ABSTRACT
During the Monday session, 10 July, having said she is now muddled about the drawings, she goes on to talk about how her mother had terrible headaches and used to go about with her hair down, no teeth, and not dressed. She shows me one scribbled face she has done and says the eyes are too close together and that means mad, no insight, no intelligence. She adds that it is me. (Perhaps significantly, this drawing seems to have got lost.) Now she shows me a drawing of an egg-shaped head (Fig. 49) entirely covered with the whorls, two of them elaborated into recognizable eyes; there are also zigzag lines across the forehead like the ones I called ‘the crown of thorns’ in the ‘Dispossessed Queen’ drawing (Fig. 46). What she says is, ‘All in a muddle: my mother.’ So here I came to see that, although this was clearly a picture of her real mother’s muddled state of mind, it was also a picture of me; that is, of Susan’s recognition of my own difficulties in coming to contain and sort out all the muddle that she was presenting me with, filling me up with. In fact, she is afraid she is driving me mad.
