I finally realized that I’m depressed; and death enters my mind like a lost cat tiptoeing in my mind, giving a small purr. I’ve never been good at life. It feels like a job. Even when I was young, I wished for death. It’s strange hoping to die when you’re 10 years old.
I read Anne Sexton’s poetry all of the time, like they’re my words:
“Even then I have nothing against life. I know well the grass blades you mention, the furniture you have placed under the sun. But suicides have a special language. Like carpenters they want to know which tools. They never ask why […]