The Yellow Wallpaper

4

I don’t know why I should write this.

I don’t want to.

There’s one comfort, the baby is well and happy, and does not have to occupy this nursery with the horrid wallpaper.

There are things in that paper that nobody knows but me, or ever will.

Of course I never mention it to them any more,—I am too wise,—but I keep watch of it all the same.

John says I musn’t lose my strength, and has me take cod-liver oil and lots of tonics and things, to say nothing of ale and wine and rare meat.

It is getting to be a great effort for me to think straight. Just this nervous weakness, I suppose.

It is always the same shape, only very numerous.

If we had not used it that blessed child would have! What a fortunate escape! Why, I wouldn’t have a child of mine, an impressionable little thing, live in such a room for worlds.

I never thought of it before, but it is lucky that John kept me here after all. I can stand it so much easier than a baby, you see.

I don’t feel able.

He says no one but myself can help me out of it, that I must use my will and self-control and not let any silly fancies run away with me.

He said I was his darling and his comfort and all he had, and that I must take care of myself for his sake, and keep well.

Half the time now I am awfully lazy, and lie down ever so much.

Dear John! He loves me very dearly, and hates to have me sick. I tried to have a real earnest reasonable talk with him the other day, and tell him how I wish he would let me go and make a visit to Cousin Henry and Julia.

But the effort is getting to be greater than the relief.

But he said I wasn’t able to go, nor able to stand it after I got there; and I did not make out a very good case for myself, for I was crying before I had finished.

Behind that outside pattern the dim shapes get clearer every day.

And dear John gathered me up in his arms, and just carried me upstairs and laid me on the bed, and sat by me and read to me till it tired my head.

And I know John would think it absurd. But I must say what I feel and think in some way—it is such a relief!

And it is like a woman stooping down and creeping about behind that pattern. I don’t like it a bit. I wonder—I begin to think—I wish John would take me away from here!