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Hi, I'm Allison Epstein and I'm going to read from Sylvia Plath's, "The Bell Jar".
I thought drowning must be the kindest way to die
and burning the worst.
Some of those babies is the jars that Buddy Willard showed me had gills, he said.
They went through a stage where they were just like fish.
A little, rubbishy wavelet,
full of candy wrappers and orange peel and seaweed, folded over my foot
I heard the sand thud behind me and Kyle came up.
Lets swim to that rock out there. I pointed at it.
Are you crazy? That's a mile out!
What are you, I said, chicken?
Kyle took me by the elbow and jostled me into the water.
We were waist high, he pushed me under.
I surface - splashing -
my eyes seared with salt.
Underneath, the water was green and semi-opaque, a
I started to swim
a modified dogpaddle
Keeping my face toward the rock
Kyle did a slow crawl
After a while, he put his head up and treaded water.
Can't make it.
He was panting heavily.
Okay, you go back.
I thought I would swim out until I was too tired to swim back.
As I paddled on, my heart beat boomed like a dull motor in my ear.
I am, I am, I am.
That morning, I had tried to hang myself.