“I do not love; I do not love anybody except myself. That is a rather shocking thing to admit. I have none of the selfless love of my mother. I have none of the plodding, practical love. . . . . I am, to be blunt and concise, in love only with myself, my puny being with its small inadequate breasts and meager, thin talents. I am capable of affection for those who reflect my own world.”
Sylvia Plath, The Journals Of Sylvia Plath
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We’re All Mad Inhere on Twitter
- Apparently I've been on this hellsite screaming into the void for a whopping 10 tears. Who knew, right?… twitter.com/i/web/status/1… 5 months ago
- I'm trying. I'm trying to be a better person. But it's so hard when I feel like such a deserving target for cruelty… twitter.com/i/web/status/1… 6 months ago
- It's so hard to fight the urge to be cruel to myself. I see an opportunity, and it's like I'm a bully who spots the… twitter.com/i/web/status/1… 6 months ago
- I am so tired I could cry. Going to work tomorrow feels like punishment. I haven't relaxed. I haven't recharged. Th… twitter.com/i/web/status/1… 7 months ago
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I finally got around to reading “The Bell Jar.”