I lay and cried, and began to feel again, to admit I was human, vulnerable, sensitive. I began to remember how it had been before; how there was that germ of positive creativeness. Character is fate; and damn, I'd better work on my character. I had been withdrawing into a retreat of numbness: it is so much safer to NOT feel, NOT to let the world touch one.
Sylvia PlathIs to throw together events from my own life, fictionalizing to add colorโitโs a pot boiler really, but I think it will show how isolated a person feels when he is suffering a breakdown . . . Iโve tried to picture my world and the people in it as seen through the distorting lens of a bell jar.
Sylvia PlathA terrible depression yesterday. Visions of my life petering out into a kind of soft-brained stupor from lack of use.
Sylvia PlathPiece by piece, I fed my wardrobe to the night wind, and flutteringly, like a loved oneโs ashes, the gray scraps were ferried off, to settle here, there, exactly where I would never know, in the dark heart of New York.
Sylvia Plath