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I do not fear it: I have been there.

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
Fear

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What is my life for and what am I going to do with it? I don't know and I'm afraid.
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Jealousy can open the blood, it can make black roses.
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I deserve that, don't I, some sort of blazing love that I can live with.
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You cannot regard your own life with objective curiosity all the time.
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I dream too much, work too little.
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…I hate myself for not being able to go downstairs naturally and seek comfort in numbers. I hate myself for having to sit here and be torn between I know not what within me.
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I like people too much or not at all. I've got to go down deep, to fall into people, to really know them.
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The moon has nothing to be sad about, Staring from her hood of bone. She is used to this sort of thing. Her blacks crackle and drag.
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The slime of all my yesterdays rots in the hollow of my skull.
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Pretty soon, the only doubt in my mind was the precise time and method of committing suicide. The only alternative I could see was an eternity of hell for the rest of my life in a mental hospital, and I was going to use my last ounce of free choice and choose a quick clean ending.
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There was a beautiful time.
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I had always imagined myself hitching up on to my elbows on the delivery table after it was all over - dead white, of course, with no makeup and from the awful ordeal, but smiling and radiant, with my hair down to my waist, and reaching out for my first little squirmy child and saying its name, whatever it was.
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So I began to think maybe it was true that when you were married and had children it was like being brainwashed, and afterward you went about as numb as a slave in a totalitarian state.
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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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God, how I ricochet between certainties and doubts.
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I suppose if I gave myself the chance I could be an alcoholic.
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I am so hungry for a big smashing creative burgeoning burdened love.
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I do not know who I am tonight.
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You are the one. Solid the spaces lean on, envious. You are the baby in the barn.
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I began to think vodka was my drink at last. It didn’t taste like anything, but it went straight down into my stomach like a sword swallowers’ sword and made me feel powerful and godlike.
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