SUNDAY, JANUARY 2, 1944

Dearest Kitty,

This morning, when I had nothing to do, I leafed through the pages of my diary and

came across so many letters dealing with the subject of "Mother" in such strong terms that I was shocked. I said to myself, "Anne, is that really you talking about hate? Oh, Anne, how could you?”

I continued to sit with the open book in my hand and wonder why I was filled with so much anger and hate that I had to confide it all to you. I tried to understand the Anne of last year and make apologies for her, because as long as I leave you with these accusations and dont attempt to explain what prompted them, my conscience wont be clear. I was suffering then (and still do) from moods that kept my head under water (figuratively speaking) and allowed me to see things only from my own perspective, without calmly considering what the others -- those whom I, with my mercurial temperament, had hurt or offended -- had said, and then acting as they would have done.

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