a girl turned blue

a month or so ago i finished sylvia plath's, the bell jar. it is considered autobiographical fiction.
i had been avoiding it for years. i heard something about her having a dark soul - full of despair and terrible thoughts. she had stumbled into a wasteland of infinite sadnesses and committed suicide. i know instinctively that my avoidance of a girl turned blue could be claimed by one thing: fear, go figure. i decided long ago that she and i were too much a like. i, too, was glum. her signs were obvious, mine less so (at least, i'd like to think). there was lots of sulking. but all sulking was personal, not shared, and internalized, except at home. the internalization bit kept me in a cacoon of my own opinions and assumptions. besides this hue of self-absorption (artists call it many things but it should never be denied for what it is - the excessive concern for one's self.), i think what causes her to materialize across the living room in that old 70's mirror is my shared willingness to concede to all those dark feelings that i am told to push out with cheery dispositions and white teeth. instead, we welcome them.  i have explored sorrow and grief, given myself to it, and am more human because of it. i have words to give children on the playground when they cry and i have a taste of what a daughter caught in the fault lines of a marriage feels like. i have words and understanding. they are shades of what sorrow and grief all people feel. and i am not afraid to welcome them, to give myself to them. but i know that in the very hole of darkness - the airless and alienating bell jar - there sits with me a friend and a savior, who has conquered death and its misshapen cohorts. so while i allow sorrow and grief to run their course, i choose to live according to the Truth.

being of the same strain as plath, i feared that reading her book in me would set off some trigger that would cause me spiraling into an oblivion of isolation and madness. i was wrong.
in esther, the protagonist, i found a familiar spirit. distancing herself from people. observing from afar. pessimistic about relationships. holding people to be honest about their decisions. disoriented by many things. especially the life she was supposed to be living and the life she desired. feeling inadequate. reducing things to either/or rather than both/and. carrying on imaginary conversations with the loved and the loathed. a disjointed and confused perception of self. fearful she might be trapped by her madness again.  esther was direct. cynical, yes, but matter-of-fact. she knew what she was feeling/observing/thought and explained it plainly. these characteristics, among her love for avocados and the feeling of fingers running through her hair, made me feel a friend in her.

and because it goes without saying but i cannot be as direct as esther...
plath, a poet at bottom, stole me with her words. i was thinking of posting my favorite quotes - phrases even! but maybe only as they are relevant to upcoming posts. they are all so lovely though.

p.s. i have a proclivity to coming-of-age novels. i've noticed those are the kind i always find myself reading. i like tension, in anything. and when is there more tension than in becoming acquainted with the world as a somewhat adult?