From Salvia Palth to Sylvia Plath to Depression and Suicide

Asif Ali
Asif Ali
Nov 6 · 4 min read
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There’s this beautiful song by Salvia Palth called “Girl”.

“One day I will
get drunk and txt you
and I’ll say
and I’ll say
that I want you
lets get coffee
when you’re down
when you’re down
yeah you scare me
the nicest person
I will wait
I will wait
Dali said that
you want me also
will you say
will you say

I thought no one would think about me
but it’s not surprising that
you thought about me

I thought
you’d feel like an ocean all reactive
and lucid in emotion why’d you think
about me”

One of the most beautiful songs.

So, I was trying to know more about this Salvia Palth, a New Zealand born artist whose real name is Daniel Johann.

From there I somehow ended with Sylvia Plath.


Sylvia Plath was an American poet, born in 27th October 1932. She committed suicide at the age of 30 due to depression. She won a Pulitzer Prize, posthumous, in 1982.

Her story is interesting, but more tragic. She dealt with depression for the most of her adult life. She was treated with Electro-Convulsive Therapy multiple times to fix her mental state.

Through that struggle, she penned some of the very beautiful poems.

Her poem “Edge”, which she wrote just a few days before committing suicide, is eerie in a way, also suggestive of her mental health, as well as her ideas around killing self and her 2 children.

While she didn’t harm her kids, many critics believe that when she wrote this poem, she already made up her mind that she’s quitting life.

“The woman is perfected.
Her dead

Body wears the smile of accomplishment,
The illusion of a Greek necessity

Flows in the scrolls of her toga,
Her bare

Feet seem to be saying:
We have come so far, it is over.

Each dead child coiled, a white serpent,
One at each little

Pitcher of milk, now empty.
She has folded

Them back into her body as petals
Of a rose close when the garden

Stiffens and odors bleed
From the sweet, deep throats of the night flower.

The moon has nothing to be sad about,
Staring from her hood of bone.

She is used to this sort of thing.
Her blacks crackle and drag.”

There’s something about the poem that makes you want to reflect on the ideas of the poet. But what follows the poem in the next few days sends a chill knowing it wasn’t just mere fanatical thoughts of a poet, exacerbated by beautiful words. It was, in a way, a final goodbye. It was an acceptance of the honor and peace in death over life.

While the poems of Sylvia Plath remain popular in the literary circle, her story should reach far beyond.

She managed to cement her legacy in words… Millions of others can’t — they don’t. They die a silent, miserable death due to depression that the world treats as “sudden” and “unexpected”, completely overlooking that person’s countless pleas and signs.

How ‘tf are deaths due to depression “unexpected” and “sudden” when there are hard data that suggests millions of people are suffering from clinical depression!!!

It’s not unexpected! Not everyone is strong enough to hold and hang on. Not everyone can survive.

It’s not unexpected.

There’s a trail of signs that still remain ignored following the suicide in the hype of “it was so unexpected”. Most of the people battling depression don’t kill self impulsively. It’s a well-thought execution.

The story of Sylvia Plath is just one. There are many, many more. Most of them remain unknown. By the time you finish reading this, there’s a good probability that one person may have committed suicide after a lost battle against suicide. No one will ever know about that person.

What will it take the world to treat depression just as seriously as cancer and AIDS?! What will it take the parents to understand that their teen might be suffering from depression? What will it take the society to realize that it’s not just a hype or a teen-tantrum but something very serious that’s affecting millions of grownups too? What will it take for us to understand that it’s not mood swings or over-thinking but a mental illness that isn’t a result of using Instagram?

Oh, btw, Plath’s son Nicholas Hughes, too, committed suicide after a history of depression.

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Asif Ali

Written by

Asif Ali

I write life essays. For the dreamers, hustlers, & mavericks. For those lost in life. For ones with unapologetic optimism. I also blog @ SpellOutMarketing.com

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