WHAT THE FUCK DO YOU MEAN IT’S ALMOST JUNE I’M STILL FAT
- mom: did you get home safe?
- me: no i died a few times
I am afraid. I am not solid, but hollow. I feel behind my eyes a numb, paralyzed cavern, a pit of hell, a mimicking nothingness. I never thought, I never wrote, I never suffered. I want to kill myself, to escape from responsibility, to crawl back abjectly into the womb. I do not know who I am, where I am going - and I am the one who has to decide the answers to these hideous questions.
— Sylvia Plath, The Unabridged Journals of Sylvia Plath (via krysuvik)
