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Tuesday, December 5, 2017

Marilyn writes to her new psychiatrist about her stay at the Payne Whitney part 1

March 1, 1961

Just now when I looked out the hospital window where the snow had covered everything suddenly everything is kind of muted a green. The grass, shabby evergreen bushes -- though the trees give me a little hope -- the desolate bare branches promising maybe there will be spring and maybe they promise hope.

Did you see "The Misfits" yet? In one sequence you can perhaps see how bare and strange a tree can be for me. I don't know if it comes across that way for sure on the screen -- I don't like some of the selections in the takes they used. As I started to write this letter about four quiet tears had fallen. I don't know quite why.

Last night I was awake all night again. Sometimes I wonder what the night time is for. It almost doesn't exist for me -- it all seems like one long, long horrible day. Anyway, I thought I'd try to be constructive about it and started to read the letters of Sigmund Freud. When I first opened the book I saw the picture of Freud inside opposite the title page and I burst into tears -- he looked very depressed (which must have been taken near the end of his life) that he died a disappointed man -- but Dr Kris said he had much physical pain which I had known from the Jones book -- but I know this too to be so but still I trust my instincts because I see a sad disappointment in his gentle face. The book reveals (though I am not sure anyone's love-letters should be published) that he wasn't a stiff! I mean his gentle, sad humor and even a striving was eternal in him. I haven't gotten very far yet because at the same time I'm reading Sean O'Casey's first autobiography --(did I ever tell you how once he wrote a poem to me?) This book disturbs me very much in a way one should be disturbed for these things --after all.


Marilyn in "The Misfits"

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