Exhibit 3197

“I am to gratify his pleasure and nurse his child, I am a piece of household furniture, I am a woman. I try to suppress all human feelings. When the machine is working properly it heats the milk, knits a blanket, makes little requests and bustles about trying not to think […].“

She wrote this when she was 19, one year into her marriage to Leo and as she was pregnant with the first of his 13 children.

A few years later, when she was 25 or so:

“I am so often alone with my thoughts that the need to write in my diary comes quite naturally … Now I am well again and not pregnant—it terrifies me how often I have been in that condition. He said that for him being young meant “I can achieve anything”. For me […] reason tells me that there is nothing I either want or can do beyond nursing, eating, drinking, sleeping, and loving and caring for my husband and babies, all of which I know is happiness of a kind, but why do I feel so woeful all the time, and weep as I did yesterday? I am writing this now with the pleasantly exciting sense that nobody will ever read it, so I can be quite frank with myself […].“

During her 12th pregnancy she wrote about taking scalding baths and jumping from high pieces of furniture to try and miscarry.  And at one point while reading her husband’s diary (which he told her to read) she found the sentence “There is no such thing as love, only the physical need for intercourse and the practical need for a life companion.” In her own diary she wrote “They ebb and flow like waves, these times when I realise how lonely I am and want only to cry…”

Here, my dog and I really wished a man was there to tell us how to use the boat. The peace and quiet almost made us sink.

Here, a man was sorely needed to mansplain how to grow food. I was actually trying to grow potatoes. I don't know what happened. Maybe a man can explain it to me.

Back on the boat. I fell and there was no man to rescue me. So I died.

No man proposed to me on this romantic bridge. So I jumped.

My life has no purpose. I'm sad sad sad.

Where's my man to repair the bike for me? I had to walk home. I am bitter. And lonely. And dead.

Faced with this spectacular view, all I could think was: I need a man's strong arms to warm me up. All is emptiness. I left immediately. I slipped, though. And died. Because there were no strong biceps to catch me.