Connecting chain between me and The Bell Jar

For the past few weeks, I’ve been thinking about going back to read Sylvia Plath’s only novel; The Bell Jar. I discovered the novel a few years ago, but never had the chance to actually read it. Well… until now.

This week I pleaded myself to read the book, and actually finished it just now. For those who don’t know, The Bell Jar is the first and only novel of the American female poet, Sylvia Plath. It is semi autobiographical. It was published after her death of (you guessed it right), a successful suicide attempt. But I won’t shed anymore information about it, you just have to read it, not because it is a wonderful hottest book on today’s shelf, but because this book gives you feelings. A whole lot of feelings.

My first impression of this novel was… it shows a typical symbol of teenage angst. An overrated one. The typical reading list of your typical sad boy/sad girl. But it wasn’t. The Bell Jar is much more than that.

In my next deeper and serious reading (now), The Bell Jar really scares me. I found it so relatable to me on so many levels;

The way the main protagonist was given the hottest deal/best opportunity only to discover that it isn’t going well for her hence provoking a deeper and more advanced depression kind of mirroring my own life where I was given the best opportunity ever existed to learn about tourism in its own core but don’t really feel it.

The way moving to big city after her safe cornucopia of small hometown provokes the significant decrease in her mental health mirrors mine as well. I was okay before coming here, I wasn’t okay during my stay here, and I don’t even know whether I’m going to be better afterwards, but everyday turning darker and a lot more cynical. And I thanked Plath so much for her ability to honestly capture how does it really feel of this never ending, seamless nightmare.

Also this book helps me to forgive myself of my continuous guilt over why I can’t appreciate the opportunity I was given where hundreds of people would kill for that. And it’s okay to refuse to fit in, the way social construct(s) obliged us to.