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I took a deep breath and listened to the old bray of my heart. I am. I am. I am.

Sylvia Plath

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Sylvia Plath
Age: 30 †
Born: 1932
Born: October 27
Died: 1963
Died: February 11
Autobiographer
Diarist
Essayist
Novelist
Poet
Writer
Boston
Massachusetts
Victoria Lucas
Sylvia Plath Hughes
Deep
Listened
Inspirational
Encouraging
Heart
Positivity
Life
Breath
Breaths
Chaos
Inspiring
Took
Bray

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I do not know who I am tonight.
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Nothing is real except the present, and already, I feel the weight of centuries smothering me. Some girl a hundred years ago once lived as I do. And she is dead. I am the present, but I know I, too, will pass. The high moment, the burning flash, come and are gone, continuous quicksand. And I don’t want to die.
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See, the darkness is leaking from the cracks. I cannot contain it. I cannot contain my life.
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You smile. No, it is not fatal.
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I need more than anything right now what is, of course, most impossible, someone to love me, to be with me at night when I wake up in shuddering horror and fear of the cement tunnels leading down to the shock room, to comfort me with an assurance that no psychiatrist can quite manage to convey.
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To look at her, you might not guess that inside she is laughing and crying, at her own stupidities and luckiness, and at the strange enigmatic ways of the world which she will spend lifetime trying to learn and understand.
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I don’t care about anyone, and the feeling is quite obviously mutual.
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I want, I think, to be omniscient. I think I would like to call myself the girl who wanted to be God. Yet if I were not in this body where would I be-perhaps I am destined to be classified and qualified. But, oh, I cry out against it.
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O heart, such disorganization!
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I deserve that, don't I, some sort of blazing love that I can live with.
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And I am aware of my heart: it opens and closes Its bowl of red blooms out of sheer love of me.
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I think I am worthwhile just because I have optical nerves and can try to put down what they perceive. What a fool!
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Winning or losing an argument, receiving an acceptance or rejection, is no proof of the validity or value of personal identity. One may be wrong, mistaken, or a poor craftsman, or just ignorant - but this is no indication of the true worth of one's total human identity: past, present and future!
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because wherever I sat—on the deck of a ship or at a street café in Paris or Bangkok—I would be sitting under the same glass bell jar, stewing in my own sour air.
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You have to be able to make a real creative life for Yourself, before you can expect anyone Else to provide one ready-made for you.
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I want to kill myself, to escape from responsiblity, to crawl abjectly back into the womb.
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I do not love I do not love anybody except myself. That is a rather shocking thing to admit.
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What I want back is what I was Before the bed, before the knife, Before the brooch-pin and the salve Fixed me in this parenthesis Horses fluent in the wind, A place, a time gone out of mind.
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I know the bottom, she says. I know it with my great tap root: It is what you fear. I do not fear it: I have been there.
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I am not cruel, only truthful.
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