Lost Boy

I am a lost boy from Neverland

Usually hanging out with Peter Pan

And when we’re bored we play in the woods

Always on the run from Captain Hook

“Run, run, lost boy,” they say to me

Away from all of reality

Neverland is home to lost boys like me

And lost boys like me are free

Neverland is home to lost boys like me

And lost boys like me are free

– Ruth B.


Dear my Rock Bottom,

I see you.

I get it.

I understand. I know you need this. I know you need to be heartbroken, and manic, and angry, and sad.

So very sad.

I know you need to spend entire days in bed. I know you need to over-share – over-share photos, and feelings, and stories, and pain. I know you need to sit in the shower and let the scolding water fall on your body. The steam cleanses your soul. You trace slow drops down the side of the tub while quiet tears slide off your cheeks and down the drain. I know you need to skip meals too. Because the fear of losing one is nourishment enough. And I know you need to talk about it, over-analyze, and really obsess over this.

I know you.

I know you can’t help but turn your head as you drive past his street. I know your heart can’t help but quicken when you walk by his desk. I know your ears can’t help but burn when you hear his name. I know your stomach can’t help but fall when he walks into a room.

Take your time.

Do what you must.

Soon it will be June.

You keep track of the weeks and the months. You keep track of the distance between you and the relationship you left behind. It’s hard. Sure, it is a relief. Each month is a milestone. But they feel like a loss too. With every flip of the calendar a tiny piece of your heart chips off all over again – a dream lost, a chapter closed. To make matters worse, each day feels exactly the same.

You are exhausted. Everyday is a fake smile and a full schedule. “I just want it to be June,” you pray. Because June sounds nice. June reminds you of sunshine, and flowers, and the ocean, and warmth. In your mind, June sounds like a hug. June sounds like enough time.

And June will come.


So, so slow.

By June you will have a lot to get in order. There is the move, finishing a job, finding a job, preparing your house for Bubs, and saying your so-longs. June will be good but July will be better. July has to be better.

July has to be better than “Happy Birthday” text messages and half-assed “Goodbyes.” July has to be better than Burning House-s, “I’m not sure what I have to figure out. I’m still not real sure what you think I did that was so awful.”-s, and “I read your email.”-s. July has to be better than here, and him, and his pathetic attempts to keep you at arms length.

July is for running.

July marks the hard stop of one adventure and the beautiful start of another. July is independence. It is seeing your country all over again – through new eyes, and a different perspective. July is a journey.

In July, you will pray for October.

October prayers seek January.

By January, you will have stopped praying for new months.

It will be May on Sunday and you are gone now.

I’m not sure exactly when you faded away completely. I’m not sure if it was the months, or the distance, or the circumstances that sent you off into the distance. It was probably a combination of all three.


A combination of time, distance, and circumstance.

But it had a lot to do with strength, and courage, and patience, and hope, and love too…

Last night, I laid in bed and thought of you. I tried to remember who you were. I tried to remember your thoughts and your routine. I tried to remember your Saturdays. I tried to imagine you during a time when you weren’t suffering.

Did she even exist?

All I can see is a swollen face. You drink too much. Your voice is melancholy and strained. Your smile isn’t real. Your eyes are downcast.

And then, I thought back to a few days before Tay’s wedding.

Do you remember driving home from Tom and Naomi’s that night? Do you remember breaking down – crumbling, unable to see the road through your tears? Do you remember making the decision to drive to his house? You were going to tell him that you wanted to call it all off – the break up, the “starting over,” the “we just don’t want the same things,” the everything – do you remember that? Do you remember slowing down at his street only to see her car in the driveway? Do you remember having to run up the steps of your front porch, into the house, and just barely making it to the toilet? Do you remember puking all weekend long?

Again, I see you.

And goddamnit, I get it.

I understand. I know you need this. I know you need to be heartbroken, and manic, and angry, and sad.

So very fucking sad…

But you – you, sweet girl – are not broken.

You do not need to seek solace in someone else to feel whole again. Your happiness is not so deeply rooted in another’s soul that you must sell your own to find it – to find yourself. Can’t you see? You can’t build your future on top of some other person’s foundation. And you do not have to continue making a fool out of yourself. You don’t have to continue breaking your own promises to yourself, just to find some – any – sort of relief.

You don’t need him to save you because you have the power to save yourself.

I know you.

You are the strongest woman in any room. You are vibrant and bold. You are honest – painfully honest. “Honest to a fault,” they say. You are wildly passionate. Your hands are often full of another person’s problems. And your heart holds more love than it can carry.

Your mind never stops wandering. It climbs mountains and wades through streams. Forests, valleys, jungles and deserts. It treks further and further into the abyss. Even in the heat, and the cold, and the rain, and the wind. Even when the sky is so dark – so ominous – you are certain God has sent you in circles.

In your weakest moments you are humble and gracious. You are respectful and kind. You admit to your faults, take ownership of your mistakes, and apologize with sincerity. You are good. Much better than most. Much better than him.

So, you take your time.

And you do what you must.

Soon it will be June.

And then, it will be May.

Facebook messages, text messages, and missed calls. There could only be two reasons for so much communication, so early in the morning: a death or an engagement. You will reluctantly press Send on what will become a three-way discussion at 8:30 a.m. It’s the call you have been waiting on for months. You will sit up in bed and brace yourself for the blow. “We thought you should hear it from us,” Kristen says.

“How are you?”

“How are you feeling?”

You will answer their questions. You will listen to what they have to say. You will mumble about a dream you had last night. You will realize you’re rambling.

“Maybe I’ll care when I’m awake. You know I don’t begin to fully function until 11:00 a.m…”

You will get out of bed. You will get dressed, listen to music, wear lipstick, and put on heels. You will drive to work with the sunroof open. You will caption the picture below with, “PSA: Yes. I know. Guess I’m gonna have to marry for money now.” Because you do everything with humor. Because you’re tired of the messages. Because you don’t want people to treat you weird. Because you just want them to act normal. Because you don’t want anyone to feel sorry for you.


You will eat breakfast, and drink coffee, and tell Ma-10 silly stories. You will text the dog-sitter. You will skip lunch because you don’t want to risk it. And then, at 3:37 p.m., you will text them:

I think I’m okay, really. Mainly, because I’ve been waiting for it, you know. It’s really over now. It’s done. I can breathe a real sigh of relief. There aren’t any more dangling shoes waiting for the perfect time to drop and shatter everything I’ve worked so hard to create here. I am free. And I’m truly happy for him. I’m happy he’s found someone that fits in his life better than I did. We all deserve someone. Even people who haven’t been so great to other people. Maybe one day – when I’m ready – I’ll find everything he’s found and more.

You will mean it.

You will mean every word.

Because it will be June soon.

And you know your time will come. When your ready, and willing, and open to the possibility of love. It just wasn’t your time. He wasn’t the one.


You will get here.

You will be me.

Soon, you will be happy, and healthy, and confident, and content. You will find your voice again. You will go to bed every night bursting to wake up and write in the morning. You will have the strength to face each day. Even the hardest of days. Even today. You won’t lose tears. You won’t be sad, or mad, or jealous, or hurt. You won’t miss that life or those plans. You won’t miss that man.

Soon, your life will become more than looking out on the world – a life – passing you by…

So, take your time.

Do what you must.

June is coming, my love.



Your outside looking in.



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5 thoughts on “Lost Boy

  1. Hang in there Chelsea, we love you and remember that whatever pain you go thru will make you stronger than ever!! I am woman, hear me roar!!

  2. Thank you all for being so kind and so very supportive! Your sweet words of encouragement, your well wishes, your love, messages, phone calls, your visits, and hugs, and smiles, and compliments… your everything has not went unnoticed. I could not be where I am today without each and everyone of you. Thank you for reading. And thank you for holding my hand each and every step of the way. XOXO

  3. Chelsea, you are absolutely everything and then some! A brave, beautiful, honest, unquenchable soul, that needed to fly free to truly find itself, no longer limited by a person, a location, a relationship that didn't fit anymore. Your future is truly your own now… no regrets, no what-ifs, no turning back. Look forward to it, embrace it, meet it head on, with open mind and open heart, and girl, you're gonna need those those shades! #thefuturessobright #caligirlnow #blondebombshell

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