I am bipolar, and I come from a long line of bipolars and depressives and obsessive compulsives. I am the first person in my family who actually took the time to get the proper diagnosis and medication.

I believe in the concept of a hell just for the sole purpose of mentally damning Ted Hughes to it again and again. His literary acumen should be forever ignored for his unthinkable crime of destroying Sylvia’s final two journals, simply because her indictments of him must have been so (rightfully) damning. I’m a writer; you’re a writer. Can you think of a fellow writer being so outright disrespectful to the craft? I don’t care how he attempted to redeem himself in his later years with that Birthday Letters nonsense. The world deserved to read those words. Plath’s words. It was not up to Ted Hughes to make that decision for the world.