and so, goodnight. we go over the top tomorrow.

[fictional]

I've lots of things to post about - drinking absinthe, bombs, food porn, etc. etc., but this is not that post.

I've just discovered that Lucy Maud Montgomery killed herself in 1942. Anne & Emily, Valancy & Pat and Jane - they were some of the dearest friends of my childhood. And this year, I've been reading L.M. Montgomery's journals for my dissertation - and reading someone's diary is such an intimate feeling, even after they've been published, even after they're dead.

I remember discovering the short stories - ghosts, and divorces and illegitimate children and alcholics and depressions, always depression - and I was so fascinated.

This, though. This makes me feel... I don't know what.

Comments

[liss76.livejournal.com]

I have been meaning to read her journals for a long time -- they're on my Amazon "wish list". I keep checking for them in the used bookstores -- you're not the first person who has mentioned their fascination.

As a sufferer of depression, I can understand the suicide. Yes, in her healthy mind she probably would have been disappointed. The thing with depression, though, is that once it gets hold it can dramatically alter the way one perceives the surrounding world and have a great impact on one's reactions. I know that when I look back and read some of the things I've written in my darkest points, it seems impossible that it could have been me.

I find her books share a common theme of being alone in a crowd -- all the clans, tight-knit communities -- "fishbowl syndrome", as I've been known to call it. It's not far off from the way a depressive views the world -- somewhat seperate or aloof from all that goes on around.