Signifying Pain Chapter Two

Chapter 2: Violating the Sanctuary/Asylum: Freudian Treatment of Hysteria in "Dora" and "The Yellow Wallpaper"

Before I go any further with this response to Harris' work, I have to say that I have a particular interpretation of Gilman's "The Yellow Wallpaper" that I have never seen discussed anywhere. I approached this chapter hoping someone else would see what I had seen in the text but, like the protagonist in the story, I am apparently alone in my understanding of what is happening in this story.

In this chapter, Harris describes a parallel between Freud's "talk therapy" and writing as a means of healing, a sort of self-therapy, using Gilman's story "The Yellow Wallpaper" as a cautionary tale of what can happens when one does not find a way to put into words their experience, their truth.

What follows is a rather stream-of-consciousness response to this chapter. It is not intellectual. It not revised. It is raw. It is immediate. Subjective rather than objective. It is what I want to offer in response to this chapter.

What happens when we are forced into silence?

I grew up in a home where honesty and transparency were encouraged. I married into a family that had secrets. Layers. Walls. I thought that words were enough to break through but I learned that, where silence is habit, words are not welcome.

I lost myself in silence. I literally lost my self. I was lost.

My husband did not understand communication. His comfort was in silence. To begin speaking would have meant staring in a mirror and seeing things he had learned to forget.

Silence allows the memory to fade.

What nightmares did he not share? What horrors he did share are still enough to make tears come to my eyes long after my marriage dried up. Knowing how many layers of denial there were, I cringe to ask: How many nightmares never saw the light of day?

And what? What if he had dared to stare into his truth? What if he had not blinked into silence? What then?

I know that others have spoken their truth and not been heard. Is it enough to say, "This happened" when nobody wants to believe? There are still those who deny the Holocaust because it is easier to believe that these things didn't happen, couldn't happen, never happened.

If I believe that anyone is capable of this then doesn't that imply that there but for the grace of God go I?

Easier to deny than to believe.

The abused child sublimates, forgets, is taught to be silent. Shhh . . . mustn't tell. And when you tell who will listen? The abuser?

The abuser denies. I never, would never, could never. Easier to deny than to believe because to believe means to be responsible. Confession may be good for the soul but denial feels safer.

You broke through the lies
and burned yourself in truth
You carry these scars
to the abuser who looks away
unable to bear the pain
of flesh rebuilt and the scar of yourself.
Now you walk dark
marrying yourself to the lies
again and again hoping someone
will love you enough to listen.

Is it a copout? I want you to hear what happened to me. I need you to acknowledge that yes this is true. Not my truth. Just true. Hear me!

What happens when my truth is not heard? Denial?

In my case-divorce. Don't listen. Goodbye. You silence nearly killed me. I had to leave. Truth is, you wouldn't listen.

Toxic parenting. Mother poisons child through abuse and lies and silence. Child runs to mother-Do you see what you did to me?

No.

Now what? Is it really better to have faced the truth when you must face it alone?

Platitude answer-yes. Blah blah blah. Better to live the truth than live a lie. Denial is not just a river in Egypt.

Here is the mirror. My face is washed. No mask nor makeup behind which to hide. Look at me. Look at the scars, the discoloration, the wrinkles. Look but do not blink. I dare you.

I dare myself, hand twitching to flinch, to apply first a false foundation, a layer of mascara, slick of lipstick, and a line around my eyes. Mask myself from being seen, hide my vision, and silence my voice.

SCREAM!

A mirror shatters against my truth. I cannot break unless I forget to own my perception.

Validation is a bitch. Denial is a bitch. Which is the bigger bitch?

I don't know. I think I blinked.