NumbnessNumbness

I used to think the opposite of pain was happiness. Sylvia Plath made me realize it might actually be numbness.

The first poem of hers I really remember is Poppies in July. Poppies are supposed to be bright, almost violently red, yet the speaker keeps insisting that she cannot feel them. She even wishes they could hurt her. It sounds contradictory at first. Why would anyone want more pain? But I think that’s exactly the point. Feeling pain at least proves you’re still capable of feeling something.

I had a similar reaction when I read Ariel. Most people describe it as liberation, but I’ve always been more fascinated by its speed. The poem keeps accelerating, almost refusing to stop. At some point, it no longer matters where the speaker is going. The movement itself becomes the only thing that exists.

Numbness is often misunderstood. It doesn’t always look like lying in bed or giving up. Sometimes it looks surprisingly productive. Everything works exactly as it should. The only difference is that you no longer feel present while doing any of it.

Maybe that’s why Plath’s poems feel so unsettling —— They don’t simply describe sadness, but the frightening moment when sadness has lasted so long that even it begins to disappear.