Caitlyn siehl biography definition
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Finding Hope
TW: Mentions of depression and suicide.
As I&#;ve said in my last few posts, this year has been a mess. A really horrible mess. My mental health has been so bad, which has affected my mood, my concentration, my engagement with the world, and so on. In regards to this post, it&#;s meant different things at different times: there were periods where I wanted to get lost in new worlds and then there were periods where I couldn&#;t handle anything new and rewatched old favourites over and over. I haven&#;t mentioned the rewatches &#; I&#;ve written about many of them in previous posts &#; but they were a much needed reprieve. Escaping into these worlds, old and new and has been one of the few relaxing, comforting parts of this year and, for that, I&#;m very grateful.
I&#;m just gonna say this here: SPOILER ALERT! In the writing of all of these things, I&#;m sure I will have mentioned important things that could potentially ruin a first experience of them. So please
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The Nest
Closets pretending to be for coats
I. the 16 year-old
She has learned how to locate her cervix, while lying naked
in vatten as hot as she can bära, door firmly locked on a night
when her mother is not home; she has cut her hands unbending
heavy wire, making it as straight as possible, and someone told
her hot water will make you feel it less; she has read of
perforation and thus carefully determined the placement of her
uterus, how far it extends, she is not exactly sure how the wire
is supposed to work, so she moves as deliberately as she can,
systematically, reasoning that if she hits every surface, it will do the
job. She feels her way, blindly, threading untwisted wire through
the tiny opening she holds in place with fingers that have never
explored this deeply before. There is some sort of discharge
the third time, third day&#; she is hopeful; but neither blood nor
release comes; only increasing nausea and moodiness
and we are told, she says later, t •What We Buried
After Sylvia Plath's Ariel, I find myself reading another book of poems in one go, in one sitting. When I got this book, I cringed a little realizing it's a collection of love poems. But the contents weren't sappy at all. Is this volume a testament of love? More like a witness. Like a Fool that won't Die, I still truly believe in its simplicity. Short and powerful, each and every poem was like an Elm tree in a forest planted by Siehl herself. It isn't a lengthy volume, it's rather slim. Ariel was a bigger book comparatively but unlike Plath, Siehl uses simple language, no need to decipher, it's pretty easy to read, enjoy, and still be amazed. The Wordlings are truly delightful. Of course Plath used heavy symbolism and metaphors, so many meanings behind her every word. It's really not fair comparing the two. I can't help but think of Airel as I read this. All the poems here were light and breezy that dissolved on tongue quite deliciously, making me go boom b