S. Is your father in any of this?
G. No.
S. Has he got any [qualities] of the blue shirt, the rolled-up sleeves, or the iceman?
G. Do you know, when you asked me about the blue shirt ... I had a picture of my father coming home, with his sleeves rolled up and his sweater, he had a sweater, I remember it very distinctly, and he always hung it on the doorknob and there would be something in the pocket for me. Something just for me. It was a strange thing that he did, because I had brothers and sisters, you know. I had to sneak to get it so the other kids wouldn’t see it. Because he only brought it to me; he didn’t bring anything to the other kids.
S. So you stole it!
G. Yeah. And the thing I steal, it's for me. First I hold it in my hand and then take it home.
S. And then you have the ice cream: you celebrate. And then you get fucked, the big punishment. Now, what did your mother do about this little game?
G. She was always angry because he never brought anything to the others . . .
S. Your daddy never put you into a shirt like that, did he?
G. He used to put me into his clothes. A shirt and pants, the whole works. He thought it was very funny to dress me up in his clothes.
S. Did he roll your sleeves up?
P. Sure, they were too long.
Then comes material about her mother that would be too difficult for the reader to follow because the associations and interpretations refer to events and ideas from the years of treatment that have preceded this moment. Suffice to say that in an hour shortly before the iceman dream, she had said her mother had ice in her veins, and so the hour just described ended with my suggesting the iceman was Mrs. G.’s frozen, unyielding mother who represented death to her in her infancy and childhood. (One can get a fuller picture of her relationship with her mother in [146].)
Next hour.
G. The thing I take is only valuable to me for a certain length of time, and then I have to get rid of it. The only thing that I stole that I kept for any length of time was a music box. It was a child’s music box. It had little carved figures on it. It was like a merry-go-round, and it had children that went around in a circle when the music played ... I never stole anything “valuable” unless I was stealing for my partner. Say there was a piece of jewelry on the table and there was a rock, I might more likely take the rock than the jewelry ... I keep them a couple of days and then give them away. Throw them away—anything. The things I take are not trivial, but you’re going to think they’re trivial. When I go into a house, I look around; I don’t know what the value is of things, but if they look to me to be of that kind of value, then I take them. Not monetary value.
S. Why do you get rid of them? Why don’t they stay valuable?
G. For the same reason I throw out the garbage; all the value is out of them. I don’t need them. Now I have the feeling inside, the feeling that I get from taking the object.
Next hour. Between this one and the previous, the
patient sent me a letter and phoned. She now refers to
these communications.
G. This [the subject of stealing] doesn’t have anything to do with me being a baby.
S. Of course not. You write me a letter about breasts and dreams of breasts and you tell me that you drink . . . what is it, a half a gallon of milk a day . . . and in the last day or so you’ve been eating like an absolute pig. And last night, twice, deliciously, you wet yourself.
G. I was thinking about when my mother called last night.
S. [She has reported to me on the phone]: You fell asleep early in the evening and you wet the bed. You awoke from it feeling, “Oh, isn’t that great.’’ And then she called while you were still in bed?
G. Yes. I almost remembered something, and just now I thought, “God, now I remember,” but I don’t know what it is. [In retrospect, I realize this was the first move toward a trance; usually such almost remembering is not related to a trance.]
What I see in my head is my mother breastfeeding a baby. I don’t know which one [of G.’s younger siblings]. I feel hungry. My mother always smelled good. Something warm and good. Probably if it hadn’t been so cold ... When my grandmother held me, you know, my grandmother was fat and had big breasts, soft, you could just kind of sink in; that wasn’t the same as my mother. I don’t know. I just don’t want to ... I just don’t want to think about bad things. [Slides into light trance.]
Remember about the ... do you remember putting the baby nipple to make it look like a penis? [She had done this as a child because she wanted a penis badly.] “That doesn’t go there—it goes in your mouth.” [She seems here to be quoting her mother’s remark.] But you can’t have both, you know, you have to decide which is more important [the nipple in the mouth or the penis on the body]. I don’t know any more which is more important. The way it was then, everything . . . everything goes in the mouth, everything. None of it is ever right though. You know, when you put your thumb in your mouth ... there’s a hole there, there’s an empty spot there. Because the hole never fills up. And that makes this hurt right here [lips]. It makes it tight, frustrated.
S. Now tell me about when you get enough.
G. When you have that thing [the stolen object] in your hand . . .
D. Do you put it in your mouth?
G. Yeah. I put it against my mouth. It’s cool. I don’t have to cry. It just feels good. . . . Don’t you remember those things? [In trance.] There was little ducks, you know. It’s very hard to get it into my mouth.
S. What’s the best thing?
G. My mother. It smells good. When she put me in the bathtub, you know, when we were both in the bathtub, I stole it.
I don’t remember . . . I’m tired ... I don’t know ... It was the only time I was warm ... I don’t want to cry . . . Let’s go to another place ... I need to go somewhere else. You have to know what goes where. If you’re a boy ... I don’t know what to do when I’m a boy. I don’t know what to do. I don’t remember
how to do that. Do you know, I tried very hard—I just could never do it right. I need to go somewhere else. Do you want to go? Why are you always here? You’re always here. There are so many terrible places there. Can you hear that? [Hallucination in trance; experiences self now as a child.] If I was tall enough ... I just don’t understand. I don't know how they can expect those kinds of things. You know, they tell me so many different kinds of things. First they say that’s O.K. and then they smack me, and I never know what I’m supposed to do. And that boy, he just... he’s just so bad. Do you know, it wouldn't be so bad if it wasn’t always cold.
S. It isn’t always cold. Isn’t it warm when you wet?
G. Yeah.
S. Isn’t that why you wet?
G. Yeah. That’s almost as good as being in the bathtub with somebody that’s good. You know, one time I was there and I was cold and it just came to me [to wet] and it felt so good. You remember when I was in a cage [a cagelike box used as a crib during her first year of life], I did it when I was awake. There’s two good things: being warm and having your mouth full ... if you have it with her.
S. When you were wet, what did you do to make your mouth full?
G. I put my thumb in my mouth or the good things. Like the duck. The blanket; but there’s only a part of the blanket you can put in your mouth. Where the ribbon is. When I have my own children, I put them in my mouth. My friends, too. You know, not men, except maybe their chest or something. Or bite; I want to bite. I put all of women in my mouth. But if you do that, you’re going to get hurt.
Do you feel that? [A sensation inside her; touches her abdomen.] It was just a little excitement to get something. The feeling is right here [lips] that goes right here [stomach] . . . Last night it was the need to be warm and wet. I remember, I remember how good it felt.