En un día como el de hoy, hace setenta y dos años,
Virginia Woolf juntó piedras y las guardó en los bolsillos de su abrigo. Antes
de salir de su casa, y de arrojarse al río Ouse, escribió:
“I feel certain that 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 'til 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.”
El cuerpo de Virginia fue encontrado el día 18 de abril.
