Ophelia's Suicide Note
Ophelia’s Suicide Letter
Dear Hamlet,
I thought I would be able to bottle up all of these emotions but it seems I cannot bear it any longer; I must let it all out. I must tell you, Hamlet, that living in this mad world is driving me to the brink of insanity. I am just so fed up with going about every single day persuading myself that I had ought to ignore it all and simply, sweetly smile. But why should I? Why should I sit around and let the likes of men like you order me around any longer? Yes Lord this, yes Lord that! Who do all of you men think you are? Being ordered around by my father, brother and you, my former lover, completely frustrates me every time. Am I your maid? Your slave? Your toy? You all speak to me with such disgusting disrespect. “Get thee to a nunnery” you say? Is it my fault that your mother is a despicable whore? Just because she did not wait a mere second to marry your uncle, it does not grant you the right to speak to me condescendingly like I have done the same. All you men speak to women like they are simple objects of pleasure. May you lie in my lap you ask? Most certainly not. I am not a prostitute whom you can come to whenever you please. We, I, am more than just a source of sexual gratification. Without us women, who would cook and clean for you men? It is quite evident that without us, you men are hopeless yet why is it that we are still miserably mistreated?
Oh, this strange society we live in is so corrupted. If we had been in an ideal world where women and men were thought of as equals, I would have most certainly spoken up for myself. But no, in this society, the chains of social rigidity confine me for being a woman. I live each and every day without the freedom of speech or choice, forced to obey the commands of all men alike. Had I defied any orders, severe punishment would have definitely followed. The withstanding of such social inequality had been agitating me ever since I could remember; I was already hardly
Dear Hamlet,
I thought I would be able to bottle up all of these emotions but it seems I cannot bear it any longer; I must let it all out. I must tell you, Hamlet, that living in this mad world is driving me to the brink of insanity. I am just so fed up with going about every single day persuading myself that I had ought to ignore it all and simply, sweetly smile. But why should I? Why should I sit around and let the likes of men like you order me around any longer? Yes Lord this, yes Lord that! Who do all of you men think you are? Being ordered around by my father, brother and you, my former lover, completely frustrates me every time. Am I your maid? Your slave? Your toy? You all speak to me with such disgusting disrespect. “Get thee to a nunnery” you say? Is it my fault that your mother is a despicable whore? Just because she did not wait a mere second to marry your uncle, it does not grant you the right to speak to me condescendingly like I have done the same. All you men speak to women like they are simple objects of pleasure. May you lie in my lap you ask? Most certainly not. I am not a prostitute whom you can come to whenever you please. We, I, am more than just a source of sexual gratification. Without us women, who would cook and clean for you men? It is quite evident that without us, you men are hopeless yet why is it that we are still miserably mistreated?
Oh, this strange society we live in is so corrupted. If we had been in an ideal world where women and men were thought of as equals, I would have most certainly spoken up for myself. But no, in this society, the chains of social rigidity confine me for being a woman. I live each and every day without the freedom of speech or choice, forced to obey the commands of all men alike. Had I defied any orders, severe punishment would have definitely followed. The withstanding of such social inequality had been agitating me ever since I could remember; I was already hardly