The Bell Jar

The Bell Jar was written by the American writer Sylvia Plath in 1963. 

I've read only one chapter and had, for an assignment, to write another chapter.

As I returned to Doctor Gordon's waiting room, everything still looked beige. It had been three months, or at least it seemed like it, it might have been less, it might have been more. I hadn't really kept track of time. I didn't remember much anymore, everything just seemed to pass me by. The only reason I was here today was because my mother had reminded me, that today was my third appointment with Doctor Gordon. I still didn't like him. Nothing had changed since last time, except the fact that my mother was force feeding me whenever she thought enough days had passed where I hadn't eaten. I wasn't hungry, I only ate because it made her happy, at least happier. She tried her best to make dishes she knew I loved, but that didn't matter to me anymore. In fact, nothing did. 

"How are we today?" Doctor Gordon asked with a smile which made him seem way too pleased to see me.
'How are we?' I thought, that's a stupid question, how would I know how we are if there was no 'we'..

"Good.." I answered in my usual dull voice with a strained smile. 
He was still tapping his stupid pencil  on his blotter, it bothered me a lot, but I didn't say anything.

I told him I was eating better and that I had been out for several walks since our last session. He didn't seem to notice the fact that I was lying. Maybe he just didn't care. I remembered to smile once in a while, as I was telling my well-put-together lie about how much better I felt. At least I thought it was well put together. It probably haven't been, I don't remember anymore.

"Great!" Doctor Gordon said in a very loud shrill voice, while suddenly standing up.

"That must be it, it seems like you can take care of yourself now" He said with a very strained smile.

At last session he had asked if I felt as if I was in a bell jar, he'd said that it was normal for people like me to feel that way. I'd told him that I didn't think of it that way, and now as I'd started to feel the way he'd described, he seemed confident in believing that I wasn't in a bell jar anymore, how ironic.

I stood up and reached out my hand to a goodbye handshake which he reciprocated and blinked with both eyes in a weird way, I thought. As I grabbed the doorknob I felt a certain excitement I wasn't sure why.

My mother had agreed to let me take the bus home by myself. I knew she had to go to work, even though she'd said that it didn't matter, but I was relieved to find out how easy it was to convince her. She really thought I was getting better, just as Doctor Gordon had thought . Somehow I felt extremely clever, because I had managed to make them believe that I was in progress. I had showered once, but you couldn't really tell, because I'd over sprayed myself  with perfume, and I was wearing my mother's blouse on top of the one from Betsy so I seemed cleaner. I'd made a fast updo with my hair in form of a ponytail, and that was it. Apparently it was enough. Before I even noticed I was in front of my mother's house. I stepped in the hall way, suddenly I felt this extreme itching . Hysterically I ripped off my mother's  blouse, then Betsy's blouse, then my jeans, my socks, the ribbon on my hair, it suffocated me. I could never be a writer, I could never be the woman I wanted to be, I would never be able to take care of myself, I could never take care of another person. I could never grow up to be someone. I could never grow up. Never.

I walked focused towards the kitchen and opened the first drawer. Which one..? which one..? I was shaking as I took the one who looked the sharpest and manically began to carve myself. At first I carved my thighs, but then there was no more room, then my wrists, my stomach, my arms, my face. Then I collapsed. My legs wouldn't carry me anymore. Now I'm lying here, I'm cold. At first I regretted cutting so deep, but then I shredded up the cuts on my wrist and turned them into deep gashes, now I can't wait to see how everything turns into black. I can feel how my veins are slowly bleeding dry. Now it begins. I hear something, someone, they seem far away. I don't care. I'm invincible. I'm in a bell jar.