The Rant of a Nameless Woman Inspired by Charlotte Perkins Gilman's Yellow Wallpaper

It pains me not to tell you. I feel that I will explode, but surely, you won’t appreciate it. You won’t understand. You will be mad. Condescending. And maybe, quite possibly, take me away, lock me in a room, and claim my health is in peril. Claim I have gone mad and lock me in a madhouse. You will surely medicate me for some ailment. You may even do that now. But I must tell someone, so wait. Let me speak. I must tell you.

I am oppressed by you. Am unable to speak my truth. Am locked from the room where it happens. Am subservient to you. You are my master. Don’t interrupt. At least give me this one moment to break free of my servitude. We are supposed to be a pair. To be equal! 

You say that you care for me? You say that I must be healthy for you? You say you love me, but when have you ever allowed me to be myself? A woman. A writer. No, I put forth a charade for you. Not just you, but everyone. For my whole life. I have been expected to behave as a woman, but when has it ever been easy to be a woman? A woman has no true confidant, a woman must do this. She must do that. She can’t vote. She is erased from history! 

My world revolves around you. Your happiness and your well being. Yet I am not comforted, or cared for, or thought of as valid by you. You are condescending. You think of me as a child.

I have said what I have fought to keep inside my head every day for the past thirty years. For your well being! Because of the rules you impose on me! Since the day I could take instruction. Since the day I could eat, talk, walk, and dress. Since the day I understood: I must follow your dictations. 

You may now do what you want with me. I will go back to being the one who has no power. One who won’t question you. The last thing I will leave with you is this: Will you ever change?