A Woolf That Died A 1000 Deaths....

I know Virginia Woolf's life has been written, debated, dissected, criticised, idolized, and immortalized by a ton of critics.

I am here to do the same, I guess...LOL Although I am not a critic, I only play one on my blab...

she has been on my mind a lot lately, though....

I am still quite sick as of late. My latest battle is this on going aspiration and the annoying coughs that accomodate it that takes all my strength and might to perform such "hacking" act...

speaking of Aspirating...

"Woolf" to me, is a bit of an aspirating tone. I've heard it pronounced "hwoolf" as well as "Woof"

and both from scholars...so, I have no idea what the proper pronounciation of "Woolf" is, but I like the aspirating tone better, so, I'll stick with "hwoolf"

Heckit, I feel so close to Virginia I'll just call her "Gina"....

Gina committed suicide in March, 1941. My birthday is in March.

She suffered severe depression from time to time in her life as do I...

She married a man that she said truly made her happy, I married a woman that truly made me happy.

She had a lesbian affair, this is where we differ and depart. LOLOL

Her writings can make me a bit angry at times because she does have a narrow view on certain things and it makes me bite my tongue a bit for that such brilliance of a mind can become so opinionated and narrow minded on certain subjects yet, it is her brilliance in her lyrical writings that rocks me with out with her beautiful use of language.

It is her ability to intensify through common means that really makes me take notice of her writings.

All the subtleties come together to shoot through the heart and makes one think, cringe, gripe, then sigh...it's a sigh that is mixed with wonders and amusement with a touch of vinegar and bitter medicine...

In her last letter to her husband:

"I feel certain that I am going mad again. I feel we can't go through another of those terrible times. And I cant recover this time.

I begin to hear voices, and I can't concentrate. So I am doing what seems the best thing to do.

You have given me the greatest possible happiness. You have been in every way all that anyone could be.

I don't think two people could have been happier 'til this terrible disease came.

I can't fight any longer.

I know that I am spoiling your life, that without me you could work.

And you will I know.

You see I can't even write this properly. I can't read.

What I want to say is I owe all the happiness of my life to you.

You have been entirely patient with me and incredibly good. I want to say that — everybody knows it.

If anybody could have saved me it would have been you.

Everything has gone from me but the certainty of your goodness.

I can't go on spoiling your life any longer. I don't think two people could have been happier than we have been.

V."

there are no harsh words in this last letter to her husband. It is full of praise to him. Yet, it spoke of such sorrow....she's telling him that if anyone in this world could save her, it would be him...yet even HE, could not save her from the beast..

As I have battled depression without feeling loved for so many years and now having someone that loves me so much, unconditionally, and that I KNOW and ACCEPT and FEEL the love and am so immensely happy...

I still understand what Gina was trying to say...

in that moment of weakness and despair...it just seems like NOTHING can hold us back...

not even LOVE....

yet, I must say that this is where Gina and I depart yet once again...

I KNOW that my wife loves me and I know that if I hold on another second longer...that it'll be OK again...

This is where Gina makes me mad....that she didn't hold out and let the beast took over....

But she also suffered greatly with the beast...supposedly sexually abused by two of her brothers when she was a young child. The losing of her mother at young age and then her father at young adult age and then her home.

Those scars are perpetually etched in her...and who am I to judge or say how deep her pain was...

because when I read her books, I can feel some of her pain...and they are intense, immense, and ingrained.....

I'd like to learn how to write like her...but with a broader sense...

Perhaps it is those scars that made her opinions askewed and narrowed....but in a way, it gives us a clue and a view to a world that is not so uncommon in this world that we live in...and how lucky we are, in a way, to have her to voice those pains for those that are going through it now and will be....

everything happens for a reason....while pain is still pain....good can come out of the pain....

in another way, she was greatly loved, by her husband, and by her lover of the same sex....

I sometimes find her critics try to delve and dissect her too much and they somehow lose Gina's true self...

perhaps, she is as simple as she is complicated...it reveals so in her writings...

and sometimes, we simply make her too complicated....

such is life, I guess...and life is such....