Willingly, Unpainfully, Published.

After my ex-husband decided to regain access to my ICloud and share my personal letters I had written (whom’s “receivers” were anonymous, to everyone with the exception of those reading their own letters) that were never meant to be read by anyone, I decided “fuck it, share them.”

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Once there was a rosé pink girl who found herself lost in cold plains of grey. A bubbly, yet dark and dormant soul, she longed for the love of light and a world as colorful as her own being. In her pseudo-endless slumbers, she found herself in a bright place of comfort, yet by day she retreated only into herself and into the shadows of who she longed to show she was. Walking away from those grey plains, which darkened her soul with its menacing shadows was all she could do to waken herself from the darkness that encompassed her, so she did. Soaring through the air she found a peace and serendipitous feeling, which had not accompanied her in the past. A new start, a new life, and a new meaning, a chance to show her champagne heart and lively green vision to create a new-found freedom in the land of yellow and beige. She soon started her new life in the land of bears (and not the dancing kind.) Never the less, she learned to find the light in others, one being an exuding (impossible to ignore) purple hue who soon taught her that classical music is the number one cause of death in domesticated fish. Their friendship grew into a vibrant fuchsia spotted with vibrant yellow sub-aquatic vessels which fueled their creativity and directed polychromatic eyes to the future.

-Taylor Ketchum

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Taylor Sullivan

Oh my dear, what a cautionary tale you’ve become. You run through the story in your mind daily trying to pinpoint when your life began to go wrong and come up with a million explanations as to why.

“I should have never left for Florida.”

“I should have gone back to bed.”

“I should have never left Florida.”

“I’m going to bed.”

“I should rejoin a gym.”

“I should sleep.”

“I should have taken the elective college courses instead of half days.”

“I just need to sleep.”

“I should stop smoking marijuana in my car.”

“I need to go to bed.”

“I shouldn’t eat that.”

“I’m exhausted.”

“I just shouldn’t eat.”

“I need to sleep.”

“I shouldn’t have tried to make myself a priority.”

“Turn off the computer, I’m going to bed.”

“I just shouldn’t try anymore.”

Your depression and anxiety was raging. No one saw the way you saw your own body. No one saw the way your mental health regressed when you came home. No one understood. You tried so hard. You faced so much internally and physically. When you graduated, finished your clinicals and survived what you thought was the worst thing that would happen to you, when you FINALLY thought you had caught a break, he came along. He sucked you in and made you his wife.

I’m sorry.

You lost your name, not your worth.

- Taylor Ketchum

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Stetson Summer 2014

Honestly, we were so different. I don’t know why we even tried. You were a hick and I was a lost soul. You brought me home (literally) while I was trying to find a path in this overgrown, bushy, prickling pineforrest world. We spent hours driving around seatbelt-less in your “truck” and flicking butts out the window without a care in the world. You called out of work so we could stay in bed and enjoy each other’s company. We had breakfast dates, you fixed my car (multiple times) and you spent time with my family. Your family was practically mine. They had been mentors, roommates, and “adoptive” siblings to me. Your own sister, was my regular Sunday afternoon coffee date. Different as we seemed, we worked.

I trusted you. I had no reason not to.

I don’t really know what kind of switch flipped on in your head that caused you to do what you did. Was it the alcoholism or the cocaine (yes, I found out) that made you decide that after too many drinks with my “adoptive brother” and his new girlfriend you could do whatever you wanted to me?

I called you in confidence. I was too drunk. You picked me up, as any “good” boyfriend would.

You fed me more drinks and something else I’m positive because when I woke up, you were on top of me with my face shoved in a pillow. I was physically unable to move my body, I felt paralyzed.

When I told you to stop, you said “I’m almost done.”

Weeks later, even after we had separated I had the decency to tell you the damage you had caused. What we lost.

You didn’t even deserve that much.

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2013

I am so truly sorry. I’m sorry for for not trusting you enough that I would be okay with you by my side. I’m sorry for the love I gave, the love I tore apart, and the pain I caused you.

There was never anyone who cared for me as deeply as you did. You proved it every day. I remember the way you involved me with your father’s family (I remember playing with your sister every single time I went over) and the way you desperately wanted me to meet your mother. I remember how you invited me and kept hoping my mother would allow me to go to her house in Bedford with you and go to see The Nutcracker with her like you did every year.

Do you remember our first and last Christmas together? You had your stepmother help you make stone jade colored bracelet for me. It’s fallen apart and broken now, but I’ve always carried the center stone. I’ve called it my good luck charm. There isn’t a single day you’ll find me without it.

Those are all the memories, the things I wish we could relive, I also have regrets. Oddly, none of them negative. We always told each other we were going to wait for sex. Neither of us were virgins, so I don’t know why we did that. I wish we hadn’t stopped ourselves that day on the pool table, or the afternoon before I left in the staircase. I wish I could go back to the days when you were mine and I was yours. I remember our last passionate kiss goodbye as I got on my bus for the last time.

I wish we had ended on bad terms. I wish I hated you, I wish you had hurt me. I wish I had one reason to not still wonder and wish. I thought of you every single day I was gone. When I came back, the single happiest day I had was seeing you at the graduation party. I was still just drawn to you. I prayed we could work things out, I really did, I still do. By the way, I’m sorry I fucked up your leg by the pool, but you shouldn’t have tried to tackle me and throw me in!

In the weeks following the party I was getting my license, I had to meet up with our drivers ed instructor to get copies of my completion certificate. She only asked me of you and how we were. I uncomfortably told her that we were no longer together. She was utterly shocked and told me we’d come back around to each other in time.

Maybe it’s her fault I still feel this way.I can’t help that I do. Maybe I just need someone to blame. I loved you then and honestly, I’ve loved you since.

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Thank you, shitbrains.

Actually, FUCK YOU. Fuck you for making me believe that we were forever, for making me sign that marriage certificate so we could “make things official,” for yelling at me and fighting with me through out my already complicated pregnancy, for smashing my phone while my family was away so I’d have no way to contact them or get help while you were abusing me and our son, while your family helped you trap a twenty-something-year-old and tell her that she was to blame, for hurting yourself and threatening your own health to make me stay.

The only thing to be thankful for is I got out in time. I can live with the dents you left in my walls and the broken door frames, what I couldn’t have survived with is the scars you ultimately would have left on me for a lifetime marking me as “yours.”

Yes, you’re the inadvertent (look It up because no one will explain it to you) cause of this blog. You can send as many of my “fuck you” or “personal notes” to their “anonymous receivers” as you‘d like (assuming you can figure out who they are.) They’ll all be here, boldly waiting for those who were never meant to read them anyway. 🖕