I finished The Bell Jar. But it’s more accurate to say it finished me. I don’t even know what to say. It was amazing. I find it really sad that I can relate to it so well. We both were visited, consumed by suicidal depression. We both made suicide attempts. We both went to a psych ward, although her time there was much longer than mine.
The Bell Jar, the glass covering you, suffocating you. And you never know when it might return. It makes life so uncertain. I need to buy this book. I need to own it. I need to hold it and hug it close to me. I haven’t been affected like this from a book in a long time.
Sylvia Plath committed suicide at 30. I’m 29. I want to keep living and honor her memory. I think she deserves it, and my heart breaks for her. The hopeful ending in The Bell Jar apparently just wasn’t enough. I wonder why. I wish I could talk to her. In The Bell Jar, Doctor Nolan says, “Nobody did it. She did it” and that suicide patients don’t hold themselves responsible. I wonder if Plath holds herself responsible. If she could, that is.
But anyways, amazing book, maybe because I’ve been through this. I found the first part kinda slow but I see how overall it was painting a picture.
Rest in peace Sylvia, and thank you for your words. I’ll cherish them forever. Like you said, or like Esther said, I am, I am, I am.
by PhotographFast1943
1 Comment
I wrote my thesis about The Bell Jar two years ago and I completely understand why you love it so much. It’s an affective experience, not just a book. And I’ve got to say, after having studied it for so long, it’s incredibly clever on a technical level, too.