line is he isn’t happy with me.

Me, I’ve thought this was just the heavy lifting of a long-term relationship: boundaries, expectations, hammering out all the details to have a [mostly] water-tight relationship in the future.  Him, my occasional anger and upset traumatize him; he is uncomfortable with the conflict and somewhere deep down believes it means there’s something wrong with us.

I don’t know what this means, but it feels like a preamble to a break up.  That’s not at all what he said, but it feels that way all the same.

He told me he still loves me and that I’m his favorite person in the world.

And then we hugged because he was going to leave.  And we cried some more.

Two weeks of absolutely zero contact.  He wanted to call every other day.  I said No.  I didn’t want him to half-ass this.  If he needs time away to get his head on straight, then I want him to have it.  I will never be with another man who doesn’t want to be with me.  I will never convince someone to stay again.  I don’t want him to leave, but if he doesn’t want to stay then he may go.  He’ll have to.

I am devastated.  Gutted.  Embarrassed.  Just yesterday I wrote a post about broaching the subject of living together.  I’m a fucking idiot is what I am.

He said he’d make contact, “In the morning of the 11th!  No, Tuesday night at midnight!” but I don’t know why he said such a thing.

Frankly, I’m afraid to see him on February 11th.