You do not currently have permission to view the full text for this document. Please sign in to an account with an active subscription or contact support.
Budapest, November 13, 1916
Grand Hôtel Royal
Nagyszálloda
Dear Professor,
I already wanted to let the drying out of my inkwell serve as an excuse for the further postponement of letter writing; but it occurred to me that this drying out is itself a symptom, and therefore useless as an explanation. So, I am writing—if only with lead.1
I am going—to tell you the most onerous things right away—through tormenting times. Initially only psychically—but for some time the affects have again found their way to corporeality. (Accentuation of the Basedow symptoms. Breathing disturbances one-two times a night.)
Externally the situation is such that Gizella is letting out her (ucs.) revenge on me in the form of answering my now honestly intended offer of marriage with the senseless consideration that she must first be assured of Elma's future in America and await her return home.
It is not uninteresting—and speaks in favor of the correctness of your interpretations—, that I first reacted to this with symptoms—and not with anger. The symptoms are therefore certainly substitute gratifications. (Identification with Géza?) Gradually, however, the symptoms proved to be no longer capable of bearing the load, and Frau G. has to bear wild and passionate outbreaks from me. I recognize in them the (at the time suppressed) outbreaks of rage against my mother, whom I loved in vain.
Frau G.'s refusal is thus at least good to the extent that my analysis can be deepened by it.
Unfortunately, I am making little use of this opportunity—that already belongs to the chapter “incapacity for work.” This latter symptom still dominates me completely—except for the analysis in practice, in which I can demonstrate the most beautiful successes. But that means: just do one's duty (and that, thoroughly)—but nothing beyond it. Totally the way I worked in school back then.—
Two brief dream analyses: “I spit raspberry- or more like cherry-colored blood, a little cake of blood.” “But it isn't tuberculosis.”
Interpretatio