I rested with my mother in the sanatorium and she enrolled me for a reception. For free, it is included in the price of the trip. The psychologist got a bunch of leaves and signed what to draw on each. There were “the house”, “I”, “my family”, “the non-existent animal” and I don’t remember what else. She gave them to me in the room as a homework. I only had a pencil ball with me. No pencil, flommasters and so on. An unusual tool for a child)) In short, the house was painted with stripes so that the line of the walls was smoother. Because I painted on the bed, putting an A4 sheet on a book that was about the size of A5. It was not possible to make the line immediately. And in the self-portrait, in order not to draw my fingers, which I always managed only to try the tenth (and there is no pencil with a washing machine), I painted my hands in my pockets. By the way, family members also did not hold their hands, because she did not know how to draw the folded fingers with one attempt. In short, on the basis of these facts (the lines of the walls and the hands in my pockets) the doctor made my psychological portrait. Nothing good came out there) And uncertainty, and closure, and lack of unity in the family... I tried to explain the lack of a pencil, but no one listened to me. I hated psychologists.