Suicide manuscript written by Virginia Woolf

Virginia Woolf, London writer born in 1882, died from drowning, a drowning caused by herself and previously reported in a manuscript addressed to her husband Leonard. Virginia had at that time what is currently known as bipolar disorder and was also submerged in a tremendous depression caused by several factors:

1. His London home had been destroyed by the Blitz (Nazi bombing).
2. The Second World War began.
3. And finally, the biography that she wrote about her great friend Roger Fry did not have the reception she expected.

All this added to his Bipolar disorder made Virgina Woolf decide take his own life on March 28, 1941. Then we leave you both the original manuscript (in English) and the translated one that was addressed to her husband.

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. V.

Dear,

I feel like I'm going to go crazy again. I don't think we can go through one of those terrible times again. And I can't recover this time. I start to hear voices, and I can't concentrate. So I do what seems to be the best thing to do. You have given me the maximum possible happiness. You have been in every way everything anyone could be. I believe that two people could not be happier until this terrible disease came. I can't fight anymore. I know that I am ruining your life, that without me you will be able to work. You will, I know. You see, I can't even write this properly. I can not read. What I mean is that I owe all the happiness of my life to you. You have been totally patient with me and incredibly good. I mean it — everyone knows it. If anybody could have saved me it would have been you. I have lost everything except the certainty of your goodness. I can not continue ruining your life any longer. I don't think two people could be happier than you and me have been. V.

After writing this Manuscript, Virginia Woolf filled her coat with stones and threw herself into the Ouse River. His body was found weeks later, specifically on April 18. Her husband buried her cremated remains at the foot of a tree in Rodmell.

Let's remember the voice of Virginia Woolf

In the following video, in addition to seeing some real photographs of V. Woolf, you can hear what his voice was like thanks to a BBC radio recording that was made on April 29, 1937.

If you want to know how his life was, what other writers he surrounded himself with and what were his best works, here is this short video of just 5 minutes.

Short Quotes and Phrases by Virginia Woolf

• "Love is an illusion, a story that one builds in his mind, aware all the time that it is not true, and that is why he is careful not to destroy the illusion."
• "Women have lived all these centuries as wives, with the magical and delicious power of reflecting the figure of man, twice his natural size".
• "The life is dream; awakening is what kills us.
• "There is no barrier, lock, or bolt that you can impose on the freedom of my mind."
• "We are nauseated by the sight of trivial personalities that decompose in the eternity of print."
• "I would venture to think that the anonymous man, who wrote so many poems without signing them, was often a woman."

• «I begin to wish for a sparse language like that used by lovers, broken words, broken words, like the touch of footsteps on the sidewalk, one-syllable words like those used by children when they enter a room where their mother is sewing and they take from the ground a thread of white wool, a feather, or a piece of chintz. I need a howl, a scream.
• “You cannot bring children into a world like this; One cannot consider perpetuating suffering, nor increasing the breed of these lustful animals that do not have lasting emotions, but only whims and banalities that now take you to one side and tomorrow to another ».
• "If they stick to their own experience, they would always feel that this is not what they want, that there is nothing more boring and childish and inhuman than love, but that at the same time, it is beautiful and necessary."
• "There is nothing so strange when one is in love as the total indifference of others."