“I shall talk every night. To myself. To the moon. I shall walk, as I did tonight, jealous of my loneliness, in the blue-silver of the cold moon, shining brilliantly on the drifts of fresh fallen snow, with the myriad sparkles. I talk to myself and look at the dark trees, blessedly neutral. So much easier than facing people, than having to look happy, to be the neutral impersonal force that does not hear, but merely accepts my being. And it does not smite me down.”

— Sylvia Plath, The Unabridged Journals (1950 - 53)