I think upon the life of Sylvia Plath, a life shortened by her own hand, and it weighs heavily. I empathize so strongly with her, as a woman, and as a writer. As I read her journals I scan for clues. When did she know that she would try again to take her life? I found a passage that gives me goosebumps in her July 1950-July 1953 entries. This entry alludes to her fear of having her wisdom teeth pulled. She details her fear and then details how the gas makes her feel. It’s a beautifully written passage. Here’s some of that entry:
“All he did was ask, ‘Gas or novacaine?’ (Gas or novacaine. Heh, heh! Would you like to see what we have on stock, madam? Death by fire or water, by the bullet or the noose. Anything to please the customer.) ‘Gas,’ I said firmly…The gas sifted in, strange and sickeningly sweet. I tried not to fight it…So that’s how it was…so simple, and no one had told me…How clever of them, I thought. They kept the feeling all secret; they wouldn’t even let you write it down…”
This would have been at least ten years before her death (using gas). It’s chilling. I do hope that she felt the same sense of relief in her last moments.
It’s a touchy subject when people refer to Sylvia Plath as “crazy.” She had a mental illness, yes, and she was not able to overcome that illness. She was a deeply intelligent woman, not some dramatic, erratic shrew. When someone dismisses her like that I know that they have never really connected with her words. Mental illness is still so incredibly misunderstood.
Spread love and kindness
Reach out to your loved ones, and even to random people you see on the street. Smile, nod, say hello. You never know when someone really needs something to hold on to, even if it’s just one kind face in the world.
To anyone who suffers from mental illness…it can get better, it really can. Find something to hold on to. If you are struggling, talk to someone.