Personal journals and memoirs tend to be like that. The person writing them often did not intend for them to be seen by others in the first place, unless they specifically wanted their memoir published. They reveal a person at their best and their worst. Thinking that an artist whose art speaks to you must be similar to you in character, compatible with you or a person you should strife to be is a very common misconception. They might be all of that, or they might be not. Someone might be a great artist and a terrible person, and that’s a perfectly realistic combination. Private journals do not exist to be guides to life. Many artists out there were tortured souls whose life was full of trauma, misery, bad decisions and struggles with mental health. It’s great to look up to them in terms of art, but emulating their life or looking to them for actual advice is not healthy. Sylvia Plath wasn’t a therapist, she was a clinically depressed young woman who took her own life. If you do not connect with her and find some of her actions immoral, that’s a perfectly valid opinion to have about someone, but her journals weren’t written to teach other young women how to live their lives, and shouldn’t be treated as such. Use them to make observations about the realities of the time period, life events that might have influenced the writer’s art, or just treat it as a vintage vent blog. It’s better to turn to a professional therapist if you need genuine advice about navigating life as a neurodivergent person.