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I can't think logically about who I am or where I am going. I have been very ecstatic, horribly depressed, shocked, elated, enlightened, and enervated.

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
Ecstatic
Depressed
Shocked
Enlightened
Going
Think
Elated
Thinking
Horribly
Logically

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We stayed at home to write, to consolidate our outstretched selves.
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I felt like a racehorse in a world without racetracks.
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There was a beautiful time.
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I used to pray to recover you.
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For me, poetry is an evasion of the real job of writing prose.
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Why can’t I try on different lives, like dresses, to see which fits best and is more becoming?
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It is a feeling that no matter what the ideas or conduct of others, there is a unique rightness and beauty to life which can be shared in openness, in wind and sunlight, with a fellow human being who believes in the same basic principles.
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I have let things slip, a thirty-year~old cargo boat Stubbornly hanging on to my name and address.
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Beached under the spumy blooms, we lie Sea-sick and fever-dry.
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I have the choice of being constantly active and happy or introspectively passive and sad. Or I can go mad by ricocheting in between.
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I am myself. That is not enough.
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The sickness rolled through me in great waves. After each wave it would fade away and leave me limp as a wet leaf and shivering all over and then I would feel it rising up in me again, and the glittering white torture chamber tiles under my feet and over my head and all four sides closed in and squeezed me to pieces.
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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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I must be lean & write & make worlds beside this to live in.
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That afternoon my mother had brought me the roses. Save them for my funeral, I'd said.
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I am still so naïve I know pretty much what I like and dislike but please, don’t ask me who I am. A passionate, fragmentary girl, maybe?
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The worst enemy to creativity is self-doubt.
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God, how I ricochet between certainties and doubts.
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