Everyday she wakes up and stares at that yellow wallpaper; I don't know what else to do only to keep her locked up in her room so she doesn't go out and hurt herself or others. I don't think she would intentionally hurt anybody but every since she was diagnosed, she has been totally insane. I don't know what is wrong with her; I try to help her as much as I can but it's too hard or a man to take. How can I look at my wife and tell her I love her when I don't even see my wife when I look at her anymore? What does a man do? As a doctor, I try my hardest to be understanding but this clouds my judgment as a doctor. I often think that I'm going psychotic as well or that she's also making me psychotic as well. I also found myself looking at that yellow wallpaper and then I got Jenny to come look at it as well. We had no luck in figuring out why she was looking at it from the sunrise til the moon goes down. When we would come and look at the yellow wallpaper, my wife would sneak up from behind us and ask what we would do. She would stare at us like she just caught us stealing something with her bulging and baggy eyes from getting no sleep.
As each day goes by, I don't see her getting any better. Her day consist of the same old routines, which I know may seem boring and irritating but what else can I do with her? She takes pain medications to deal with her anxiety, depression and issues. We have lived in this beautiful, rich home of ours for many many years. The "garden--large and shady, full of box-bordered paths, and lined with long grape-covered arbors with seats under them"(1) has been part of our magnificent wonders that me and my dear wife has made upon building our lives. We have always bickered about adding on more to our house and she has always "wanted a room downstairs that opened on the piazza and had roses all over the window, and such pretty old-fashioned chintz hangings but John would not hear of it"(1). But when we did agree upon something, we flourished it like we did what that garden.
I just want her to get better so we can do all of that again, so we can watch our children have their own children and watch them grow older as we do to, but all she ever talks about is about how she's not sick and about the many things she wants to do besides being shut in that room. She often times writes and I find that that's the only cure to getting her to fall asleep but she never has enough energy to do that. She often tells me that, "I think sometimes that if I wee only well enough to write a lttle it would relieve the press of ideas and rest me."(3). I encourage her to write so she will be able relieve some stress just like how patients go to therapy to talk about their issues so they can work through his/her issues but that's not like my wife's issues.
I realized that when one day I went to check up on her and found the door locked I said, "Open the door, my darling!"(9)
"I can't. The key is down bythe front door under a plantain leaf," she responded.
And once I opened the door, she looked over her shoulder and said, "I've got out at last in spite of you and Jane. And I've pulled it off most of the paper so you can't put me back!"(9) that was when I realized why she was looking at that wallpaper so much. She thoought that she was IN the wallpaper now. She stared at it somuch that she believed she was part of the wallpaper.
I told her that "she my darling, and my comfort and all I had, and that she must take care of herself for my sake, and keep well"(5). We connected so much after having our child so when she said all of that, it overwhelmed me. I couldn't take it; it was just too hard for me to take. I fainted because when I looked at her, she was not my wife anymore. I didn't even recognize her; she was not my wife anymore. I had to realize that. I could not do anything to help her anymore. I was done.
As each day goes by, I don't see her getting any better. Her day consist of the same old routines, which I know may seem boring and irritating but what else can I do with her? She takes pain medications to deal with her anxiety, depression and issues. We have lived in this beautiful, rich home of ours for many many years. The "garden--large and shady, full of box-bordered paths, and lined with long grape-covered arbors with seats under them"(1) has been part of our magnificent wonders that me and my dear wife has made upon building our lives. We have always bickered about adding on more to our house and she has always "wanted a room downstairs that opened on the piazza and had roses all over the window, and such pretty old-fashioned chintz hangings but John would not hear of it"(1). But when we did agree upon something, we flourished it like we did what that garden.
I just want her to get better so we can do all of that again, so we can watch our children have their own children and watch them grow older as we do to, but all she ever talks about is about how she's not sick and about the many things she wants to do besides being shut in that room. She often times writes and I find that that's the only cure to getting her to fall asleep but she never has enough energy to do that. She often tells me that, "I think sometimes that if I wee only well enough to write a lttle it would relieve the press of ideas and rest me."(3). I encourage her to write so she will be able relieve some stress just like how patients go to therapy to talk about their issues so they can work through his/her issues but that's not like my wife's issues.
I realized that when one day I went to check up on her and found the door locked I said, "Open the door, my darling!"(9)
"I can't. The key is down bythe front door under a plantain leaf," she responded.
And once I opened the door, she looked over her shoulder and said, "I've got out at last in spite of you and Jane. And I've pulled it off most of the paper so you can't put me back!"(9) that was when I realized why she was looking at that wallpaper so much. She thoought that she was IN the wallpaper now. She stared at it somuch that she believed she was part of the wallpaper.
I told her that "she my darling, and my comfort and all I had, and that she must take care of herself for my sake, and keep well"(5). We connected so much after having our child so when she said all of that, it overwhelmed me. I couldn't take it; it was just too hard for me to take. I fainted because when I looked at her, she was not my wife anymore. I didn't even recognize her; she was not my wife anymore. I had to realize that. I could not do anything to help her anymore. I was done.
