The Dark Room

I walked into work on Monday. I thought it would be like any other Monday: the nurses asking countless questions about dosages, Mr. Hall, the man who can not remember what he had done the night before, wandering around asking everyone who they were, and little Amelia, who could barely speak, even though she was well over thirteen years old, and Martin, a man who was prone to vicious and violent attacks on animals because the devil told him to do so.

Of course, to any other normal person, this would be a day surrounded by monsters, outcasts, the unwanted freaks of society. To me, it was a regular day at work, helping these people get through the day. I walked over to the desk and was greeted by Nurse Abigail. She smiled and handed me a piece of paper. We had received a new patient today. A woman, twenty-eight years old who had lost her child and husband from tuberculosis, was reported to be hearing voice and having hallucinations. I traveled up the stairs to the third floor. Screams were heard, along with cries and roaring laughter. I opened the door to the room. The woman was sitting on the bed staring at the wall. I stood next to her and stuck out my hand.

"Hello, Elizabeth. I'm Doctor Jeremiah Reister. How are you doing?" She turned to me, smiled and nodded, and then looked back at the wall.

"This wall paper has to be changed, doesn't it? It's so old and the yellow isn't the most flattering color." She nodded and then looked at me?

"Can you bring me my baby?" She asked. I took a deep breath and kneeled down next to her.

"I don't think that is a good idea right now, Elizabeth." I walked out of the room down to the medicine room and prepared medication and dosages for her. What a tragic thing, to lose a child and spouse. I could not imagine losing my wife and my sons. I wondered if I would become like this woman. 

Later in the day, after the patients had all eaten breakfast, I went back to see Elizabeth. She smiled when I walked in.

"Thank you for taking me down to the garden, John. It was quite lovely to leave this room. This wall paper could drive me mad," she said. I blinked and told her that my name was Doctor Reister, not John. She just nodded and began writing in her journal. I gave her medication and walked out. I guess it could be worse. One patient I had a few years ago thought I was Jesus Christ reincarnated and would hug and kiss my feet. 

Weeks passed and Elizabeth was getting worse. She was found biting one of the beds, and kept calling Abigail the name Jennie. One of the nurses told me that she had read the papers she was writing on, and was speaking about her husband, baby, and the wall paper. I talked to the nurses and we decided that maybe changing the wallpaper, or painting over it, would help her. The nurses praised me for this idea. We thought it could make a significant difference in this young woman's life. 

We all came in on a Saturday to paint. The nurses had the buckets, and I happily carried the paint brushes. It felt like Christmas morning and getting the paper painted was the ultimate gift. We were on the second floor when we suddenly heard shrieks. They were unimaginable cries, ones I have never heard or care to hear ever again in my life time. We all swiftly dashed up the stairs. We heard the cries coming from Elizabeth's room. We stormed in to find her, eyes in a rage, her hair a mess, bleeding knuckles, viciously ripping off the yellow wallpaper. 

The Bleeding Yellow Wallpaper

Here I am. I don’t know the day, the time, or the year… I don’t remember the last time I saw daylight. I’m trapped. Every morning I wake up to a horrible smell in this strange room. As soon as I rub my eyes and stretch everything begins to look familiar again, and I realize I’m still here, but there is blood on my hands.

            I’m trapped in this god-forsaken room with dreadful yellow wallpaper that makes me want to scratch my eyes out until they bleed. It’s falling off the walls, ripped from every corner. How I loathe the color yellow. It reminds me of how I haven’t seen the light of day! How I haven’t felt the grass in days, months, years! And the smell is so putrid, like rotting corpses, yet I’m used to it because I can no longer smell it.

 I had a husband that used to care for me everyday; he would bathe me, feed me, talk to me, and be there for me. But why has he abandoned me? I know that I don’t deserve him. I know that I am crazy! But deep down I thought he cared, but where has he gone? He’s left me in this room. I think that I am recovering, I feel like I am getting better. But these walls are closing in on me. I feel myself slipping again. I start to spin; I spin to forget that I am here. I want out, but I cannot go.

No I am not getting better, I am still sick. I have always been sick. I know deep down in the pit of my soul that I have done something awful. I start to call out to my husband, John, “Oh John! Where are you? Can you hear me? John, please answer!” To no avail, he doesn’t answer. I start to fill with rage, how dare he think he can leave me; I am the best he’s ever had, and will have! No one will love him like me; I love him to death.

These walls barricade me; they have become my new friends. They know all my secrets. I tell them everything- they see everything. They know me better than I know myself, because I cannot recall a single act as soon as the night falls. I see the walls breathing when I breathe. We are one.

I talk to myself and the walls answer me. I no longer have any shame, because who is watching? No one. No one is watching me so I must rely on my own devices. I no longer care whether it is day or night. I never sleep for more than a few hours, but every time I wake up it seems as though I am still in a dream world. I have no prior knowledge of what I have done the day before. Everyday I am reborn.

The blood on my hands makes me question my sanity. Where did it come from? Is it my own blood? Couldn’t be. But whose blood has shed at my expense?

I then realize I am covered in blood. My nightgown, my hands, and my face are all blood red. It starts to sink in. This is not my blood, I am sure of it. My head feels like it’s going to spontaneously combust. It’s imploding from the thoughts I have tried to suppress. I am spinning again.

It seems that I have fallen in to a deep sleep. I do not remember much. I never do. I’m not sure how long I have been asleep for. Today I feel well rested, today I feel brand new.  Something is off though the room feels different. It feels cold and dead. The walls are no longer breathing; I feel my heartache. I start to scan the room to see if something has changed. Everything looks normal… until. I tilt my head to some how reassure myself that what my eyes have just seen is real. The blood is everywhere, not only on my clothes, but also all over the walls. One spot in particular the blood has soaked through the walls. There’s a huge red circle, a huge red bleeding circle on the wall. I start tearing through the wallpaper. I must find what is lingering behind these walls. So I tear, I rip, I scratch, and the ungodly smell is getting more pungent. Suddenly a loud thud comes from the wall. I cannot believe my eyes.

I have finally torn through all the wallpaper to finally reveal my darkest secret yet. And there he lies cold, lifeless, and dead. I exclaim, “Oh John, you have been so close to me this whole time!” I shake him, although I know he’s dead. I feel a sense of relief. Here I am thinking that he has gone away, that he has left me. He’s been by my side this whole time. It all makes sense now. I know that I have committed the ultimate crime, but you must understand there is a method behind my madness! He was ignoring me, I just wanted out of this house, but he never cared. I would have done anything for him. I loved him more than I loved myself. This was the only way I could keep us together. I had to make sure he never left me.

 I have fed on his corpse so he will be with me, forever inside of me. ‘Til death do us part right? But who knew he’d die by my hands.