“Seth material” search engine (Jane Roberts)

(11:12 AM.) Last night (Jane said) I felt great when Robbie kissed me, and actually I slept quite well, both in my chair and bed. I felt fairly hopeful this morning, for example, yet now I feel quite sad again (with a tremolo), and I feel as if I want to express myself—but when I try there is some strange block.

She called me all kinds of names. (Long pause.) I tried to understand but felt half-doped—indeed. Maybe even half-duped, because I could never figure out when her crying outrage, her screaming anguish, were real expressions of nearly unbearable moments, or when she was acting. She could do that too.

It must have taken something for me, at 21, to leave her that summer. She attempted suicide again, this time by taking an overdose of phenobarbital. Instead of making her sleepy, however, it turned her into someone wild: she yelled and shouted and tried to get out of bed. I was afraid she’d fall on the floor. She was taken directly to the hospital when I called the doctor, and I went back home to that odd, nervous house that felt strangely vacant with her presence gone. I packed my clothes.