[from The Unabridged Journals of Sylvia Plath:]
46. What is my life for and what am I going to do with it? I don't know and I'm afraid. I can never read all the books I want; I can never be all the people I want and live all the lives I want. I can never train myself in all the skills I want. And why do I want? I want to live and feel all the shades, tones, and variations of mental and physical experience possible in my life. And I am horribly limited. [p. 43]
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62. … I am at odds. I dislike being a girl, because as such I must come to realize that I cannot be a man. [p. 54]
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63. … I desire the things which will destroy me in the end … . [p. 55]
[I was really drawn to Sylvia Plath (and to Anne Sexton) in my post-suicidal days; i was also ashamed that i hadn't kept journals or really done any writing worth mentioning before my own suicide attempt. I thank the gods that suicide doesn't hold the same fascination for me it once did: the reading and writing eventually helped me work through it, i guess.
It's time now for a renewed search for what else to do with my own life. Any suggestions?
Be well, Patient Reader.]
it wasn't just reading & writing that helped me work through suicidal feelings. friendships & relationships helped me through; being with people helped me through; and exercise. (reading & writing did help some, though.)
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