On this peaceful morning, I look out at the grounds of the cottage that I hope will be the sanctuary that not only Jane will benefit from, but where I will be able to recover the woman I married. “My beautiful, charismatic Jane.” Since the birth of our son, Jane has slowly slipped into a diluted version of her once graceful and grounded being. Her warmth and charm have been replaced with a simmering melancholia, combined with small outbursts of nervousness and weepiness. Surely, this temporary condition would pass with some rest, both physically and mentally, for Jane had an active imagination. It was one of the many facets of her personality that had besotted me from the very beginning. The warm air and atmosphere will surely revitalize her strength, and snap her out of this temporary whim  of emotions.

Since we have been here, it seems that rest is not on Jane’s agenda since she seems to have developed a preoccupation with the wallpaper.  Lately, every time I look over at her, I see her looking quizzically at the walls. She has becomes fixated on the paper.  She is jumpy and skittish, but she does her best to deflect any uncertainty in her quiet demeanor. Like a sweet child, she scoffs and pouts about the state of the house. I do my best to not indulge her whims, and reassure her that she is merely looking for distractions. She should be focusing her thoughts on resting and doing light exercise, but absolutely no writing.  I feel that it adds to her whims of her strange caprice. For heaven’s sake, I am a doctor and know how to handle her over exhaustion and need for bit of tranquility. I feel that I have done a fine job at picking the perfect sanctuary. Doesn’t she realize that I know best?

She insists on being social and having more stimulus, but that would just make matters worse and prolong her state.

In fact, a few nights past, she mentioned that she felt something, that there was a strange presence that made her feel unsettled. As she said this, I noticed that she was standing by the window. I laugh at her girlish silliness and walk over, “My darling girl, the window is open and you feel a draught, not the presence of ghosts or goblins”. I kiss her cheek and close the window.

Instead of laughing with me, she looks agitated,  scoffs and leaves the room. I don’t remember during our courtship when she ever displayed anything close to this unattractive and impatient behavior, but I must do my best as a doctor, and husband, to remember that this is all do to with the fact that she needs rest, and surely her mind and disposition will recover to give me back my sweet Jane.

I am careful to remind her that we have come here for her repose, and that she must be careful to follow  my instructions. She smiles meekly when I remind her to have perfect rest and take as much air as she can get. I can see how much she is trying, but she needs to give herself that extra push. I fear that is she doesn’t, she will never be able to enjoy the full benefits of being both wife and mother.

Part of me begins to resent the unnatural order of our current situation. I find plenty of love and empathy for my beautiful Jane, but this unexpected burden weighs on me at times. I had envisioned, quiet, pleasant evenings at home.  An actual home where I did not have to think and fret, but that I would be able to enjoy the advantages of domesticity. Instead, I find myself being both husband and wife. Not even our sweet cherub is enough to incline her to take hold of her natural vocation.

But instead of working towards recovering her strength she focuses on the wallpaper in the house. Her fixation on this paper is somewhat perplexing. I agree that it isn’t the most attractive of patterns and hues, but we are only her for a short while, and for her much needed repose. I wish that she would engage in meaningful conversation about the future and our son instead of worrying about something so silly and inconsequential. I give myself over to my work and take care not to lose myself to whims as Jane has, for what would become of us! My work is my one salvation and tranquility at the moment. As much as I try not to, I take on more work because it has become my only peace. I feel guilty to harbor these feelings and remember to whisper sweet words and show her much kindness. 

If she doesn’t recover soon, she must go to Weir Mitchell for extensive treatment for her exhaustion and nervousness. The look of horror that overshadowed her face  at the mere suggestion broke my heart even further, but at the same time gave me hope! Jane’s insistence that she did not require such treatment made me realize that she is slowly returning to her sound mind, for surely if she were truly on the verge of hysteria she would not protest with such conviction.

I take care to  reassure her of my love , and give her encouragement to fight against her whims. She must use more self control to drive away this fretfulness that surrounds her at times. Whenever her impulses start to get the best of her, I must act firm and remind her that she must now begin to come out of this stupor of exhaustion and begin to resume life as we knew it. At times I wonder if my coddling has done more harm than good, and if she is taking extra time to recover because she has become accustomed to living a lofty existence. If this is her fear; I wish that she would not worry. Surely there will still be times that I will still indulge my silly goose.

But no sooner than I start to think that she may be coming around, her queerness over the paper begins to take a concerning turn. I see a shift in her demeanor. I begin to study her more and more. She begins to look gaunt and tired , as is clear by the dark circles under her eyes and the pallor of her skin. Even at the sight of this, I must continue to work, and maybe with some distance from me she will begin to see that this ridiculousness is starting to drive a wedge between us. I decide not to make the journey home after visiting my patient and stay overnight.  A night apart might be just the trick to knock her out of her stupor and make her realize that it is time for both of us to take our rightful places.

Upon my return, I feel optimistic and begin to think that this remedy might do the trick. Surely, Jane has realized the severity of the situation and have come to her senses. As I walk in, I do not see anyone. Could it be that she is with the baby? Could her maternal instincts have finally taken its natural hold over her, and she is finally ready to take part in our family? I could feel the excitement and relief bubbling inside me. I check the nursery, and alas, no one is there. As I proceed to go downstairs I hear something coming from our bedroom. A loud ripping sound, and grunting. It sounds like Jane. I go to open the door, but it is locked. “Jane darling, open the door”, my heart starts to pound in my chest. She tells me to go and get the key from under the plaintain leaf downstairs in a voice that attempts to sound calm, but I hear the pitch of hysteria that she tries to hide. I start pounding on the door and demand that she open. “Open this door, what the hell is going on in there!” I hear her giggle and I run downstairs. I frantically retrieve the key, and dash back up, and finally manage to open the door. The sight before me frightens, and tears down all the hope and love in my heart in an instant.  I realize as a I look into our room and see Jane appear more like a deranged animal, with wild hair and eyes, and the wallpaper torn down from the walls. She is screaming almost incoherently. “I’ve got out at last”, In spit of you and Jane. And I’ve pulled off most of the paper, so you can’t put me back!”In that moment I realize every lie that I told myself, I remember each time that I turned my cheek to her oddities that were telling of something darker and deeper, but I did it because I loved her so! “Am I the one who let my beautiful Jane vanish into  this wretched soul I see before me?” As I go to carefully approach her, I feel my weight unsteady, and my vision blurry. I realize what is happening and as my thoughts and coherence is leaving me, my last thoughts are, “What have I done to my beautiful Jane?”

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