the fish bowl

As I sit in my dorm on a raining Monday afternoon, I realize I have way too much.  I have become so consumed with the material things, with making myself happy through obtaining, trying to make me feel better about myself after I have accidentally pushed those who I cherish away.  The last two days have been quite the challenge for me: stomach in knots and eyes about to unleash a flood.  Why do I push people away when I become stressed or face a difficult situation?  Why have I not learned that it only complicates things more than it solves them?  Why didn't I listen to her when I was pushing her away?  Oh, damn, why didn't I listen to her when she was the only source of wisdom, of light, of hope in a dark moment?  Why am I know realizing what I have done with my selfishness?  I make myself sick even thinking about it now.  She had become something special to me, but I was too shy, too nervous to actually say it.  I regret being timid and quietly hoping for the illogical optimistic future which would never be.  For 7 months I kept this to myself instead of being honest with her and myself.  For 7 months I quietly enjoyed her friendship.  Perhaps I never told her or really acted on it because of the idea of being separated by a distance haunted me after what had happened last time.  Maybe I didn't feel like I could be there for her enough.  All I know now is that I no longer have the chance to be there for her as I would like.  My own prideful ignorance ruined me. 

Oh, how I would give up everything I have gained recently in order to try that moment over again and tell her how I felt instead of pushing her away.  

Now, I am left to only be the best friend I can be and support her in her future.

     Charlotte Perkins Gilman's story "The Yellow Wallpaper" was first published in 1892.  It is an incredibly intriguing piece in my opinion.  Of course, I am sure others strongly disagree.  I must confess, I have never read this work on my own.  The 4 or 5 times I have read it have been for class reading.  Still, this is a short story in which I can always find some thing I missed before, something to think about about, something to analyze.  
     As it goes every time, I was able to find something new to analyze after reading "The Yellow Wallpaper" again last week.  Oddly enough, though, what I analyzed was not so much in the text as it was in me.  As weird as it seemed, I identified with the estranged main character who communicated with the audience by means of her sporadic, hurried journaling.  She blindly accepted what others in her life told he would be best, even if she did not trust their decisions.  Am I much different in some situations?  I hope so, because she was being seen as being close to a mental breakdown or disorder.  In fact, it is only when she does begin falling off the edge--driven there by those who advised her no less--does she begin to question and go against what they tell her.  Of course, in her circumstance she cannot outright rebel, but she acts differently.  Do I need to go crazy for change to come about that I want?  Or, am I possibly already crazy for not allowing myself the chance to change?
     What it is coming down to is that I, too, am beginning to feel trapped by my surroundings in some way, trapped by my yellow wallpaper in a way.  After two decades and change of going along with what others have presented me, is it too late to alter the course?  Maybe the time has come for me to finally bite the bedpost, tear down the cursed paper, and creep about until I find something meaningful for me.  Nothing compromised.  Nothing fake.  I want to feel infinite in life.
     Perhaps Gilman's character wasn't so crazy.  She was right, at least, writing does help to ease the mind at times.