#sylviaplath

Sylvia Plath (age 21) in Wellesley, Massachusetts holding a dandelion puff, c. 29 August 1954

...

Palely lit by

snuff-ruffed dandelions, white daisy wheels and a tiger faced

pansy, it glows. O it's no family tree

Life happens so fast and hard I sometimes wonder who is me.

— Sylvia Plath

i cant leave my house lately bc not only is there war and such, there is absolute chaos even close to me in the cities. i have a crazy ass stalker abuser out on bail. my health is still so poor for some reason??? i feel like trash and cannot stay up worth a fuck? im 5 days sober in an hour, im getting another infusion next week; losing weight actively and still eating, but i feel horrible.

theres a tired that just never goes away. even while my eyes are closed. and remember, i spend more time sleeping than i do awake lately.

feels like the waking world is slowly dying out of me, and separating from me. like there is this void between me and time, and no matter what i do, i will never never catch up, or be going the same speed as everyone else because i have been going my speed for so long that there is no catching up.

i feel that i have missed so much of the life that i have lived and so many experiences were wasted in that time, that there is nothing left for me to be excited or motivated to do anymore. that the hurt has changed me so essentially that i cannot function as i would, or that my body is wired not to. i don't understand how other people do other things, how they are sleeping, too.

its a little heartbreaking to realize that i have slowly lost my life as an able-bodied person and grieved each and every single thing i have lost the ability to do, all in twenty-four years. i find myself relating to people who are elderly or middle-aged, so much more than i have ever been able to understand people my own age. one of my favorite people is my psychiatrist and he is disabled, in his seventies or eighties, yet is me made over. i literally love seeing him so much because that is the only time i don't feel so fucking different and odd from everyone else.

i dont really know if this will ever change, or if maybe i am meant to be singular because of this and it isn't necessarily bad, or if this is temporary and just a portion of my experience; i just know that i have felt this way for as long as i have felt things, and i don't know what different would even feel or look like.