WARNING: If you have lost a loved one due to suicide, please note the below blog post speaks candidly regarding the subject. Hugs to all dealing with depression and/or loss of someone due to this ongoing battle.
I’m sure most of you are familiar with Sylvia Plath and the darker side of her life. But did you know she took up a hobby of beekeeping that she initially learned from her father? Or that she soaked in the sun every chance she could? She loved tomato soup cake (yes, this is actually a dessert that I will pretend I’m intrigued by) and her favorite color was red. Sylvia Plath was born October 17th,1932 in Boston, MA. Her mother was of Austrian descent and her father from Germany. Her father was an entomologist and a professor of biology. He actually published a book about bumblebees! That sounds worthy of checking out for curiosities sake (Author, Otto Plath). Sylvia published her first poem at the age of 8 and over the next several years, she continued to publish poems in magazines and newspapers. Not only was she a writer, but an artist to boot! She was even given awards for her skills as an accomplished artist. She had an IQ of 160 and was known to be an extremely driven young girl.
Her father passed away early in life due to complications after a foot amputation. Otto didn’t treat his diabetes and became ill as a result. Once her father passed, Sylvia became ambivalent towards religion and this followed her mentality into adulthood. She described the first nine years of her life as memories that, “sealed themselves off like a ship in a bottle—beautiful, inaccessible, obsolete, a fine, white flying myth“. Sylvia set off to college and continued to thrive! She was awarded a position as guest editor for a popular magazine in New York City. Sylvia stayed there for a month and apparently the experience was less than worthwhile.
A poet named Dylan Thomas was meeting with a head editor at a hotel for a consult and she had expressed her admiration of him many times. She awaited an invitation and even lingered at the hotel for two days hoping she’d discover an opportunity to meet him, but she was never extended an invite. She was disheartened to such a level that she slashed her legs to see if she had enough bravery to kill herself. After this collapse of emotions, she received electroconvulsive therapy for depression and ironically, then attempted to commit suicide after taking her mothers sleeping pills and crawling under the front porch. She survived this attempt and later wrote, that she “blissfully succumbed to the whirling blackness that I honestly believed was eternal oblivion”. She spent the next six months in psychiatric care, receiving more electric and insulin shock treatment. Sylvia seemed to make a reasonable recovery and returned to college.
She graduated in June and was a member of the academic honor society. Due to her continued academic accomplishments, she obtained a scholarship to Newnham College in England. She wrote poetry incessantly and published a great deal of her work in the student newspaper. She spent her winter and spring holidays traveling throughout Europe. I’m sure such experiences were energizing and awakened a passion within her for culture and art!
Sylvia attended a party to celebrate with some friends in 1956. It was there that she met Ted Hughes. He was English, a successful poet and a recognized children’s writer. They felt a spark immediately and they clung to the warmth in fear of the spark dying. After exchanging poems for a period of time, he then followed her back to Cambridge. A few months later, the pair said, “I do”. Sylvia described Tom as a man who was a world wanderer and had a voice like “the thunder of God”. Wow! I can imagine a powerful tone and penetrating depth! That seems worthy of looking up! They honeymooned in Paris and then returned to Cambridge for Sylvia’s 2nd year of school.
The following year the couple moved back to the U.S. and Sylvia taught at a college. Teaching took so much energy out of her she realized she was too drained to pursue her own writing. Ted and Sylvia both being writers, noticed a change was needed and soon enough, scurried back to Boston. She took a job as a receptionist in the psychiatric unit at a general hospital. In the evenings she sat in on writing seminars given by Robert Lowell and Anne Sexton (poets and fellow writers). They encouraged her to write from her experiences and put her truth on paper, no matter how dark it may be.
Sylvia and her husband Ted traveled across Canada and stayed in Saratoga Springs, NY. It was here where she discovered how to be “true to her own weirdness” and let it all flow. That’s growth Sylvia! Good for you! Weirdness should ALWAYS flow. Despite her admittance of allowing the “awkward energy” to run, she felt anxious about writing her realities over such personal struggles, such as depression and suicidal thoughts. Upon returning from their travels, the couple moved back to London. Sylvia gave birth to her firstborn daughter in 1960, Frieda. That same year she also published her first collection of poetry, The Colossus.
In 1961 Sylvia’s 2nd pregnancy resulted in a miscarriage, which she later wrote of in several published poems. In a letter to her therapist, she stated her husband beat her two days prior, obviously blaming him for the miscarriage. Despite the questionable circumstances, Ted and Sylvia ventured to another area in England (North Dawton, in Devon). The couple rent out their London flat to a couple (Assia and David Wevill). Ted was intoxicated by her (Assia) and felt drawn to her exotic energy and struggled upbringing. He soon began an affair with Assia that lasted many years…mixed among other romantic interests that is. It’s noted that Ted had quite an active romantic life, even if his primary partner wasn’t aware or supportive of his stretched loyalties. During this period, Sylvia again attempted suicide by a forced car accident. A month after this incident, Sylvia discovered the affair Ted was having with Assia. Tragically, in January 1962, her son Nicholas was born. I can only imagine discovering that pregnancy amongst the anguish of that terrible finding! Sylvia and Ted unfortunately separated in September of 1962.
In October of 1962 Sylvia had a flood of creative energy flow through her and she wrote at least 26 poems, part of the Ariel collection. These were written in the final months of her life. December came and she needed a change of scenery. London it is! She rent a flat with a 5-year lease. This particular winter was one of the coldest in 100 years! Just her luck. The pipes froze, there were no phones in the flat and the small babes were often sick (both younger than 2). Sylvia’s depression returned, but she felt motivated to continue on with her writing streak and complete the rest of the collection. Her only novel, The Bell was published in 1963 and was met with harsh criticism and disinterest.
In January 1963, Sylvia reached out to her general practitioner (Dr. Horder), who was also a close friend that lived nearby. She told him the last 6 or 7 months she had been battling with severe depression. In the early months she tried to continue working and stay busy, but it was becoming arduous. She was constantly thinking of suicide and she grasped she couldn’t cope with day-to-day affairs. She took medication to help her sleep and lost nearly 20 lbs. During this period, she would still put effort into her physical appearance and aside from her doctor, was not revealing her feelings of unworthiness publicly. I’m sure those who observed her from the exterior had no idea of the turmoil within her mind and heart. Her friend and general practitioner prescribed her an anti-depressant. He was concerned about her and the two children and made every effort to come visit with her and check in daily. He encouraged her to check-in to a hospital, but she wouldn’t concede. He found a happy medium for them both and requested a live-in nurse stay with her. She could oversee things and also take care of the babies.
On February 11th, 1963 the nurse arrived at 9am. She wasn’t able to get into the flat, so she found a workman who assisted with the door. They sadly found Sylvia (who was only 30 years old) with her head in the oven, dead from carbon monoxide poisoning. She had gone to great lengths to protect her children from the gas, sealing the rooms between her and her sleeping children with tape, towels and cloths. There was a note left that said, “Call Dr. Horder.” Dr. Horder evaluated the scene and stated that her intention was clear-she prepared the kitchen with such care, no one would consider her intention anything other than irrational compulsion.
Upon hearing of the news, her husband Ted expressed, “That’s the end of my life. The rest is posthumous.” He and Sylvia had been separated for 6 months at this point. One can’t help but wonder what damage certain treatments had on her, worsening depressive thoughts and symptoms. Apparently, the electroconvulsive therapy then was quite invasive, brutal and punishing. The first series of treatments Sylvia experienced was harsh and shocking to her. The next series she underwent years later, doctors were thankfully at least applying general anesthesia and giving patients muscle relaxers before the treatment.
Sylvia herself had described the hopelessness she had been feeling as “owl’s talons clenching my heart”.
I wonder if I had known her, been there to listen, offered to read her poems and eat tomato soup cake drizzled with her homemade honey… I wonder if that would have made a difference. Depression can hit people circumstantially or be brought about by a chemical imbalance. There are options available now that weren’t existent then. For those dealing with depression, reach out to a friend, a relative, a help line. It’s always the last thing you want to do…but you’re loved and we want to listen, sit, just be there to support you. Reach out.
Suicide & Crisis Home Link Below:
References:
https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Sylvia_Plath
https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Ted_Hughes
https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/History_of_electroconvulsive_therapy_in_the_United_Kingdom