But often now this body she wore, this body, with all its capacities, seemed nothingㅡnothing at all. She had the oddest sense of being herself invisible; unseen; unknown.
(Virginia Woolf, Mrs. Dalloway)
I got my hands on a copy of Mrs. Dalloway to personally have a look on Ms. Woolf’s uptake on privacy, which was talked about in this article from The New Yorker.
Honestly, I only got to page 16, reading rather slowly because I was trying to grasp every bit of the descriptive, to create a picture in my head, and a vivid one at that. However, maybe it’s because of my visible-through-a-microscope imagination that I couldn’t. There were details that kept slipping, that’s why. Do you suggest I work on my vocabulary further?
Seeing that my comprehension is quite pathetic, I put the book down for another day.
Nevertheless, I have highlighted bits and pieces and voila, today’s feelings put into words, written at the start of this post. As a human being, I believe I was entitled to experience, on some days, this particular state of mind: that my life is this tragic universe.
I most certainly detest myself whenever I let myself wallow in destructive self-pity, which aids the deteriorating of my considerably valuable self-esteem. Therefore, I make it a part of my living-this-one-life ethics that I have to, I need to give myself convincing pep talks.
I’ve been doing this since I stepped out of school, handling this occasional depression, which for this post I’ll be calling post-graduation depression. Although a year has passed since I graduated.
No, no, no. See? Reading what I have written, I see how I was trying to inject humor in it. That’s me, with the pep talk, inducing humor to help myself lighten up.