Very depressed today. Unable to write a thing. Menacing gods. I feel outcast on a cold star, unable to feel anything but an awful helpless numbness. I look down into the warm, earthy world. Into a nest of lovers’ beds, baby cribs, meal tables, all the solid commerce of life in this earth, and feel apart, enclosed in a wall of glass.
My inability to lose myself in a character, a situation. Always myself, myself.
-SYLVIA PLATH, The Unabridged Journals of
(Source: chronographically, via croonforaccoon)
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Very depressed today. Unable to write a thing. Menacing gods. I feel outcast on a cold star, unable to feel anything but...
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Very depressed today. Unable to write a thing. Menacing gods. I feel outcast on a cold star, unable to feel anything but...
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