last sounds.

i've been reading this anne sexton biography and it is making me more manic than ever.
i fear that i allow things i read (or listen to or watch for that matter) affect me far greater
than they should.
if i am reading a story that is sad, i am sad.
happy, happy.
manic depressive, manic depressive and so forth.
i don't want to give up on this book.
i'm halfway through
and she scandals enthrall me
but she was a crazy bitch
and i think that by reading her book
it is making me into a crazy bitch.

not that i am not one already.
i am a fucking mess.
but i mean, she was hurtful and evil at times
and i know for a fact that i am not either of those things
(atleast not intentionally).
she would cheat on her husband numerous times just to do it, just to feel the
comfort of being needed, maybe to feel another's skin.
she would abuse her children.
she would do a lot of crazy shit.

i don't know. i want to try to finish this book so that i can learn about her life
before making hasty judgments.
i know the horrible things she had done
but i want to know why.

also, i deeply admire her poetry.
she may have been a bad person (unintentionally at most times)
but she was insanely honest and wrote with an unheard of fury.

to prove her worth?
to her family?
to her children?
to the literary world?
to men?
to women?

to herself.