The Letter That Followed Two Weeks Later -- Always It Comes Back to Money

11/9/1987

Hi.

I met with Sally today [therapist at Occidental]. It was tough because I have spent all week trying not to think, to not panic. I walk around campus almost like a phobic—the other day I had to come home because I felt like everyone was staring at me. Today I tried to sit outside and study, but I felt so uncomfortable I came home and studied here. Almost more than anything I want to do what will please you, but unless I want to feel like a crazy person, I have to put my happiness first. This is the hardest thing I have ever tried to do. I have this load I am carrying around—heavy with the obligation I feel towards Mom and the need to “make up” for John and Sam. [Hello, adoption. So not their fault.] I can’t go on carrying this because I will break.

I have been trying to live day by day—taking each day for what it is and trying to make the best of it. It’s not working. I feel something is essentially wrong. More and more I find myself with the sole desire of lying on the floor and never getting up. I hate this. I like myself when I want to do things and am excited about life.

If I could continue with school and then go on to some career you approved of, I would be very happy. I am not doing this for me—I am dragging myself to class and then banging myself over the head for not liking it.

I know you see me as throwing everything away, especially the chance for an “exciting career”. The way I am traveling makes me nauseated. The way you are trying to make me happy just isn’t right for me. I would almost rather kill myself that to disappoint you like this. I have two such painful and conflicting, intense desires in my head—one: to do that i know you want, and two: to strike out on what feels right for me now. It’s like having an internal thunderstorm.

The money situation has taken a huge load off my mind. However, with my current obsession with worrying, it has been replaced by me brow-beating myself about weight and school. Aargh.

This is what I’m asking. Can we please work something out where you are supporting me enough so I can stay here until September? If I had the chance to work out here for a while without feeling threatened by poverty at every twist, I think I could have a real shot at finding some happiness. I realize this sort of hazy, non-committal type of plan frightens you, but it is what I need. I am asking for held until September—as if I were in school—that time will give me a chance to build enough of a foundation to stand on my own.

God, I’m sorry.

Love,

Anne