Just found this in Erica Jong’s “Remembering Anne Sexton,” New York Times, 27 Oct 1974.
I would like to say something final and telling about suicide–something as final as suicide itself– but it seems to me that Ann Sexton killed herself because it is just too painful to live in this world without numbness, and she had no numbness at all. All the little denials, all the stratagems of not- feeling by which most of us endure from minute to minute were unavailable to her. Words spared her for a while. With the process of writing the poem, there is a kind of connection which sustains one. Then the poem is done and one is alone again. Other people may enjoy the poem later, but the poet can hardly relate to it. The poet is happy only while writing the poem.
If only one could write all the time! If only there were not all those hours of non-writing to get through!