Editor’s Note: The following story is reprinted by permission of Parade Magazine, and appears in their Sunday, July 27th issue.

“I’m trying to find myself as a person. Sometimes that’s not easy to do. Millions of people live their entire lives without finding themselves. But it is something I must do. The best way for me to find myself as a person is to prove to myself that I am an actress.”

That was Marilyn Monroe, in 1955, the year of her great rebellion against Hollywood.

Monroe died on a warm California night on August 4th, 1962. She had finally succumbed to the barbiturates she had used all of her adult life to control chronic insomnia and excruciating menstrual pain—she would crumple to the floor in agony at the onset of her period. And yes, she had finally succumbed to her emotional pain. I don’t believe Marilyn “planned” to die; it simply happened to her that night—one unusually unhappy night. (And, if we are to believe her hand was on the telephone when her body was found, it is likely she changed her mind.)

Almost fifty years after her death, Marilyn’s hold on the collective imagination is stronger than it was even during her short life—as I write this we are coming off a hoax about a Marilyn “sex tape” and the reality of wonderful, newly found footage of her from the set of “The Misfits.” (She looks surprisingly robust and radiant for a woman having a breakdown and on the brink of a heartbreaking divorce.) As the anniversary of her death approaches, there are bound to be TV specials, news reports and feature articles on this “ultimate sex-symbol.” And the word that will be used most is… “tragic.” Her tragic childhood, her tragic life, her tragic death. Her beauty and poignancy will be noted. Her love affairs, real and rumored, will be rolled out. Few will remember the Marilyn of 1955. Well, I prefer that empowered woman.