The Woman Behind the Pattern — The Yellow Wallpaper

She does not know why she writes. She does not want to. She does not feel able. John would think it absurd. She must say what she feels and thinks in some way. It is such a relief. The effort is getting to be greater than the relief. Half the time she is awfully lazy and lies down ever so much. John says she must not lose her strength. He has her take cod-liver oil, tonics, ale, wine, and rare meat.

She tried a real earnest reasonable talk. She wished he would let her visit Cousin Henry and Julia. He said she was not able to go, nor able to stand it after she got there. She did not make a good case. She was crying before she had finished. Thinking straight is getting to be a great effort. Dear John gathered her up, carried her upstairs, laid her on the bed, and read until it tired her head. She is his darling and his comfort and all he has. She must take care of herself for his sake. No one but herself can help her out of it. She must use will and self-control and not let silly fancies run away with her.

One comfort: the baby is well and does not occupy this nursery. She would not have an impressionable child live in such a room for worlds. It is lucky John kept her here after all. She can stand it easier than a baby. She never mentions the paper to them any more. She is too wise. She keeps watch all the same. Behind the outside pattern the dim shapes get clearer. It is always the same shape, only very numerous, like a woman stooping and creeping. She does not like it a bit. She wishes John would take her away from here.