TV Club: American Crime: “Episode Seven”

“I saw my life branching out before me like the green fig tree in the story. From the tip of every branch, like a fat purple fig, a wonderful future beckoned and winked… I saw myself sitting in the crotch of this fig tree, starving to death, just because I couldn’t make up my mind which of the figs I would choose. I wanted each and every one of them, but choosing one meant losing all the rest, and, as I sat there, unable to decide, the figs began to wrinkle and go black, and, one by one, they plopped to the ground at my feet.” — The Bell Jar, Sylvia Plath

When I read The Bell Jar for the first time the proceeding passage jumped out at me. As a young girl who’d struggled with depression all her life, it felt edifying to know that my paralytic anxiety …

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