Classical Books That Blew My Mind This Month (And Possibly Ruined Me Emotionally)
This January, I accidentally fell into a literary rabbit hole made entirely of longing, guilt, obsession, existential dread, and men who desperately needed therapy but instead wrote masterpieces. I didn’t plan to read this many emotionally devastating classics—it just sort of happened, the way breakdowns happen. Quietly at first. Then all at once. There’s something about classical books that feels illegal when you read them at the wrong moment in your life. They don’t comfort you. They don’t reassure you. They look directly at your inner chaos and say, “Yes. That.” And suddenly you’re not just reading—you’re being psychoanalyzed by people who have been dead for over a century. Here are the books that absolutely blew my mind this month. Not because they were easy or comforting, but because they were honest in a way that feels dangerous. Letters to Milena by Kafka Reading Letters to Milena feels like standing too close to a live wire. There’s an intensity here that borders on i...
