True Love

Betty
Protocol of a Child Therapy
By Anneliese Ude Pestel

Translated by Nicola Reddwoodd in 2015 from the 28th edition that was printed in 2014 by Deutscher Taschenbuch Verlag GmbH & Co. KG, Muenchen. Anneliese gave me the permission to translate all of her books into English.

The original German edition of Betty by Anneliese Ude Pestel appeared on the book market in Germany in 1975 by Deutsche Verlags-Anstalt, Muenchen.

Content:
Introduction by Anneliese Ude Pestel
Parent Interview
Excerpt from the result conclusion of the neurological examination
"Always, always must one be nice..."
"There are rats...who dig, sometimes they are also in the attic or in the cellar..."
Call from Betty: "I don't want to sleep anymore!"
"Brush your hair out of your face!"
"If now comes an evil man who shoots arrows into Cille's belly you must not scream loudly because otherwise the police comes..."
"Always, always do I have to wear what I don't want..."
"Misses Ude tastes of blood!"
"Don't look like as if I wanted to kill you!"
Call from Lisa
Call from Betty's mother
Phone conversation with Betty's teacher
"I hate you, I hate you, I hate you!"
Mother conversation
"Today I have to recover at your place!"
"What will happen when you become sick?"
Call from Betty
"When the two buds of the water lilies open up comes a pretty girl out of it."
"What will happen when I have a baby?"
Father conversation
"Everything, the whole world is poison..."
"When one is dead everything is solved!"
Betty's electroencephalogram
"Strange, you always know what I urgently need!"
"Never, never will I come to you again!"
"Now draw all the evil ghosts away through the chimney!"
"You know today it was like in paradise!"
"Oh dear was that a beautiful muddy smudge hour!"
"You can play here whatever you want!"
"Grow onion, grow, grow, onion grow all the time!"
"But I want to be a frog!"
"When Lisa will get married then Sebastian and I will be all alone!"
"When I will be big and become a mother...then I would become an evil stepmother!"
"I must sleep, very much sleep!"
"Remember in the past I always had fear of open...now I have no more fear."
"My house!"
"I have now all ghosts in my hand!"
"All sweet shall the hearts be!"
"Ach Mami I love you so much!"
Call from Betty
"Now the mermaid better does what the owl has told her otherwise she can not become a real human."
"Is the hour almost done?"
"Next after this hour we both go to the ice skating rink."
"Yes and now, now I don't dream anything anymore!"
"But what I paint for you now is the most beautiful!"
Letter from Betty's mother.
"Where is Betty Today?" By Nicola Reddwoodd

Introduction foreword by Anneliese Ude Pestel

In this book speaks a child to us about her fear and urgency. Where her words don't suffice anymore transmit shattering paintings the unspeakable, undescribable and bring the child at the same time relief and liberation. They allow the viewer an insight into the obscured depths of the unconscious.

"Betty" is the story of a child who was able to fight herself gradually back out of her inner prison, her psychological isolation during an almost two year long psychotherapeutical treatment and to find her way back to a normal life. The path towards that goal proceeded in such tiny steps that often the impression appreared of stepping-on-the-spot or yet stepping backwards. But at the end of the treatment we can view the great developmental process mastered by the child which spans like a wide bridge bow two states of existence which have found their expression in the paintings 10 and 27, in the painting of the crucified and of the dancing girl.

During the time which exists in between the arising of those two paintings was the great conflict between death motivation and life motivation worked through: Heaviest loss- and persecution fears, even fears of the own splitting have been overcome; Out of hate became love possible and through this the path free for the development towards a social being.

The therapeutic action as well as the dialogue between child and therapist were able to be represented truthfully and verbatim because due to the grave psychological disorder of the child precise written recording took place immediately after every hour. There was no thought of a publication at that time. In order to receive a fluent report repetitions had to be deleted and the course of treatment had to be compacted. But there were no words used which Betty or her parents had not originally used. However out of understandable reasons the names had been changed alltogether.

For the reason that Betty's parents have selflessly given the agreement towards the publication of this work my very special gratitude is granted to them. Without Annemarie Saenger, Heidelberg whom I thank for my education this book would not have been written; To her I am committed with deepest gratitude, as well as to Herrn G. Scheffler, Heidelberg for him having been available for frequent conversations about therapeutic problems in this difficult case.

Hamburg in December 1974
Anneliese Ude Pestels

Parents Conversation

Betty is barely 6 years old and yet she suffers already through herself and her little environment which consists of father, mother, the two year old brother Sebastian and the nanny Lisa. But also those suffer through Betty.

"What is only happening with Betty?" thus asks me Betty's mother in the first parents conversation, "This child tears at my nerves, exhausts my patience and takes my last energies. Not even at night does she give peace, she steals my sleep because she wants to be situated between her parents. She lately camps in front of our bedroom door because I have forbidden her to come to us. During the day she creates horrible scenes about nothing, throws herself onto the ground out of anger, screams and beats with her head against the floor in a way as if she wanted to inflict pain onto herself. She tears her hair out, pulls the clothes off her body, wants to run around naked because it was too hot for her. She hates her little brother, she beats him without control so that one has to protect him. She is unloving also with her dolls with which she does not play, she only makes them ugly and she squeezes out their eyes. Also from me Betty does not want any affection...she does not want to give any nor take any. She is cold of emotions. We often ask ourselves: >Is this child still normal?<"

How much had to have happened before a mother can ask such a grave question? One notices clearly that her question was not just spoken as a phrase but in a way that behind it stood a great distress.

A longer silence arises. My glance falls onto a large box which the father has brought along and has set down in front of him. "These are all Betty's drawings", he explains, "which you had asked me to bring. These are approximately onethousandandfivehundred pieces...I have collected them, given them dates and also sometimes written underneath what it according to Betty's opinion meant. It should certainly be interesting", he continues, "to think oneself deeper into the soul of Betty with the help of the drawings."

I am pulling out a painting of this amazingly voluminous collection of drawings. It sets itself apart from the others because it is rolled up into a thick paper roll. During the unraveling process shows itself first a gigantic skull with hollow eyes. On to that Betty has glued eleven red painted sheets of paper, so to say as a body through which the whole has a length of 3,60 meters.

We view together this before us rolled out ghost. Would it stand upright it would not fit into my living room. "One can become afraid of it", says the mother, and the father notices that Betty painted favorably skulls and ghosts from which dozens are lying in the box.

Spooky is a bone man with a diving mask who seems to sink into a deep water, or a strangled death man, or a death man with next to him lying chopped off red limbs. Then my glance falls onto a ghostly looking gigantic head on whose both ears hang two black child skeletons. Again are looking out of this face two deep black, terrifying eyes. The numbers which are written onto the gigantic mouth emphazise yet even stronger the unreal, ghostlike, demonic nature of the painting.

Many, many similar paintings are following. There hang for example again child skeletons onto a black structure. They are being surrounded by seven crocodiles and one gigantic specter with black hollow eyes blocks every way out. In another drawing rules the scene a deeply black vulture in over dimensional size. A black chainlink network closes in around two captive children under the eerie, all penetrating stare of the slit formed vulture eye. What a feeling of inexorability, threat and fear must have beset the child when she painted this painting!

"How many paintings, did you say, are in this box?" I asked the father. "Onethousandandfivehundred? And only eerie, sinister formations painted by a barely six year old child?" He nods with a shy stir of pride. A quote by Max Beckmann comes to mind: "I have painted; this secures one against death and dangers." This applies also to Betty. She had to paint from the unconscious in order to survive, in order to not become flooded by the terrifying paintings which are lying here spread out before us and which are a mirror of her inner fears. I understand why she could not sleep because her during the day painted paintings haunted her also into the dreams of the night.

But how could it be possible that Betty's mother had not reacted towards this terrifying painting process, towards those SOS calls? Because from the father alone derived the wish for a conversation about Betty. But it is still too early to ask such questions. Thus I ask the parents to report to me how the fear in Betty's daily life voices itself and what she is afraid of. The mother begins: "Well, Betty has today like so many children fear of the darkness, fear of being alone, fear of evil ghosts and specters, yes and even fear of evil eyes." "And when did the fear of evil eyes occurred for the first time, Frau Bonsart?" "My husband and I wanted to tavel", reports the mother further, "Betty was two and a half years old. We brought her to an aunt...I have given her away very reluctantly because she was a short tempered woman...Betty was there for fourteen days...she has immediately reacted to the separation with gastroenteritis...when I picked her up she looked very weakly and miserable...she has always suffered so silently by herself. Approximately around this time about around the second half of the third year has the fear of evil eyes, as Betty has mentioned it herself, occurred for the first time and has then not left her anymore."

I pull out another painting which Betty has commented on with the words: "A large ghost bites child into the blood". What fear of the demonic, piercing eyes and of the long pointy beak which penetrates like that into the child so that blood flows out of the wound, speaks out of this painting!

"Or look at this girl's head", I continue. Again those overly large eyes from which yellow beams like poisonous tear streams flow. A long arrow shaped line penetrates into the opened violet painted mouth cave. In the drawing dominates the head, the body is reduced to only a few streaks. Out of the head "grow mice", as Betty stated. From underneath upwards shall spiders run into the head.

The next painting which the mother plucks up Betty called "Broken dolls". With a surprisingly secure streak Betty has here again depicted two child formations under a gigantic, all powerful eye. For Betty they were without will and therefore without I; Because she drew them as dolls which are not living but instead are being moved mechanically. And Betty emphasized their lifelessness yet through describing those formations as "broken dolls".

"Well", I continue, "does Betty show besides her fear, her sleeping problems, rage attacks and her hate feelings towards her little brother yet further distinctive features?" The parents point towards problems with eating, she showed often strong feelings of disgust during meal times. She has constipation already since her infancy and she used a pacifier for a long time." (The pacifier was a diaper cloth). "And when did she stop using it?" "Around the fifth year. I remember", says Frau Bonsart, "I was very amazed after returning from a vacation that Betty had quit using the pacifier. The nanny had weaned her from it." "Weaned, possibly through prohibitions?" I ask back. "Using a pacifier is for the child a comfort, a substitute for something that she does not have. Maybe even for the absent mother." "Certainly this implies it", says Frau Bonsart, and with a deep sigh she adds: "But the children have never been alone, always was a nanny there." "Always the same one?" "Of course we had to sometimes exchange them, unfortunately they also were not always good. For example when Betty was 3 years old we had a seventeen year old girl. She was from a bad parental home, the father was an alcoholic. She stayed for two years. Betty once has said about her: >One must beat her and burn her.<" "And how many girls did you have in the meantime?" "Alltogether four...But I am also still much at home, I do have my practice, yet I work at home so that the children know that I am nearby."

"But when one practices such a profession like you do, having to think about paragraphs and rules, is then a disturbance not very burdening?" "That is what the problem is", replies Frau Bonsart spontaneously. "Also I often feel very torn. Then I just have to drive away sometimes, alone or with my husband together." "This I can understand", I notice, "then you return more recovered and more balanced. Yet the children are then alone with the nanny."

"But must one his entire life be there for the children from the morning to the evening?" asks the father. I wait for a while, leaving consciously this question standing longer in the room and then ask back: "How much time, how many hours have you had for Betty during this week?" Herr Bonsart leans back, he seems to think back, seems to honestly confront himself with this question and gives then the answer: "If I am honest,...none...I haven't seen her much." Nobody talks, a long pause developes. It is as if in this short time already something like a conscious awareness process arises, which is always painful, is always connected with a bit despair because through this simultaneously feelings of guilt come to life.

Then comes a comprehensive report of the mother about the course of pregnancy, birth and early development of the child. Through this no hints towards any brain damage could be found. Also both parents could not remember that any indications appeared towards inherited psychiatric illnesses in both families towards the grandparents. Besides constipation since earliest infancy Betty apparently has not had any child illnesses.

In this first talk the time goes by like during a flight. I look at the clock and I'm glad that I arranged a double hour. I wanted to hear still more about Betty, about the early infancy, about the early mother-child relationship which is crucial for whether the new born who is still turned away from life, gradually attains a positive turning towards life through the loving, giving mother. Because only like that can the infant find her primal trust for the environment and for herself and the drive towards flowering, the urge for life can win the upper hand in order to overcome the tendency towards regression, towards the wish to go back to the primal state into the womb. In Betty this tendency was certainly still strongly present otherwise she would barely have been able to paint so many embryo paintings, or better to say, she would not have "been driven" to paint, from which we are together viewing one closer up: It shows one embryo painted with black energetic lines, surrounded by red paint and still hanging on a long umbilical cord.

Also in the other embryo paintings reoccurs the long umbilical cord again and again. Betty has not "cut herself off" from the umbilical cord within her mind. She still has not found the liberating turning towards life without which the will to live can not overcome the death wish.

How could it come to that? "During the last month of pregnancy I found out", reports Betty's mother, "about the death of my stepmother who meant a lot to me. Through this I broke down physically and emotionally and suffered from depression. It could not come to the right joy about the child...I just had no strength and could also not nurse her. I was completely overwhelmed in the (her) first two years because I also had to take care of my father's household...only when Betty was nine month old I received my first household help. Certainly has Betty in her first year not received enough love from me, on the other hand I often went to the child because she gave me comfort during my bad mental state." "The child has therefore given you more than you gave her?" The mother remains silent.

We then get to the potty training. "Well, I already have started with this very early on", reports the mother with a certain pride. "At seven month I have set Betty on the potty. It appeared to be a relief for her because she suffered from constipation since the first day. Betty was therefore already very early potty trained...I believe already at one and a half years. However I still had to often spank her much later on because she started to fill her urin into the doll's cups and poured it over the rug."

"And how did the defiance phase look like?" I inquire. Spontaneously comes the answer: "In the defiance phase she still lives today...we both live in a permanent struggle with one another. It is almost always about clothing issues." "And how does such a struggle look like...can you give me an example?" "It has always been like that. When Betty was three years old - I still remember it like today -, we were on vacation in Mallorca and we wanted to travel with a little boat. Betty was supposed to wear a sailor's dress, but she preferred to wear an old pair of pants. During the whole traveling she screamed, clung to the pants of her father. She was just not able to be appeased. One could believe she was not normal anymore."

"And what did Betty now wear during the traveling, the sailor's dress or the pants?" "The sailor's dress of course!" Frau Bonsart continues: "But this strong resistance she still showed at four and a half years. During that age she only wanted to be a (Native American) Indian girl, wear Indian clothes, make herself Indian braids and decorate herself like an Indian. She revolted each time when she was supposed to wear a different pretty dress...But so it is also still today. We stood and stand in a permanent struggle about clothing questions."

I browse a bit along through her drawings and pull again a series of paintings up which give a deeper insight into the from the mother just discussed problem. Without words I am handing these paintings to the parents in order to wait if and how they understand Betty's shocking painting language. There hangs an Idian girl with long braids at the cross (painting at book cover). A further, thematically similar painting shows Betty as an Indian girl with chopped off hands on a blazing funeral pile stake.

We view now as three people quietly Betty's paintings. Then Frau Bonsart notes: "Where has she only seen all of this?" While the father often expresses his admiration for Betty's drawing talent, Frau Bonsart says: "Yes, Betty has very much imagination." "Maybe she wants to also describe her inner emergency through the paintings", I add. The father holds Betty's drawing in his hand. His facial expression changes and gives away a bit of worry: "Then would therefore be this crucified Indian girl a self portrait? Do you mean that?" "Your descriptions speak for it...Betty beats her head onto the floor, tears out her hair, so as if she wanted to destroy herself, you said it yourself."

We view now a whole series of paintings which all have the same shocking statement same as the drawings of the agonized Indian girls. There are from arrows pierced through trees, gigantic ocean monsters, sharks, crocodiles who all move towards left in the room with wide open mouths.

With great interest and a bit shocked view the parents now the paintings. "It is indeed noticeable", Herr Bonsart determines, "that the aggressive animals all move from right to left. Sits in this also an unconscious statement?"

"In the sense of symbolism left means the unconscious world, the >I<, and right means the conscious world, the >you<", I respond. "Thus would the attack from right to left be able to be interpreted as a sign of self destruction, as inward, against oneself directed aggression. As soon as the stagnation of aggression can be released in a treatment so that the aggression flows off, will Betty probably paint all of those aggressive animals from left to right. But maybe she might also quit the painting all together or at leat reduce it, because after the dissolution of the unconscious problems the symbolic statement would not be a pressing necessity for her anymore."

This indication on the other hand now appears to disquiet the father: "Quit the painting...that would be a pity. Will after all a psycho therapeutical treatment not have a negative effect on the person? Have not particularly all great works of art emerged through such a psychological pressure?" Now the mother intercepts: "But it is still much more important to become a happy child. When I think of my childhood, such a treatment would have been beneficial for me as well."

And now she spontaneously begins to talk about this. Those are experiences which maybe for the adult might be trivia, but for a child they could disturb, hurt so deeply that from this consequences could derive for the whole life that can not be overestimated. Her father was a great conductor to whom she however always just had a distant relationship. Her own mother she lost at the age of sixteen years. Frau Bonsart speaks then from a very restless childhood: "I had no option of growing roots; because each year we moved, each year began for me a new struggle with new strange cities and new schools, with new surroundings. As a child I was unusually small, yes straightout tiny. Dreadful it was for me - and these experiences are unforgettable for me -, when the teacher grabbed me with one hand, lifted me up like a doll, exposed me as the smallest of the school class and the other girls broke out into laughter. It was for me a shock. Their laughter was revolting for me as in general all that conduct of the girls who were able to just abreact their discomforts through bawling. I had to always struggle, I could not be the way they are, I hated the girls. Because of that it had become difficult for me to accept the role of the girl. I know that I have rebelled against it until my ninth year."

Only until the ninth year, I ask myself quietly. Had she not a few minutes ago said it herself: "We still live today in a permanent struggle with one another."? Is the unconscious motivation of this struggle not the same as in her childhood? What did she say? "I had to always struggle, I could not be the way they are, I hated the girls." Here surfaced one of her unresolved problems that still today - unconscious to her - determines her behavior towards Betty.

The mother becomes now during the reporting about her childhood experiences more and more animated. I can clearly notice that through the memory a reliving of old feelings is being implemented which she apparently had suppressed throughout many years into the unconscious. Now I realize why she already very early in her life had learned to set up her intelligence as a protective wall: In order to secure herself against painful feelings which she otherwise was not able to control.

The glances of the father are aimed sympathetically at his wife during the report. Maybe he also has his joy about her outer appearance. She is of svelte stature, has a normal middle height and appears in her smoothly cut suit like a youthful lad. Warm brown eyes animate her finely chiseled face. She has thick short hair and wears bangs. The couple matches well physically. Also the father is of slender leanly built stature. His facial expression is animated, full of sympathy, he radiates humor, is sometimes roguish. In the comparison to his wife he appears very spontaneous, animated and affective.

Not too often finds one for a child treatment such favorable prerequisites as here where the couple together voluntarily is present for a conversation, both without bashfulness "lay their cards onto the table" and also react in appropriate form when they alternatingly - accompanied by humorous self critique - pass each other "the joker".

Courage for such a poise is certainly given to them by this special atmosphere of a psychagogic interview in which everyone feels that he can be a human with all of his mistakes, in which it is not about guilt or innocence and where no moral guidelines are applied, in which after the abreaction of agitations and affects one is easier successful with the reinterpretation and objectification of ones own faulty attitudes, also because the unconscious knows at its deepest ground about the truth of those interconnections.

Thus can then gradually an inner transformation procedure in the depth carry itself out; The real mental- and imagination powers reach step by step the whole human, the sole reign of the intellect is being overcome, and the guidance out of the vicious cycle of the own justification can succeed.

The planned time for the first parent conversation approaches its end. The father however begins once again to talk about himself in a few sentences: "Don't you believe that much in Betty can also grow out by itself? What I want to say with this is that also I had tremendous inner difficulties as a child. I find myself often with all of my experienced fears, yes even with the temporary imagination of being crazy, again in Betty...For a long time", he continues, "I have lived with the belief to be the child of criminals. That was a tormenting thought, also because I did not dare to speak to anyone about this, because I thought that then everything would yet become much worse."

Herr Bonsart reports about his father who was a choleric and whose eyes almost squished out of his head during his scolding. "Who knows", he continues with a questioning hand movement, "if not also my exaggerated fun about speeding with the car is connected with all of those childhood fears?"

"And also your aggressions", adds his wife quickly, "which always arise during driving the car when another driver gets into your vicinity. I find this reaction cowardly because outside of the car you would not be hollering." With a mix of humor, seriousess and resistance the father makes known that he certainly with specific mannerisms goes on the nerves of his family, in particular also with his compulsion of keeping things in order which was even to him sometimes annoying.

"But I can't change it", he adds with a deep breath, "and try now to make the best out of it." The conversation switches then yet again briefly over to Betty. At age four Betty entered into Kindergarten. "Here showed Betty", says the mother, "difficulties to connect which she however knew how to bridge because she was able to seize the leadership role through abundance of phantasy and certain craft skills. I have often wished that she would not succeed with this because she would have otherwise hardly been able to dissolve her already developed uncomfortable character traits."

"You would therefore have rather seen", I ask back, "that Betty had in Kindergarten instead of the leadership role played a side role or even a submissive role? Then the same situation would have evolved as on Mallorca where Betty instead of her beloved pants had to wear the sailor's dress."

Towards this Frau Bonsart remains silent. The father however has very quickly understood the interconnections. He rubs is hands together a bit gleefully and says openly but still with a warmhearted tone: "Wifey, wifey, in this regard you have to change. This horrible power struggle between you has to stop if Betty is supposed to be helped." "This I also want." She lifts the arms and lets them fall again straightaway. "But this is awfully difficult; How can one change?" The treatment days for Betty are being arranged. Although the parents live twenty minutes away from Hamburg they are willing to bring Betty to me twice per week. By the way, the parents live on the seventh floor of a highrise building where business people have their office rooms, fashion- or photo studios. Also on the street can the child not play and finds no friends of her same age. Thus has Betty until the enrollment into the Kindergarten, therefore until the fourth year, spent the time of her "isolation" mainly with painting.

We speak then about a neurological examination of the child to which the parents have also given their consent. The school readiness evaluation Betty has already passed. In four weeks already shall she be enrolled. At the end of the visit the father glances at the drawings: "If you like to you are welcome to keep these here. After all this what we have learned about the few paintings today will these certainly facilitate still further insights for you."

"But what is that yet good for? What does it help", says Frau Bonsart, "when you can draw insights out of these paintings? I am interested to hear from you how you will make Betty healthy again. What happens anyway in such a treatment?" I suggest to the parents to go with me into the treatment room because one can there answer the question much more illustratively. Here the parents view things with much interest. While the father right away sits down on the swing, views the mother everything a bit more thoroughly: "This is a terrific and large play room...such a large chalk board...a Kasper theatre...a real stove on which one can cook...many toy games...and a large sand box...guns and boxing gloves with a punching ball...here a large doll house..." Frau Bonsart looks at me with a question: "The children are supposed to play here?"

I do not answer the question immediately, and the mother continues to look around. Now she begins to laugh: "But what do you have here, even a potty? Is there no toilet here?" "Yes that we have", I counter, "but when the child would like to once again sit on a potty then she can do that also." "But not a child of Betty's age? You certainly think of very small children?" "Not necessarily." "Yes and what have you here? A formula bottle? Shall the children actually drink out of that?"

"They shall nothing. Everything that you see here in this room is only an invitation. The child can, if she wants to spend time with it, play with it however way you want to call it that, but she will not be forced towards anything or in any way be influenced." "Yes and what do you do", asks the mother, "when the child now does nothing, when nothing happens?" "There is always something happening also when outwardly nothing is happening!"

The mother looks at me skeptically: "You must have an infinite patience!" "This has nothing to do with patience. No child would generate the necessary trust towards a merely patient attitude, and without trust therapy is not possible." "The trust will be already a very difficult thing with Betty", says Frau Bonsart. "But assumed it would work, how does this then proceed?"

"Then will a child go back, or as we say in the professional terminology, regress to earlier developmental stages where she suffered disturbencies, defects, frustrations. She will sort of set out onto a sleepwalking path towards the roots of her earliest diffculties in order to - maybe through the drinking out of the milk bottle or through the use of the potty or through the liberated play, the possibilities are infinitely many - reclaim the not fully lived through living phases. Through the after- and new experiencing pleasurable and also tormenting feelings that are connected to this can she then free herself again from the entrapment of those not healthy run through developmental phases."

"This is all very hard to understand", sighs Frau Bonsart. "Maybe I can demonstrate this better to you with an image. Imagine you got caught in the algae of the river's ground during the swimming through a river. This image represents the entrapment, the fixation onto earlier developmental stages, for example onto the oral phase. Then you would have difficulties to swim further in the river or to just keep above water. The regression - the walking back to earlier developmental stages - would then mean, in order to remain with this image - to dive through and to free oneself from the entanglement of the deeper growing plants, so that the whole energy can once again be given towards the swimming through the river, thus towards the mastering of your primary task."

"And the child knows how to find the path back?" asks the mother skeptically. "In the subconscious of the child this path is pre marked. Everything that the child is doing here, what she plays, happens however within the subjective feeling of freedom like in the dream which also doesn't obey any ruling yet obeys an urging inner necessity."

The father has now left the swing and motions for a departure. Then he remembes yet that Betty has a very strange preference for wobbly toy animals like spiders whose legs she tears out with a fascination. "A strange behavior is this", he mentions reflectively. The parents said good bye.

Excerpt from the result conclusion of the neurological examination

The behavior of the child during the examination was appropriate to the situation. The child was attentive and willing. She gave an open impression. The intelligence matched the age.

Conclusion:
The physical findings are regular. Neurologically no faults are found. The descriptions of the mother point to a tendency towards neurotic reaction mannerisms, mainly of phobic and anankastic nature.

Footnotes by Anneliese:
(Phobia: Extreme fear of certain things).
(Anankastic: Pathological compulsion. Not being able to suppress certain ideas. Having to execute certain actions even though one recognizes them as absurd.)

"Always, always must one be nice..."

In order to take away the feeling from Betty that she only comes to me because of the order of the parents I call her and invite her towards the first play hour. At the same time I also want to alleviate her with this call from the feeling of strangeness.

She does not react towards my address right away, but then breathed into the phone anyway after a pause: "Yes, my mother has told me about it." The first however very weak contact with Betty is created.

On the next day Betty is being brought by her mother to the first observation hour. A for her age normally tall, pretty grown girl with straight brown hair, pale face from which two large, fearful eyes glance at me shy sort of from the side. It becomes difficult for her to detach herself from her mother: "Mami, Mami, Mami", she whimpers at (her mother's) departure. "When do you come back?"...Where do you drive to?...Are you also going to pick me up again?"...Finally the mother can go.

We both stand alone in the play room, Betty with lowered head and hanging shoulders next to me. Silence fills the room. Finally she sits down on the rocking horse. After a while of slowly back- and forth rocking she asks quietly without looking up: "When does my Mami come back?" I point towards the large clock: "When the indicator stands here is your Mami back again."

I leave her time to calm herself through rocking. Yet a certain tension remains. With one ear she seems to always listen towards the outside. Then she pleads fearfully I shall close the window so that nobody can glance inside. During the back- and forth rocking she views the objects in the play room. I sit down on the swing opposite from her, and the mutual swinging helps to bridge the strangeness of this first encounter.

A whole while we remain thus in silence. She observes me, let's then wander her eyes further through the room, stays finally with a baby bottle that is standing in the shelf: "Can one also put milk into that?" "Yes!" I point towards a package of dried milk powder: "From this you can make milk for yourself." She sighs and pleads timidly: "Ach, make it for me please." I fill the bottle for her. "Also put this on it!" she says needy for help and points towards the pacifier mouth piece. With much pleasure she now drinks the milk while she rocks herself on the rocking horse. "You have it good...You can make such nice milk for yourself!"...

While she continues to observe me she says: "Ach, you are not so alien to me." Just to give her a small echo I reply: "Well, we also have already talked on the phone with one another." Suddenly there comes fear into her face again: "Who is walking past the door?"...Then shortly following: "Is there an evil man?"...A bit later: "What wants the evil man?" I prove to her each time though opening the door that nobody is there. She calms down again a bit. After a few minutes of further rocking she points towards a punching ball: "What is that?" "This is a ball for boxing", I answer and add: "When one wants to one can put on these thick leather gloves and box against it."

This throws her completey out of balance. With a whining voice she screams: "No, no, no...one must be nice, always, always must one be nice!" She waits for my confirmation. I pull doubting the shoulders a bit up: "When one can do it." Now even stronger alarmed she insists: "Always, always must one be nice!" "Well", I say, "there is day and night, dark and light, and there is also nice and mean."

My answer seems to be for her obviously uneasy. She leaves the rocking horse in order to turn away from me, walks over to the Kasper theatre, reaches for the crocodile and lets him carefully open his jaw.

I lay my hand into it. "No worries", she says, "he does not bite, he is tame!" "A tame crocodile?" I view her skeptically. "All, all animals are tame, also the wolf here", Betty answers and points towards a small wolf who stands in the midst of many objects, animals and persons in the opened Sceno Box.

(Footnote by Anneliese: With the help of the Sceno Box the socalled Sceno-Test is being implemented. It offers in concrete form an immediate insight into the inner soul mindset of the test person towards the humans and things in the world, particularly within their affective relations based on the specific regard towards deep psychological factors. The attractive healing power of the play test material is based on its invitation character to confront oneself with the next reference person in form of bendable dolls and of the multiple other material in a miniature world.)

"If you want to you could build something with this." Betty immediately goes to work on it. Into the middle of the 4 by 4 foot sized square she sets up initially a fur tree under which she lays the baby. With a fox and a gander (male goose) she then circles the baby. Towards this she says with a continuous hissing: "Now comes the mean fox creeping up."

Gander and fox stand here symbolically for her hate- and jealousy feelings towards the little brother. Afterwards she handles the toilet longer and she is happy that there is also a toilet brush to go along with it. She digs further in the Sceno Box, reaches for the crocodile and reports that she has a wobbly spider and many wobbly animals at home. "Ach", she says, "I like them so much...I have torn their legs out...just torn out, because they have bothered me." Her voice becomes again a bit hissing.

Then she reaches for the large cow, views her a little bit and sets her also up into the remote corner of the square. The crocodile that was already set up at the side she sets up directly in front of the cow and says: "Huuuuu, this becomes dangerous now."

The cow is a mother symbol, the crocodile on the other hand represents Bettys own aggressions. Betty thus confirms here her behavior towards the spider animals. She now signals that through this the construction is finished. Towards my question: "Where are you in this play?" comes the answer: "I am not there!"

After that she sits down on the rocking horse again. The back- and forth rocking seems to be beneficial for her. In order to have a few further test questions answered I am in this first hour more active than usual. Thus I reach now for the Kasper puppet and let the Kasper turn towards Betty: "A child wakes up, screams and says: >I had a bad dream.< What may she have dreamed about?"

Betty relates this question immediately to herself. She becomes very excited and answers: "I always dream very, very horribly...about ghosts and evil spirits." She begins to stammer: "I was with the Mami...we stood in front of something dark...under a bridge...there was a dark figure, and I was so terrified...very, very evil eyes he had..." then with whimpering voice: "I am so afraid of evil eyes...always, always in the dream I am afraid."

The report about this dream seems to have agitated her very much. She rocks more vigorously, and I leave her until the next question a bit time. The Kasper asks then once again: "A child says: "I have such horrible fear." What may she be afraid of?"

This question she also immediately picks up personally: "I am afraid of doors...of evil men...that burglars come and do something evil to me." Suddenly she looks with an inquisitive, suspicious glance straight into the eyes: "When you are now not even Frau Ude?...When you now are an evil man and have only bewitched yourself into Frau Ude?"

In her girl like, fine face shows a nervous grimacing. I further notice that her left iris sinks down. She gives an exhausted impression. "You mean "bewitched", I say, "like in a fairy tale?" "Yes, that's what I mean", she answers. "That you must now find out yourself, same as in the fairy tales. There are also good and evil fairies. The evil fairies bewitch someone, and the good fairies help to become free again from that magic."

Nervously she continues to rock on her horse back and forth. Even though the milk bottle has already been finished, she often puts the mouth piece into her mouth. She views me and then says finally: "I believe that you are a good fairy...But sometimes it is also witches in fairy tales who bewitch someone." "Yes, that exists", I answer, "and then one must...in the fairy tale...often run through a large forest for a long time, be very courageous and overcome many dangers, until one becomes freed again from this magic."

She breathes very deeply: "Must this be difficult..." Unexpectedly comes after that immediately the question: "May I now come more often to you?" "Yes, Betty, if you want to." "And what will we do then in here?" "Everything that you feel like doing. You, Betty, decide what we play with one another...We could cook, dig in the sand, kneading clay, paint, play Kasper theatre and many other things that make you happy."

"And will I then come all alone to you, no other child as well?" "This hour belongs to you all alone." Now she gets up from her rocking horse, claps her hands and exclaims: "Must that be nice, I am coming all, all alone to you, no other child." She runs to the dinner table on which stands one container filled with candy. "May I also take some from this?" she asks timidly. "Also this you may, Betty."

She takes timidly first one, then two candies out and says: "I need soooo desperately candy, soooo desperately, but my Mami does not buy me any, she says that eating candy was not good for the teeth. But I need them soooo urgently...Can you make it that candies rain from the sky?"

"Like in the paradise", I answer, "where one can eat through a gigantic mountain of sweets." And right away the phantasy erupts out of her what all one can eat in the paradise: Gigantic mountains of chocolate, bonbons, Marzipan...she sighs: "Must that be nice in the paradise."

I point towards the clocks arrow: "Look, Betty, in a few minutes is the time over." "And when will I come back?" "You will come twice a week, on every Tuesday and Friday." "Therefore tomorrow already?" "No, tomorrow is Saturday and then comes Sunday..." "And then I come back", she cuts me off. "No, Betty, then will still come the Monday at first and then the Tuesday, and that is the day on which you come back." She begs: "Why can't I come tomorrow?" "Only twice a week, Betty, and that is on every Tuesday and Friday." "And then only us two play with one another? No other child as well?" "Only we both alone, Betty! But now you have to go." The mother is already waiting outside. I leave both alone, but still listen how the mother asks a bit distraught: "Why are you tearing your hair out, Betty?"

Children whose relationship towards the own I, towards the own body is dull, who have the feeling to not entirely exist, do sometimes develop the symptom of tearing out the hair in order to intensify the (previously) lost body feeling with the pain, in order to feel oneself, to experience oneself. But at the same time the hair tearing is an aggressive behavior that is addressed against the own body with which from the unconscious suppressed aggressive motions are meant to be conquered.

Spontaneously the last words of the father come back to my mind: "Betty has a very strange preference for spiders whose legs she tears out with a fascination...A strange behavior is this", he said thoughtfully. And also Betty reported about a wobbly spider whose legs she tore out because she was upset about them.

I get myself the box with Betty's paintings and find many drawings of such spider type of animals with long tentacles. Betty said towards one of those according to one of her father's foot notes: "This is an animal who chops the trees off." Towards another one: "This is a terrible animal with a chopped of tree root."

The tree has been since time immemorial the symbol for the human and for the human developmental process. One of many examples is the life tree.

A further painting impresses me in particular: Betty called it "A woman painting". It is striking that she laid two gigantic red tentacles around this black painted armless woman painting, which practically dominate the whole painting and thus leave the squeezed into the right corner, constricted armless figure no movement space. Without doubt stands this figure exactly like the chopped off tree for Betty's own self. What the mother said in the first parent's conversation: "We live in a permanent struggle with one another", applies equally to Betty's attitude towards her mother: In the pleasure to tear out the spider's legs Betty expresses unconsciously her struggle against the negative mother aspect. The spider namely counts as a feminine symbol. Therefore without integrating the mother closely into the treatment I would certainly not be able to help Betty very much.

"There are rats...who dig, sometimes they are also in the attic or in the cellar..."

The Tuesday is there and therefore the second treatment hour for Betty. Without words she walks to the swing right away in order to swing herself on it back and forth. She remains silent. I sit down opposite of her onto a more remotely standing bench. I notice clearly that a spatial distance between us is still necessary.

She swings silentely, the head hangs a bit down, in her facial expression appears a strong inner strife. It is important to not disrupt the phases of silence with secondary questions, with such I would hinder Betty from walking the own paths that are guided by the unconscious.

Finally she begins: "We came too late...we always, always come too late, and I wanted so much to come very early to Frau Ude." Her voice has something defiant. I look towards the clock: "You are coming to the minute in time, Betty." She swings more vigorously. "One has combed me pretty...my mother has said that you did not like me if I was not combed pretty." She looks at me. "I always like you Betty the way you are whether well or poorly combed whether sad or happy."

"Always would you like me...even if I did once something bad?" "Also then as well because one can not always be nice." A pause arises again. "What will all the other many kids in the city say?" Well aware that her strong jealousy, her fear of loss, causes this question I ask back: "What do you mean with this Betty?" "There are so many little childen in the city...when they now all come to you?" I hesitate a bit with the answer and already it breaks out of her: "I don't want it that yet other children are coming...Do the children also come when I am here?" "When you have your hour will no other child come, Betty!" "Only I alone am then here?" "You don't have to share your hour with anyone." "You would also not let anyone in?" she reaffirms herself further. "I would let nobody in, Betty." "Could you also lock the door?" "If you want it I could also do that." "That is good, then we both are here all by ourselves."

She jumps out of the swing and discovers the long chain of candy that is hanging down from the ceiling. "It rains candy from the sky just as I had wished for it." She tears them all like crazy down from the ceiling and full of delight scrapes them all together into a mountain. "And now we want to binge a whole lot...and cake we want to bake." She runs into the cooking corner: "Semolina pudding I want to cook...but not eat...I feel so disgusted about food...I just want to play with mud, real muddy playing."

She walks to the sand box, pours timidly water over it, lets sand trickle through the hand. Something spills. She got startled and asks: "Can one here also make something dirt?" "That you can do, Betty." Now she reaches for the Earth clay. I sit also with her and she begins to dig into the mud. I join in and we both queeze "mud sausages" as she describes it, out of our hands. The mud playing appears to be making her happy.

Then she forms a rat and sets her on to the upper rim of the sand box. Suddenly she glances distraught on to her muddy hands. Feelings of disgust come over her, she is unhappy and rushes towards the sink in order to bring herself back into balance through a long cleaning procedure. There she stands now with wet hands in front of me. A new problem arises: "With what should I dry my hands with?" she whines.

The stack of clean towels fills her equally with disgust feelings. She smells on each one of the towels and tosses them away repulsed. She is despaired. Then finally she can get herself to dry her hands with Kleenex tissues. She sets herself again into the swing. The back and forth swining seems to always help her. She remains silent...foot steps past the window worry her. I have to verify whether the doors and windows are closed.

Then she begins to speak again: "There are rats...who live under the Earth...they dig...sometimes they are also in the attic or in the cellar!" "Yes, that exists, Betty." She continues: "It is bad when rats are in the house." "It must be bad, Betty, when rats are in the house." It is clearly noticeable how good this all on the level of the unconscious conducted dialogue is for her. Without euphemism she must learn from me that I can empathize how bad it must be when rats are in the house.

The rats stand for the destructive, aggressive; In the house means as much as in the own self. The rats must trouble Betty very much. I remember a drawing from her in which a gigantic rat runs from right to left through a head. >Rat inside ghost< Betty called this painting. And at the beginning of the hour Betty has formed a rat out of Earth clay as the first animal.

"It is bad when rats are in the house." Kept inside they turn destructively against one self: Betty beats her head against the floor, tears out her hair as if she wanted to inflict pain on herself. If one lets them out they destroy others and with that grows the fear of love loss, the fear of falling into the deep abyss of abandonment. Particularly a child like Betty must be afraid of it, who was not able to build up primal trust towards herself and her surroundings during the early infancy.

Immersed into those thoughts I hear Betty say: "I feel so overheated." She brushes with her hand over her forehead. "I sweat always so easily", and already she begins to strip off dress and socks. Fear makes one overheated; there also help no tranquilizers which Betty had been prescribed in the past. Again she sits down in the sand box and mumbles towards herself while she lets a bit of sand drisel through her hands in an unmotivated way.

Then she digs a deep hole into the sand: "There is bog, into that sink the humans...and then the corpses always remain lying deep down." "Yes", I answer, "there is bog, but there are also very firm paths which lead across the bog and when one has found those then one can not sink into it anymore." She looks at me. Fear is showing in her face. "Where did you see the bog?" I ask, and Betty reports that she once was with her Mami in the museum and there she had seen this bog.

Typical how with this fear ridden child among the many things that can be viewed in a museum, specifically the impression of the bog which engulfs everything, has remained in the memory. She also has expressed her fear of being devoured in a drawing: At the left side, the side of the unconscious, is a terrifying head with a wide open mouth which is being attacked by a crocodile. The head resembles one of the three Gorgons from the Greek mythology, a female horror face whose looks can make people petrified. Through a long band which can be seen as an umbilical cord, two children are intertwined into this dramatic scenario. In the upper corner appears again the death. The psychological drama which is being depicted here in this image would be way too flat and superficially interpreted if one only saw the struggle in it between the personal mother and the child. Here a death fear is being displayed, a fear of being devoured, of sinking into the primal abyss, for which in the childlike imagination the as the grandmother disguised wolf in the fairy tale Little Red Ridinghood is such a fitting image.

The second play hour is almost done. "Look at the clock, Betty, we only have two minutes left." A bit spaced out she stands up, puts on dress and socks and walks to the dining table corner. She holds the long chain of candy in her hands. Over her face rushes a smile: "May I take them with me?" "They were meant for you, Betty." While she is walking out she says: "And now I live from candy lozenge to candy lozenge until I come back." "And already very soon, Betty."

Phone call from Betty: "I don't want to sleep anymore!"

On Thursday morning rings the phone already very early in my home. "Hello, here is Frau Ude." No reply. "Who is there, please?" Then I hear a screaming, a shattering childlike crying. It is Betty. She can barely talk. Deep despair speaks out of her gibberisch: "It is so bad, soooo bad, Frau Ude...I always dream so horribly...of spectres and very evil ghosts." She cries and cries; in between she wrestles out for herself several fragmented remarks: "It will never, never, never again become better, I always have to dream so horribly, and then I report about it, and then I have to yet again dream so badly...and then I have to always think about it...and thus it keeps on going. I don't want to sleep anymore."

She can not continue to talk, she sobs and needs time in order to recover herself a bit. Then comes the question: "Can you not help me, Frau Ude?" "Most certainly, Betty. It comes the day on which you do not have to dream of evil ghosts again. Most, most certainly." Now she can already ask different questions: "Can I not already come to you today? Please, please!" "You already know, Betty, on every Tuesday and Friday you have your hour. Tomorrow you can therefore already come, and then we both play with one another." I hear a deep sigh: "I am so jealous of Frau Ude...but I am coming all by myself to you." "You have your hour all alone just for yourself, Betty." Her agitation seems to have subsided a bit, but I still build her a bridge: "You can also always call me if you like to just like now." "Yes", she says, "Lisa has the phone number." "Has Lisa also just dialed the number for you?" "Yes, Lisa has done that." When you are coming tomorrow, Betty, then we both practice how you can all alone dial the number, it is very easy." She does not answer. "Shall we do it this way, Betty?" "Yes", answers a quiet voice.

I have to take over the farewell, for this she does not have the strength. But she herself has found a rescuing anchor which she can cast out while calling for help when too large fears threaten to flood her. In this phone call she has for the first time addressed me with "Du". (Du is the German personal form of You. We have two forms, one is formal, the other one is personal.) She then kept it this way during the entire treatment time.

"Brush your hair out of your face!"

The Friday is there and Betty is arriving on time. She squeezes something into my hand: "This I have baked for you." Two death heads and one skeleton. Then she lays herself with her body into the swing, head, arms and legs hang down. She swings herself quiety back and forth and begins then to spit onto the ground. This lasts for quite a while. She seems to want to free herself with this from unconscious disgust feelings. Then she sits upright into the swing, observes me and says: "Brush your hair out of your face!" In further back and forth swinging come then remarks like: "You never wear pants!...Next time wear pants!"

In the manner of her talking one notices that behind this hides a problem. I don't answer. She already swings back and forth more agitated. Then it comes: "I also don't like pants very much."...Her facial expression darkens: "But my mother has forced me today to wear these pants...I believe that my mother does not want you to like me." She looks at me continuously, waits certainly for an answer which I however don't give her. Words, explanations can sometimes liberate, but in this case they only confine. She needs to sense about my way of listening, how I look at her, that I fully understand her.

Now she continues: "But you always like me no matter what I wear." "Yes, Betty, I like you the way you are." While she continues to swing she talks quietly as if to herself that she was so tired today. In her face appear again nervous spasms. The left iris drifts off. She gives the impression of complete absence. Then she asks for the baby bottle. I shall again fill milk into it and attach the pacifier lid. She puts it into her mouth and nurses with half closed eyes. And in the back and forth rocking she whispers: "I am a baby."

I alway pay close attention to spatial distance between us both. Too close of a proximity seems to trouble her. Thus it works for a good while. We don't talk. Basically nothing happens on the outside that could be noticed, but yet infinitely much: She can let herself fall all the way to the earliest infancy and through this in tiny steps, through the fulfillment of not sufficiently satisfied earliest needs, she can gradually free herself again from the attachment to earlier developmental phases. The psychological energies which are being freed through this are then going to be helpfully standing for her use towards this long developmental process that she is yet to master. Gradually she is becoming calmer, and a content smile rushes off and on over her face. Finally she can get herself to leave the swing, sets then the baby bottle into the shelf and decides: "We play birthday now. It is Frau Ude's birthday, and I visit you." Very enthusiastically she now begins to wrap up beautiful presents for me. Phantasy presents she wraps up into colorful paper, ties them with little bands, sticks colorful feathers into it which she just tears out of the Indian head decoration, hangs candy onto it and comes now with the Kasper puppets to congratulate. While she then also decorates the little rocking horse with colorful bands onto which she also hangs candy, she exclaims happily: "This here is our house...We are here all by ourselves, and always is Frau Ude kind." She brings to congratulate also the wolf and the crocodile. Almost invokingly she ingresses into my head: "Also to these animals you must always be kind." "Also when they are mean to me?" She becomes enthusiastic: "They are never mean, never, never, they are always nice." Then she lays the wolf and the crocodile on to the table. "Don't be afraid, they don't hurt you...I will feed them well, then they don't need to eat humans." She gets the baby bottle and gives the wolf milk to drink. She brushes again with the hand over her forehead: "I sweat so much - also yesterday - there I have undressed all the way naked ...then my mother hollers...she says I would then become sick." Joltingly she pulls off sweater and shoes.

Now she jumps through the room, sits down at the dining room table and is happy about the candy. But most of them she does not like. She smells on every lozenge, expresses disgust feelings and begins now to sort out: The ones she does not like, her brother Sebastian shall have, the few others she tucks into her little purse. Then she becomes again very active: "I still have to do much, much today, I have to wash." She massively pours soap powder into the sink, collects everything somewhat washable, declares it as dirty laundry and begins now to wash with strong ardency. It is noticeable that during this she speaks much of Sebastian who was together with Lisa going to pick her up and for whom she also still needed to cook something nice. The washing becomes gradually an agonizing procedure. She moans that the laundry does not become really clean, she laments that the spots remain and she can not come to an end. Betty is despaired and even more when I point towards the time coming to an end in 5 minutes. She complains and pleads: "Let me stay longer, please, please; I still have to make everything beautiful for Sebastian." I repeat that only 5 minutes of time is left. Now she can finally detach herself from the laundry washing and lunges immediately into the preparations for Sebastian. "Nice sweet soups he shall receive." She tears many packages open, pours all in exorbitant amounts into a pot, fills also the baby bottle, decorates the little table, lays into his little chair a cushion and onto the floor a soft fur. "He shall have it very nice."

Betty is turning within a vicious cycle. In the compulsory, agonizing laundry washing and in the effort of pampering the brother sits the wish to free herself through this from unconscious guilt feelings towards him. Only when she has worked out her serious existential fears she will not feel threatened any more by the brother. Through this will then also the hate and guilt feelings begin to subside, and the path to a real sister and brother love becomes cleared.

Everything moves in a wind's rush, and already come Lisa and Sebastian to pick Betty up. It appears better to me to say farewell now in order to not become involved into a scene which would have forced me to be partial to this or that person. While during everyday life the rules are to be obeyed which at all facilitate the communal living, become those in the therapy - at least partially - deactivated in order to enable the psychological liberation of the patient.

Throught the opened door I can unperceivedly follow the closing scene from a remote corner: Sebastian does not want to drink anything from the "sweet soups". Betty is disappointed. But she does not give in, tries to force other sweets on him. To no avail. As the last attempt she wants to wedge the baby bottle with the mouth piece into his mouth. This endeavor fails totally. When Betty then for comfort shoves the mouth piece into her own mouth, Lisa remarks: "This one Sebastian does not take anymore, for this he is already too big." This note hits Betty hard. A bad scene follows. Despaired she screams: "I am not a baby, I am not a baby...always, always only Sebastian." Lisa tries to comfort her. Without success: Under heavy complain howling Betty leaves the house with Lisa and Sebastian.

"If now comes an evil man who shoots arrows into Cille's belly you must not scream loudly because otherwise the police comes..."

Betty comes once again in time to the appointment. In the hand she swings a small bag...She is happy that we both wear a Dirndle dress. She stays in front of me, glances at me only fleetingly and says as once before: "Brush your hair out of your face." Determined she then walks to the diningroom table, unpacks the little bag that is filled with chocolate and lozenges and says: "This I have brought with me today...my mother said you were poor and I was not supposed to take so much candy from you." She looks at me enquiringly: "Is that true, are you poor?" "No, Betty, I am not poor. Your mother must not know this very accurately, but now you can tell her." "May I then further cook at your place?" "Just as usual, Betty." "And also take candy home?" "You can do that." She is relieved. "How nice", she calls out, "I do need so urgently something sweet", and she is already in the cooking corner, tears open in wild voracity all bags in order to rejoice over a gigantic mountain of raisins, oates, dried milk and raspberry juice. While she is delightfully stirring around in this she says: "Yet much, much higher should the mountain be."

The neurotic wish for sweets, overall the unrestrained wanting shows how much Betty must have been left unsatisfied in her oral developmental phase. She is therefore still strongly fixated onto this first developmental phase of the infant.

For the first time she likes the taste of the oats particularly well which she is stuffing with full hands into her mouth. With one eye she blinks into the sceno box. Many, many things she would like to have given to her out of it: The beautiful red carbuncle gemstone, the animals, small cups and so on. Everything she wants to have. She wants to plunder the play room. "From this you can not take anything with you, Betty, all toys have to stay here." She does not let off, she begs and negotiates. I don't agree to anything. But in order to give her a vent for the backed up, upshooting wishes I suggest a wishlist ordering to me. Until the next hour I would then think through what from this I could give to her. Now the watergates open up. She dictates me into the pen: "A small Christamas tree, a carbuncle gemstone, a whistle, an angel, chicks, snowmen, necklaces, rings, little monkeys and lozenges, lozenges in every amount." A whole page is filled with wishes. "Have you also written it all down correctly?" she asks anxiously. "Yes, Betty!" "Read it back to me once again." She listens devotionally and visibly satisfied, so as if she had already been given everything. Then she lays both of her little hands on top of each other onto the table, bends her head and squeezes her forehead on it.

What is going on in her? "I have to tell you something", she begins and remains in the bent posture. "Last night I have again dreamed something very, very bad...there was a large candle...and a giant finger grabbed onto that, and from this large finger branched off yet another terrifying finger...I was so afraid...this was a very bad dream", she groans.

Just now something scratches at the door. It is my little dog, a Cocker Spaniel. Betty loves dogs and insists that "Cille" comes in. Cille immediatly throws herself onto her back in front of me, rolls around on the soft fur and wants me to pet her belly. Betty watches. "Is this a boy or a girl?" "A girl, Betty, you can see this here by the many little nipples." Betty views those for a while in complete silence. Then she becomes again agitated and says, while she looks at me fearfully: "If now comes an evil man who shoots arrows into Cille's belly you must not scream!" "Then I shall not scream?" "No, no, no", she sputters, "then you must not scream because otherwise the police will come!" "So you don't want that the police will come, Betty?" "No, no the police must not come, they will otherwise ask who has done that." "And this we don't want to say, Betty?" I ask back with emphasized inquisitive voice. "No, no, no she screams and falls silent after that. I also don't force her any further. She gives the impression as if suddenly she became disconnected.

I sit down into the paint corner, handle drawing pad and color pens. Maybe she latches onto this opportunity to once again highlight her unconscious problem through painting. It does not take long at all, there she sits down at the table as well and paints a yellow sun. "She is very hot and the rays are evil fingers, all are evil fingers." "Just as in your dream, Betty?" She does not answer. I view the sun and say casually: "They could also be arrows...The sun shoots arrows into the Earth." She does not react to this, either. The fear problem which she expressed in the dream, in the dog story and in the sun is completely unconscious in her. She can actually not say anything about it, either. Therefore I do not try to elicit any further information from her.

Restlessly and indecisively she wanders through the room. She listens agains towards the outside: "Who walks past?" She is afraid that someone could glance through the windows. Then she taps loosely with her forefinger onto the baby bottle: "Big girls are not allowed to drink out of the baby bottle anymore, said Lisa." The bad ending of the last hour she has therefore not forgotten. "But here they are allowed to, Betty, here they are even allowd to, if they want to, be a baby." I shall now again fill her baby bottle, attach the mouth piece onto it, with which she then swings back and forth in the swing while drinking the milk. When the clock sounds and with it announces the end of the hour, she becomes very restless. She does not want to go yet. The drinking from the mouth piece merges into a despaired, biting character. Questions are coming: "Why can I not stay any longer?...Why can I not come every day?" She runs to the dining room table in order to take with her raisins, oates and lozenges. I offer her a small plastic bag for carrying. She smells on it, throws it away. "It stinks, don't you have a different one?" Every new, immaculently clean bag causes the same disgust reaction. Finally she finds a solution. She lifts her dress in order to carry in it all the things. She looks at me a bit awkwardly while doing this: "I need it so urgently and you are not poor, Frau Ude?" "No, I am not, Betty." "And don't forget my wish list!" "From that you will on Friday find something on the table." "Don't forget it!" "For sure not." "On Friday I am coming back!" "Every Tuesday and Friday you are coming to me." "And talking on the phone with you I can always do if I want to?" "You can always call me, Betty." Finally she can separate herself.

I stay behind worried and reflectively. Then I take Betty's sun painting once again into my hand. The sun is a male symbol, a symbol of creating power. The sun rays penetrate into the Earth: The Earth is a female symbol. Note worthy is that in all Roman languages the name for sun has a male gender. One also speaks of the sun god.

The rays of this sun Betty calls evil fingers. The resemblance of these evil fingers with a penis jumps straight into the eye. The problem that comes here into expression draws itself also through Betty's dream of the large candle with horrible finger and rings equally in Betty's remark after Cille's appearance: "An evil man comes and shoots arrows into Cille's belly." Everywhere the fear of the penetration of the penis into a female body.

And where does her fear of the police come from? The police stands for the Over I or the conscience, for fear of punishment. And fear of punishment one has with large guilt feelings, even when one is not conscious of them at all. One calls the police also the eye of the law. Betty's fear of evil eyes has it's roots in the same problematic as her in the dog experience expressed fear of the police. The same fear we find in the painting "Ghost bites child into blood", and in the painting "Girl's Head" in which a long arrowlike streak penetrates into it's jaw.

I browse once again in the protocols which I immediately write down after each therapy hour. Two hours she started with the same note: "Brush the hair out of your face!" What does she only want to say with that? I can not wear my hair more strictly out of my forehead than I am doing it...Strange!...But Betty's mother wears bangs. Betty therefore sees something from the unconscious that in reality does not exist at all: Bangs on my forehead.

In Betty seems to already loom a fear, the fear of the carrying over of her negative mother feelings onto me. She is afraid of that, and therefore she sees something from the unconscious which in reality does not exist at all. She still courts me, brings me bouquets of flowers and birthday presents; but already she says almost conjuringly: "You must always be nice, also to the mean animals like wolf and crocodile", as if she already foreboded her soon breaking through aggressions against me.

"Always, always do I have to wear what I don't want..."

When Betty steps through the door her glance falls initially on to my shoes: "Why do you wear such open shoes?" she criticizes. "It is raining today...there one wears closed shoes!" Determined she walks to the swing in order to swing herself back and forth. While doing that she looks at her pants. Then it bursts out: "I actually wanted to wear a yellow pants today but my mother insisted on the red one." One clearly notices her increasing anger, her face blushes...

"Always, always do I have to wear what I don't want" screams it out of her, "and that angers me." She swings agitatedly back and forth and looks at me with wrathful eyes. There was however no question in her anger outbursts, and thus I keep myself fully passive. Gradually she swings calmer again. "Have you thought about my wish list?" "Look onto the dining room table, Betty." She is there in a flash and calls out: "The little Christmas tree you have bought for me which I had wished for so much. I knew it, I knew it, you have not forgotten it." She takes it into the hand and turns herself with it in circles. "And what kind of sweets do you have? Popped rice, for the first time popped rice!" She calls full of enthusiasm and is already snacking. "From this you must always buy me very many bags!" While she is still chewing she remembers what she wants to do today: "We want to cook pudding, for Sebastian and my mommy, this they love to eat. Fast, fast, we must not lose any time."

She is already in the cooking corner. While she again wastefully tears open all bags, indiscriminately mixes pudding powder, oats, sugar, raspberry juice and milk powder and bedazzles herself particularly about the amount while stirring, she commands: "You only do now what I tell you!". And already come the orders. But everything, yes everything I do wrong. When I defend myself she says: "Don't interfere. Decorate the table now...Take off your work jacket, I can't stand this one..." Then it continues: "No, There goes the couch chair, no, There the candle, no, There the bowl, and from this fork eat only my mommy and myself. You are not allowed to eat from my fork." When I am getting seated opposite of her at the table she screams at me: "Get up, you are only allowed to get seated when I tell you to!"

When we are happily sitting at the table I am being dictated what I may eat. As I reach from my own decision once again for the bowl she tears it out of my hand. She rages: "Only when I tell you then you may take some." During this she tips over the milk bottle. She scolds: "Now I have to get up again and get a rag. But this is now the last time!" As I then incidentally tip over the candle which falls into the pudding bowl she downright inflames and berates me with furious eyes like an old hag.

In my therapy room is pretty much everything even a night potty which stands on the lower level of the shelves not so noticeably visible but Betty has discovered it. She already has it in her hand and says: "We make ourselves now our room toilet." Then she sets interchangeably the wolf and the crocodile on it and commands: "You have to now first of all make a proper business!" Then she acts as if she drew on the toilet flushing, "Shshsh" she adds to this. "And now I set myself on it", she says then with very determined voice. She has "built" the toilet into a corner so that she can lean herself against the wall very comfortably (while sitting on the potty).