Yesterday, I got the book The Unabridged Journals of Sylvia Plath. Sylvia Plath is probably best known for her book The Bell Jar. I’ve only read about 20 pages of her unabridged journals but I am already in love with her writing. It’s not even what Sylvia writes about, but the beauty in which she writes it.
My journal consists of: well today sucked because such and such happened.
Her journal consists of: “I may never be happy, but tonight I am content.”
Sylvia Plath used every sense she had to enhance her writing. She describes things so clearly that I can almost see them, smell them, touch them, and/or hear them.
Sylvia Plath committed suicide on February 11th, 1963 in London, UK.
Before she left, she chose to record both the light and dark days in her life through poems, journals, and transcripts.
I’m eternally grateful for her decision to share her life, as she is the reason I feel less alone today.