Into the Woods and Away with the Fairies

“Writing, then, was a substitute for myself: if you don’t love me, love my writing & love me for my writing. It is also much more: a way of ordering and reordering the chaos of experience.” ― Sylvia Plath

I first discovered the exquisite pain and haunting beauty of Sylvia Plath when I was in high school. All troubled girls seek solace in the form of some larger than life figure that resonates with them. When I read her words, I was filled with awe and wonder. When I discovered her tragic ending, I knew we were kindred spirits. The emptiness, the hollow contents of our soul; we were like sisters. It was a chilling reminder that there is no place in this world for those who are living under an evil curse, and try as they may, can never be free of it.

While she surrendered to the darkness, I continue to cling to life and what it brings. Nonetheless, she inspired me to write just as my drama teacher, Mr. Hess, inspired me to dance. There was escape on the stage, and escape on the written page. I discovered many avenues of escape from my wretched condition, and a writer was born. I discovered that I could take all the horror of my life and manufacture order out of chaos. Nice and neat little narratives, a litany of tales that allowed me to open up my veins and bleed out all the poison and pain.