“Like Bukowski, but kind.”

That was Arthur’s initial review of my writing style. Of course Arthur was referencing the brilliant but prickly drunken writer (and tremendous asshole who will probably be cancelled any day now) Charles Bukowski, famous for the books Ham on Rye, Post Office, and others.

“That an extreme compliment,” I said to Arthur. “Thank you.”

“You’re welcome. I enjoyed the book.”

“I’m glad. That was above and beyond for you to do that. I really appreciate it.”

“It’s not a problem.”

“So if you don’t mind my asking, what’s the diagnosis, Doc?”

“Oh, I don’t know if I wanna go there, unless you want me to. There’s definitely depression, anxiety, a social phobia, maybe a little bipolar disorder, but you know all that.”

“Yeah, I do know all that.”

“It’s a little strange for to me to be speaking with you now after spending so much time reading your book.”

“I bet. It’s not a short book either.”

“It was interesting reading about your experiences at the hospital.” In one section of the memoir, I chronicle my once-in-a-lifetime stint as a security guard at a rural hospital. “I got the sense you were well liked there.”

“I was. The people there were kind to me, overall.”

“And I know you’re this neurotic writer and very sarcastic, and you don’t necessarily care for people all that much, but I didn’t detect any meanness from you.”

“No, I don’t think I have that in me. I mean, I was very nasty with people during that breakdown we discussed last time, but that’s not my natural tendency.”

“Right, I recall you discussing the breakdown. Well, I guess my challenge with you now is to just figure out what you want. If you want a wife, or a better job, or more friends, we can work on any or all those things.”

“Broke, miserable, and alone. That’s the refrain, Arthur. My goals are modest. If you could help me become a little less broke, miserable, and alone, that’d be amazing. And honestly, if you could just help me address one of those three problems, I’d be ecstatic.”

“Alright, I’ve made a note here and we’ll be sure to address those big three big issues in future sessions. Now tell me about your plans with the book.”

“I’m not sure if I’ll have the stomach to pitch or promote the thing. It’s just so personal. And selling a book on a broad level is just almost impossible.”

“You’re probably right. I don’t mean to be negative, but I imagine the odds are stacked against you.”

“Insurmountably so, most likely. But that’s okay.”

The end of our session was approaching. I thanked Arthur again for reading the book and, of course, for listening to me complain.

 

Next: Therapy Journal 13 – “Used to Being Miserable”

Previous: Therapy Journal 12 – “What My New Therapist Said About My Book (Yes, He Read It!)

Go to the Beginning: Journal 1 – “Broke, Miserable, and Alone”