The woman locked in a room

So my last essay for the term was on Mental Illness and its Presentation in Modern Literature.

Reading up on mental illness (especially schizophrenia) was utterly fascinating - '"delusional percept" - a relatively normal perception is experienced as having a special kind of meaning [...] a good example is a schizophrenic who noticed that people in a train car were crossing their legs from time to time, and then suddenly concluded that they were all performing some kind of play for his benefit.'

[Sass, Louis A., Madness and Modernism: Insanity in the light of modern art, literature, and thought, (Massachusets: Harvard University Press, 1994), pp. 44]

I chose to write on Wide Sargasso Sea, The Yellow Wallpaper, Hangover Square and Mrs Dalloway. However, between gallivanting in London, visiting Grandma over the weekend, reading those four books and criticism on top of that, I only started writing on Monday, which meant that for a good part of Monday, Tuesday, Wednesday and Thursday morning, I was locked into my room, typing furiously.

As I wrote I thought to myself how ironic it was that I was writing about how mad women were often locked up (Wide Sargasso Sea, The Yellow Wallpaper) to contain their mental excess, and here I was, basically locked in dorm room. My hypothesis that writing this essay would eventually drive me mad seemed pretty prophetic.

I managed to finish the essay THREE MINUTES before the deadline, and ran to Alex's room to print it out. And then I ran, in my pajamas, down the steps of Pearl House, through the corridor, hair in bun unravelling, loose papers clutched in hand, toward Leo's pigeon hole.

As I approached, I saw (horror of horrors) Leo at his pigeonhole, reaching in to retrieve the essays we were meant to have handed in,

'LEO!!!!!' I shouted, still running, and waved the loose papers in my hand at him.

Well. I think the confinement really did drive me mad.

Leo laughed and laughed at my pajama-ed state and told me to slow down, as I, in complete and abject embarrassment, gasped breathlessly at the porter 'Could-I-please-borrow-a-stapler-please?'

However, I did get my essay in, and nothing could stop me from smiling like an idiot afterwards.

That is, until Jenny walked past, looked me up and down, and said "Hello", and I said "Hi" weakly, before burying my face in my hands in embarrassment after she'd left.

So now two of three of my supervisors have seen me in my pajamas.