The madwoman in the attic is at it again…once again trying to find herself in words that make no sense to them…words dismissed as easily as her existence…diminished…the loss of an entire being means nothing to their world…she was not ever one of them…though she tried…but little did she know that once condemned, perhaps the Gods might still reconsider, but there is a reason men are not Gods!
And so it must be…the solitude must be lived with…the questions, the cries must be stifled…the fears, the anxieties must be hidden from their ever suspecting, cruel eyes…the onslaughts of love must be borne…acknowledgment there shall be – but only of a certain denial…weave your stories Bertha, for that is all that you have…to call your own…absolve them, if you find it in your crazy heart…fight, if you so choose…without the expectation of victory…they will get you…for your silence, as for your voice…but never, never Bertha, think of why you are in the attic…you will never know…for they will not tell you anything, except that you are mad…you scare them…madness in anything and almost everything…your violence will be the manifestation of that insanity…but their ways of holding your violence will always be looked at sympathetically...for they are ‘sane’, remember? They have judged you, and their verdict is all that matters…blood isn’t thicker than water, you realized the day they said ”She sucked the blood: she said she'd drain my heart”…if only they knew what that truly meant…they never ask you how it is in the attic…if you are lonely…and you wonder are monsters afraid of anything? If not, how will you tell them you are not the monster they make you out to be?
The doors were closed and locked years ago…there is no way out…except a forced one…when you will burn down the walls of your prison…and fly away…amidst expressions of seeming affection and care…where were they when you needed them? You know the madness (their version of it) will need to come to an end…and you will give in for them to go on…their redemption will always be in your damnation…you will let them believe so…and give them what they want…they will not understand it, so give up that very last expectation you seem to have hidden in your closed fists…palms open, arms stretched, as you fall, remember, even in your death my dear, you shall, but remain, the madwoman in the attic.
p.s. - Forgive me Antoinette...i call you by the name they gave you...but the prison walls never knew you, for you...the attic had always imprisoned the Bertha in you, never the Antoinette...
