Somewhere out there, there’s a boy in Germany.

To me, he was a friend. Online only. I never saw his face, but he saw the most intimate parts of me.

He talked to me while I lost my childhood dog.

I talked to him while he mourned losing his grandfather.

Somewhere in Germany, there’s a boy who doesn’t know how special he is inside. Not his looks, not his body, not what he can make a girl feel, but who he is in his core.

I don’t care if this wasn’t real. I don’t care if it was an anonymous user. To me, this boy was the only outside friend I had in the darkest part of my life.

Then he vanished.

All I was left with was “this message cannot be found because the profile has been disabled.”

Somewhere in Germany, there is a boy named Nikolas. 

And somewhere in California, there is a girl who misses him.

Hey bestie,

This feels so stupid to write. Surreal, too, in a way.

I still can’t quite wrap my mind around how things fell apart. How people can go from being intimate friends to strangers seemingly overnight.

I take responsibility for my part in all of this. I went AWOL on you once I started spending more time with them. That wasn’t fair, and that wasn’t necessary, and I apologize for not treating our friendship with the respect it deserved.

I won’t clarify that apology with any justification – there is none, and it would render the apology invalid anyways, so there isn’t a point.

I overreacted to the words you used that Sunday – I can see now you were just trying to help in your sarcastic, ridiculous way that I never quite understood. I can see how my underlying jealousy and anxious attachment was triggered and I lashed out in frustration instead of taking a beat and remembering you were trying to look out for me, even if it didn’t come across that way.

I don’t know what I did to deserve the things you said, though. I replay those words every day – stupid, I know, I should just forget about it and move on. But I don’t think you knew how much I looked up to you, how I sought your approval, how I just wanted to be better for you and because of you. That’s why it hurt so much every time you’d comment on my weight, or my choice of men, or my lack of interest in physical activity. Part of me hopes you never saw that hurt, but part of me knows you did- you’re not oblivious.

I always wanted to try the things you suggested. I genuinely would have gone on all the hikes, done all the activities, if you had given me a chance. I know now that a lot of my physical pain is caused by an actual injury and related damage, so at least I have an actual reason to be hesitant. But I still would have pushed through and done the hard things because you, at one point, believed in me and encouraged me to do the hard things, no matter how badly I wanted to run away.

I miss you. I miss my best friend. I miss the person who would come over all the time and watch Witcher and drink wine or random mixed drinks. I miss the person who held me after his funeral and gave me permission to release all the grief I held inside. I miss the person who tested my patience daily with the dark humor and the insane sarcasm. I miss the person who went up to Joshua Tree with me on my birthday and watched the stars with me and looked at the moon and just soaked up the stillness of the desert. I miss the one person I could count on to keep me in check – harsh sometimes, but always with wisdom beyond his years. I miss the you that was so excited when you switched stores and could get to my house in less than 10 minutes.

After you got fired, you changed. I didn’t see my resilient best friend anymore. Now, you were mad at the world, and I was swept up into that. Things that we once were able to support each other through were now soured and annoying to you. I became a thorn in your side, and you just cut me down and shut me up. And I let you.

I loved you – and you knew that – how could you not? But I was content. I knew how you felt, and I knew I would never change your mind. And to be honest, I didn’t want to even try. You were my best friend, and I was cool with that. It hurt sometimes, sure, but we all want what we can’t have – and I was okay with the situation. I knew that part of our relationship would need to end soon, and that’s where I had landed when we fell apart.

When we decided not to speak to each other anymore, it felt like all the work I had been doing with him was a waste. I was trying to speak up for myself and say what I was feeling instead of shoving it down and losing our connection is what happened instead – I hated that. That’s not what I wanted – and I thought you knew me well enough to understand that’s not how I wanted it to have gone. I sat in the store and just cried and cried and cried until a customer came in and snapped me out of it. I didn’t want to lose my best friend – not like this – not then – not when I needed him the most.

This is supposed to be a goodbye letter.

I’m supposed to follow the prompts he gave me and write you a goodbye letter and forget about you and move on. I’m supposed to be like you and cut people off cold turkey and never look back. I’m not a cold turkey person.

Not when there is so much history.

I can miss our friendship but also acknowledge mutual toxicity. I can miss our closeness but also recognize the manipulation that surrounded it. I can miss everything good but also regret everything that fell apart.

I will never regret being your friend. I will never regret opening my home and my heart to you when you had no one. I will never regret standing up to them when they told me how they would kill you. I will never regret hiring you. I will never regret letting you into my life. I will never regret the time I spent with you, because you taught me how to be myself again. You taught me how to speak up for myself again, how to allow myself to express my thoughts and feelings again, how to forgive even when it’s hard. You taught me how to lay down boundaries. You taught me about LOTR, and Witcher, and music, and art, and you taught me that I need to stop limiting myself and talking myself out of the things I really want. You taught me to stop hiding behind my imposter syndrome and embrace my passions and do what I want to do without thinking about what other people expect of me. You taught me how to be unapologetically me and it breaks my heart that the first time I allowed that side to come out publicly it ended up like this.

You broke my heart. And yet like a dog to his vomit, here I am wanting to be your friend again. Here I am so fucking proud of your accomplishments – even though I can no longer witness them firsthand.

1,163 words later – you’ve removed yourself from my life even further. I’m torn between being hurt and being angry and being sad and instead choosing to feel both everything and nothing at all. How easy it was for you to cut me out and cast me aside. How hard it is for me to do the same.

I don’t want to say goodbye. I don’t want to forget you. I don’t want to pretend our friendship never existed, that we never cared about each other. I don’t want to go back to not knowing you exist. I can’t go back to not knowing you. I can’t go back to not loving you.

You hurt me so badly. You took everything I gave to you and twisted it to serve your own purpose. And yet here I am having to balance that hurt with loving you still despite everything. I love you so much that it aches.

I can’t go to the places we used to go without missing you. I can’t eat the same things, I can’t drink the same drinks, I can’t watch the same shows, play the same games, talk to the same people, walk on the same beach without desperately wishing you were beside me. It is killing me slowly; I can feel it. I look in the mirror and I see you standing behind me, holding me, telling me I’m beautiful. Then I close my eyes and I hear you telling me I’m overweight, and I need to change my body, and then maybe I’ll be beautiful like you. I still feel you at night, holding me as close as you can possibly get. When I cry, I feel you petting my hair and telling me to let it out and let it go.

I feel like I am going insane. You shouldn’t have this much of a hold on me still. You’re gone. You don’t care about me anymore. Did you ever really care about me?

Did you care that I held you when you cried? When I pet your hair and held you and told you to let it out and let it go? Did you care at all when I opened my home and my heart to you and let you take every ounce of love I had to give? Did you care when I drove out to the desert to be with you? Did you care when I opened my legs and gave you access to every part of my body?

Or did you just use me to make yourself feel better about yourself? Did you just use me to blind yourself to your true nature? Did you just use me as a steppingstone or a bargaining chip or just a toy you can fuck and then throw away when you’ve had enough?

I thought I knew who you were. I thought I saw the true you – a sensitive, emotionally intelligent young man who had a long, hard road to get to where he was. I thought you were better than this.

But I also thought I was stronger.

I don’t want to say goodbye to you. But I must.

I compromised so much of myself to try and be good enough for you. I let you steal my heart and my body from him. I let you sweep me off my feet and pull me away from the love of my life. And then I loved you for it. I thought you were showing me what it felt like to be loved. I mean, you said it yourself – you are the best example of what a boyfriend should be. Wrong. So wrong. So disgustingly, heartbreakingly wrong.

1,786 words later and I want to hate you, but I can’t. I doubt I will ever hate you. Like you said – I am like a dog to his vomit. I am both infatuated and disgusted by you.

You were so close to breaking down my walls and getting me to run right back into your arms.

I am saying goodbye to you because I must get better, and I can’t get better while I am still missing you.

Saying goodbye to you makes me feel grief and longing. I feel untethered, lost in a sea of conflicting emotions. I am heartbroken – this isn’t how it was supposed to be.

I remember a time when we spent the night outside beneath the full moon and a sky filled with stars, watching the meteors, basking in the moonlight – so content to just occupy the same space. I have never felt more at peace in my life than I did lying next to you.

You taught me how to make moves in silence. Not everyone needs or deserves an all-access pass to my thoughts.

Something I want you to know is that I will never regret being kind to you. I will never regret loving you with everything I had to offer. I will always love you. You will always occupy a piece of my heart. I will always cherish the short time we had together – those toxic playdates will always be looked upon with fondness.

I will always remember how safe it felt to be held by you. I will always remember how wonderful it felt to be loved by you. I will always remember how inseparable we were. I will always remember our good times, our laughter, our banter. I will always remember my best friend  – my favorite  – my “boss” – my partner in crime – my worst influence – my biggest supporter – my own personal TED Talk – my Witcher buddy – my LOTR nerd – my best buddy – my favorite hello and my hardest goodbye.

2,216 words later, I will miss you always.

-Lucy

 Not that anyone cares about this blog but myself, but…..that was a long hiatus. 

It’s not even a blog at this point. I mean, honestly, this is just a very public diary. Although calling it a diary assumes it’s updated more regularly than once every 4 years. 

Okay, so maybe it’s an insider look into my subconscious. The melodramatic, incoherent ramblings of a twenty-two year old who is stuck in her parent’s home without any privacy.

Last post, I had a boyfriend. So much has changed. It’s been a year since a very messy breakup via Zoom. He’s now thousands of miles away. 

The ex-boyfriend came back into my world and then decided that hitting a girl and pinning her against the car is what you should do to get what you want, so a big fuck you to him. It felt really good to tell him to his face that I had no feelings left for him anymore. Felt even better drafting a restraining order. I haven’t decided what I want to do with it yet.

(more…)

We all know the song RESPECT by Aretha Franklin. If you don’t know it, go listen to it now. Here, I’ll even give you a link. Go listen, and come back when you’re done.

Now that this song is stuck in your head (you’re welcome, btw), let’s chat about respect.

In my opinion, respect is not something you’re born into, it’s something you earn. For instance, I’m not going to respect you just because your parents are multi-billionaires. I’ll respect you if you are kind, and treat me with respect as well.

The ability to listen also plays a HUGE role in my definition of respect. If you can’t manage the simple courtesy to be quiet for a couple minutes to hear me out, you clearly lack the capacity to be a decent human being and therefore, are not worthy of my respect.

It may just be me, but I feel like I have to keep reminding people that my opinions–okay, my fucking sentences at this point–matter. Maybe it’s because I’m a white female college student, but lately I feel like I open my mouth and nobody listens. Like, my own family asks me questions, but doesn’t stick around for the answer. Talk about awkward. So, that’s why I’m writing this. This needs to change.

I haven’t been following the Supreme Court stuff going down this week, but honestly, you don’t need to know the ins and outs of this case to see the blatant lack of respect by both sides. FIRST OFF, you always have the utmost respect for the courtroom and the presiding judge, even when the ruling doesn’t go your way. SECONDLY, and this has seemed to become a trend, but when a woman is talking about something absolutely terrible that she has experienced:

1. you can bet this took a lot of courage for her to get up and talk about this; and
2. her words matter.

It doesn’t matter if she is young, old, white, black, gay, straight, liberal, conservative, whatever. Her words MATTER. And if you ask her a question, you better stick around for the damn answer.

Way too often I see girls my age sit in silence on issues that affect them because they feel they won’t be heard. Too often I see my own friends subjected to the steam rolling of someone else’s opinions, beliefs, judgements. Why do we still do this? We have way more platforms of communication than ever before, so why is it so hard to have a conversation with someone. Seriously! One of the very first things I find attractive in a person is not their physical attractiveness, but their ability to hold a conversation. That’s one of the things my ex boyfriend and my current boyfriend have in common: they both can carry on a conversation for hours on end. And by conversation, I mean that they not only speak up about things that interest them, but they also ask me about my interests and then COMMENT on my responses WITHOUT BEING DEGRADING. Truly, one of the rarer character traits nowadays.

But it shouldn’t be like this. Both men and women shouldn’t feel like they can’t report a sexual assault. You shouldn’t have to feel like your words don’t matter. Your words and opinions are important. They should be valued, not shunned.

All this to say, the next time you find yourself in a conversation with someone, ask yourself to mentally repeat what they just said. If you can’t get at least the main point of what they’re saying, guess what? You weren’t listening.

It’s been a minute since I’ve had recurring nightmares, but here we are, sitting in bed, dreading the minute I actually fall asleep.

The last time I remember feeling this way was during my first heartbreak. I remember how the pain ripped through my body, how I felt like the world was crashing down around me and thinking I would never come back from this.

It’s been a minute since I’ve cried so hard no sound has come out.
It’s been a minute since I’ve taken a blade or hot metal to my skin, or at least felt tempted to. 
It’s been several minutes since I’ve felt like my life was completely out of my control and no one can see I’m drowning.

Yet here we are.

I wouldn’t say I’m depressed. Then again, who likes to admit they’re “in a state of general unhappiness or despondency.” I also wouldn’t say I’m an unhappy person. If you met me, you would probably think I’m (somewhat) normal. But, I guess what I’m trying to say is that under that thick skin of perceived happiness is a insecure, easily broken, anxious person with commitment issues. An open book with codes written in between the lines in invisible ink.


I say I have commitment issues because I used to only “date” someone for a maximum of 3 months at a time. Of course, that “someone” was just one specific person, so does that even qualify? I tend to listen more to the flight side of my fight-or-flight instinct when I have relationship issues, so that’s probably what started that whole thing….or maybe it’s because I have secrets.


I’ve always had secrets. From my boyfriends, my best friends, my parents, my therapists, even myself. I know what people want me to say, so I say it. That’s why I got out of therapy so quickly. I knew what she wanted me to say. I knew what behaviors she wanted to improve, and I knew what clinical words I could throw out there and shorten my stay. I’m not proud of it, and part of me wishes I had never done that, but even then I’m a hell of a lot better than I was. 


So, here we are. Still sitting on my bed, still swimming in negative thoughts and slight nausea. Still dreading the dreams that will haunt me when I go to sleep. Still thinking that maybe, just maybe, if I tap into my past behaviors, just a little bit, this will all go away. 

Hurt people hurt people.

I just read that in a book, at it really struck me. Hurt people hurt people. Four simple words that unlocked a whole slew of emotions, realizations, regrets… I, a hurt person, hurt people. And you wouldn’t know it either, I’m generally very nice and empathetic, but it’s true: when you hurt me, I’ll hurt you right back. I don’t always mean to, but when I feel vulnerable, I’ll spit fire. And I’ve been working on it over the past couple years, and I’ve trained myself to take a couple deep breaths before responding to inflammatory remarks (AKA my whole trip to Florida)….more or less. I mean, yeah, I’ll compose that profanity-strewn, mean-spirited text message right away, but I’ll usually delete it right after. I mean, I think the last time I serious was maliciously mean to someone over text was during the in between phase with my current boyfriend and I was doing something (question mark??) with my first boyfriend…..but then again, that whole time period of my life was a blur. #ThankYouAlcohol.

Needless to say, that sentence struck a chord within me. It was kinda like a bucket of ice water was thrown on me. Ouch. These past couple weeks, I’ve been really struggling with staying nice. People keep bringing up my past (Mom) or just venting about stuff that was great for them, but literal hell for me. It’s taken practically every ounce of my being to just stuff that hurt inside me and stay quiet. And then I’m laying there on my bed feeling guilty for being hurt. Uhhh, last I checked, that shouldn’t be happening. So, what do I do? I write extremely long texts, full of unnecessary meanness….and then deleted them. I guess that shows some self-control on my end, but why am I always the one biting my tongue? Why do I have to keep shoving hurt down inside me so that everyone else feels better?

People always ask me if I’m okay. I always say yes. “Yeah, why wouldn’t I be?” is my go-to. But honestly, if you really want to know, I’m not okay. I’ve been dealing with some painful memories of relationships past. I’ve lost interest in my current living situation. I get in fights with my mother every. single. day. I’ve lost a shit-ton of confidence in myself, my body, my existence — okay, not really, but you get the jist. Point is, I’m hurt. And so, I’ve been hurting people. Maybe not to their faces, but definitely behind their backs, and definitely in my head. Because I feel a lack of control over my life at the moment, I turn to the one thing I can control — my thoughts. I know it’s wrong, but I long for that first relationship I had – the sneaking around, the passion, the rebellion… Hell, I even long for the heartbreak in that relationship. I long for the thrill of the chase, the heightened emotions, the desperation to be together, the promises made (and swiftly broken). I long for the nights spent on lifeguard towers, and in parking lots, fending off calls and texts from parents and concerned older siblings. There have been nights where I have cried myself to sleep thinking about what we had, and what I want. But that’s wrong, isn’t it? I’m in a relationship. I shouldn’t be longing for a different one.

But even then, despite all the longing for the past, I’m happy in my relationship. I’m secure, I’m loved, I’m wanted, needed, appreciated. I wouldn’t change it for the world. I love this guy, and I have for a long time. Why do I keep longing for something I know I really don’t want? I know it’s normal to have phases of missing what you’ve lost, and I’ve lost so damn much over the past year, I think it’s safe to say that this phase of missing is probably a result of misplaced emotions. Because I’m happy. I really am.

So, if you ask me if I’m okay, I’ll say yes. Because relatively speaking, I am okay. Compared to where I was three years ago, I’m okay. The scars on my wrist are healed. Outwardly, I’m okay. Inside, well, that’s a whole different story.

I just spent 5 days in Tallahassee watching my boyfriend perform. It was fun….at least for the first three days. Then it got difficult.

Part of the difficulty was with the fact that the role he was playing required him to fly out there a month prior to the show, in order to rehearse and so on, so forth. That wasn’t really a big deal, I can be professional, I get it. I was excited to see him play a star-crossed lover again, and totally rock the Leonardo DiCaprio look. But then I saw her. And then I got a little jealous.

I don’t consider myself to be a “jealous” person. I’ve never had issues with my boyfriends having female friends or hanging out with them, I’m usually pretty understanding. I understood with my brain that it was just a job, that it didn’t mean anything, etc., but with my heart….yeah, no. I didn’t like it at all. It didn’t help that he had just gotten back from a different trip the day before he left for Tally, and we only got to spend an evening together before he left again. But anyways, I wasn’t too thrilled about this new girl, even though I trust him completely. She got to spend time with my boyfriend. She got to see him every day. She got to kiss him, and hug him, and just be around him. I was 2,287 miles away, struggling to maintain my normal schedule and emotional stability. And then I got mononucleosis. Yes, the kissing disease. I don’t know where I got it from, because the only person I would kiss was across the country, but yeah, I was pretty mad at my immune system for really just rubbing my loneliness in my face.

If you’ve never heard about mono, it’s highly contagious, passed only through saliva or tears, and it really knocks you down. I didn’t know I had mono until a week before I flew out to Tally. I had been in a show myself, and when I first had a fever, I thought that it was just the flu, and continued to push myself to complete the show. And literally two days after my show closed, I went to urgent care because my tonsils were so swollen, I couldn’t eat. That’s besides the point. I was more upset about not being able to really do anything with my boyfriend until his show had completely closed, after waiting for so long, and seeing pictures and videos of him and the other girl in rehearsal. To say I was pissed would be a severe understatement.

So, anyways, I get out to Tally, and my boyfriend and I stayed in a house with his grandma and younger sister. But, because of my mono (which had been gone for several days before I left), I couldn’t cough or sneeze too close to him, get my face too close to his, share food, or drinks, or cups or plates or bowls with him. I felt quarantined. It didn’t help that everytime I did ANYTHING, he would ask “will this give me mono,” even if it was none of the things I listed. I resented myself for getting sick. And then I had to watch the show four nights in a row. Then go home, eat, and be quarantined again. And again. And again. I lasted until the third night until I had a major, jealousy-fueled meltdown.

Like I said, I never considered myself the jealous type. But this show, at that time, with those people, across the country, made my heart ache. Physically ache. I would hear about how wonderful the girl was, and how she should do more, and this and that, and on and on about how amazing she is, how beautiful she is, yadda yadda yadda. It got to the point where during dinner, I would completely turn off my emotions and tune literally everything out, focus on eating what I could (very, very little) and then retreat to my bedroom. I loved the rest of the people out there, but I felt robbed of the one person I love more than I ever thought possible. I wanted to support, but I also wanted to curl up into the fetal position and die. Since that would cause a Kardashian-sized scandal, I had to just stuff the hurt and go watch the show. And then the meet-and-greet. I really took to heart a line from Madagascar – “just smile and wave, boys. smile and wave.” Thank god I’m an actor, otherwise….this would be a very different post.

All that meaningless stuff to say, I learned a lot about myself, my weaknesses, and my limits. I know now that if my boyfriend is in a romantically-charged show, I can only watch it 3 times. I learned the importance of strengthening my immune system, and how no one can tell you’re hurting if you smile big enough. I’m still reeling from some of the comments that were sent my way during the week, but my heart is also filled with some really lovely accolades I received from the other members of the cast. I was sad to leave the people (well, some. not all) in Tally, but I am soooo very happy to be home and not have to wonder about what the star-crossed “lovers” were doing in the dark.

Don’t be a homewrecker. Trust me, it’s the worst. Now, let me explain something. I didn’t set out to become a homewrecker. In fact, I don’t think I even knew what that term meant, let alone how to be one. But you know how the saying goes – love makes you do crazy things.

When I met – let’s call him Mr. Brightside – I wasn’t looking for love. I had actually accepted the fact that I was destined to die alone. But still, in walked the man of my 15-year-old dreams, and so began what would be simultaneously the best and worst three years of my life.

YEAR ONE: I Will Follow You Into the Dark

He was the boyfriend of one of my best friends. I was actually into his older brother, which may have been why I didn’t notice my feelings for him for such a long time. I still remember the first time he talked to me.

This is not a cry for attention. Not this post, not the next one, or the next, or the rest. None of this is a cry for attention. This is honesty. This is vulnerability. This is courage. This is acceptance. 


It’s hard to fit into society’s standard for the way people should live their lives. If you’re too happy, you’re fake. If you’re too sad, you’re not worth their time. If you like sex, you’re a slut. If you don’t like sex, you’re a prude. Nothing you do is ever right. No wonder people feel isolated, like they are the only ones dealing with the curveballs life throws their way. 


I’m writing this so that maybe someone out there will find comfort in knowing they are not alone. No one is ever alone, cliche as that may sound, it’s the truth. The stories I share are pure, raw, unfiltered life experiences. I can’t promise you that at the end of this, you will be radically transformed into someone without a care in the world. I can’t change what your life is, or what it will be like. But maybe, just maybe, my stories can give you the voice you never knew you needed.




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