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Anne, I don't want to live. . . . Now listen, life is lovely, but I Can't Live It. I can't even explain. I know how silly it sounds . . . but if you knew how it Felt. To be alive, yes, alive, but not be able to live it. Ay that's the rub. I am like a stone that lives . . . locked outside of all that's real. . . . Anne, do you know of such things, can you hear???? I wish, or think I wish, that I were dying of something for then I could be brave, but to be not dying, and yet . . . and yet to [be] behind a wall, watching everyone fit in where I can't, to talk behind a gray foggy wall, to live but to not reach or to reach wrong . . . to do it all wrong . . . believe me, (can you?) . . . what's wrong. I want to belong. I'm like a jew who ends up in the wrong country. I'm not a part. I'm not a member. I'm frozen.


Anne Sexton


#suicide #death



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Did you know about Anne Sexton?

Within twelve years of writing her first sonnet Anne Sexton was one of the most honored poets in America: a Pulitzer Prize winner a fellow of the Royal Society of Literature and the first female member of the Harvard chapter of Phi Beta Kappa. He diagnosed her with what is now described as bipolar disorder but his competence to do so is called into question by his early use of allegedly unsound psychotherapeutic techniques.

She won the Pulitzer Prize for poetry in 1967. Themes of her poetry include her suicidal tendencies long battle against depression and various intimate details from her private life including her relationships with her husband and children. Anne Sexton (November 9 1928 Newton Massachusetts – October 4 1974 Weston Massachusetts) was an American poet known for her highly personal confessional verse.

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