Silence
(Virginia Woolf, Part 3)
A prodigious writer, who spent hours at her desk, Woolf often expressed how writing was the only thing which kept her from giving in to her lifelong battle with manic depression. “The only way I keep afloat is by working,” “Directly I stop working I feel that I am sinking down, down.”
Throughout her married life, she continued to battle bouts of depression, but her pain and suffering were much alleviated by the comfort and support of Leonard. Although manic depression- or Bipolar disease as it is called now- is widely known today with readily available medication, in the early 1900s, doctors did not recognize how serious and debilitating this disease was, or how to treat it effectively.
Dr. George Savage, Virginia Woolf’s doctor, specialized in mental disorders. In 1922, after a bout of depression and a lingering fever, Dr. Savage recommended Woolf to have three teeth removed. As strange as this might sound now, it was quite a common practice at the time. Medical practitioners believed that many physical and mental illnesses were caused by infections of the teeth. Woolf later wrote to a friend how irritated she felt by this treatment as she had to wear false teeth, and her fever continued to linger on unabated.
Her depression in later years lasted longer and began to take on more serious symptoms and side-effects. Dreading the onset of another bout of depression, and believing that Leonard would be better off without her, Woolf chose instead to end her life. On March 28th, 1941, Virginia Woolf left her house for a walk wearing her long coat, boots and carrying a cane. When she failed to return home that night, her husband found a note that she had left announcing her intention.
Dearest,
I feel certain I am going mad again. I feel we can’t go through another of those terrible times. And I shan’t 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 till 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.
There was an immediate search in the water, and though police found her cane by the water that night, her body was not found. 28 days later, children found her body washed up some distance away, with heavy rocks in the pocket of her coat to weigh her down. Her death was ruled a suicide.
When my aunt told me how Virginia Woolf died, I remember being saddened because in spite of her family prestige, wealth, connections and let’s not forget her glorious mind and talent, she was secretly fighting for her life and very sanity. She shed light on women’s’ issues, experimented with new styles of writing which pushed the boundaries of literary style and content. At a time when fewer and fewer people are reading classics, Woolf has gone on to become even more popular and is one of the most recognized authors today. I may not understand everything she writes yet, but I don’t mind. With each rereading, I uncover another layer and nuance of meaning which I missed in my first, second or even third reading. I think that perhaps is the test of true genius; when no matter how often you revisit the same words, you can still find new treasures.
