Sylvia Plath

So I've been reading the Bell Jar lately. Sylvia Plath, the author, went to Smith College like me and attempted to kill herself while there. Her persona intrigues me because she went through a depression, as I did (do), and she went to the same college I did. I wiki'd her, and when I read about her life, I get notably stressed out. I also find out that the book is some what autobiographical and she talks about killing herself in it. I don't know if I want to finish the book now :) (lobotomised smily)
My subconscience got really curious about her because I then ended up finding pictures of her on the internet, and she looks pretty damn normal...even somewhat relatable. Whatever that means. I suppose, in the midst of all the blinding happiness, the obvious cancer of an contradictory emotional growth gently nudges me day in, day out, reminding me of the piles and piles of sadness that I only ever address when it swells and falls over and splashes all over reality.
I guess in the past days, I have been slapped with a more than natural dose of reality, both emotional and physical, and am therefore not writing airy fairy posts about the flowers and the universe....