A book of despair, torment and secrets, a young woman all alone in her own personal world of mental illness.
Under the guise of Esther Greenwood we're taken through Sylvia Plath's journey, and it feels real. It's personal and intimate, we all have one, our own journey in our own mind. There's no heroes nor glory and no happily ever after. And all the bad guys are in your head.
Depression is an illness that tears your mind left from right, life and death. And you're stranded somewhere in the middle not knowing which to choose. Neither feels like a solution nor can you summon the strength to decide.
This book threw me, as a person recovering and getting better, the casual tone brought memories and feelings back without me even realising it. As with depression, it creeps up on you, there's not always dramatic outbursts or screaming, it's often a quiet infestation of the mind. The book is a metaphor for this process, building up slowly with soft whispers of warning, which you disregard as an insignificant passing thought.Then all of a sudden you're down the rabbit hole and not even those you hold dear can reach you to pull you back out.
Plath encapsulates this all so beautifully, I didn't find myself particularly liking Esther yet I related to her all the same, reading this book made me feel, even if it wasn't always a positive experience. That's what books should do, make you feel.
Here's a few of my illustrations, I hope they do the story justice.
Skin Deep
Electroconvulsive Therapy
Self Image The Bell Jar
Writers Block
The Life Trees
