ABSTRACT
During the eight weeks of my summer break Susan wrote frequent letters to me from the hospital, sometimes four posted by different posts all in one day, calling me by my first name and ending ‘with love’. Afterwards she said that she hoped these verbal expressions would perhaps make her experience the feelings belonging to them, but they had not. In the letters she said she was feeling quite terrible and was angry with the psychiatrist in charge, who, she said, had been tough with her and done nothing to help. When she returned, 7 September, she brought me a whole box full of drawings. I have selected a few to reproduce here, those that meant most to me.
