The Couch

A writer in search of his sanity (all dialog).

“Good morning, Stephen.”

“Steve.”

“Oh, it says Stephen.”

“I assumed you wanted my full name, my legal name.”

“Quite so, Steve.”

“Thank you.”

“What can I do for you? We usually have prospective patients self-diagnose. It can save some time. For ‘illness’, you wrote — writer. Is that your problem?”

“Yes.”

“Writer’s block, impostor syndrome, social estrangement? Have you lost touch with reality? What seems to be the problem?”

“Hmmm…maybe everything except writer’s block. I can write okay. I write most every day.”

“To the expense of human contact? Are you cutting yourself off from other people, your family, your friends? You do have friends, don’t you?”

“Of a sort.”

“Of a sort?”

“My friends are the ones I’ve created. They are my characters. My characters who have become my friends.”

“Hmmm…like them better than you ‘real’ friends, or your family?”

“Much better.”

“Hmmm…how much do you like your ‘new’ friends?”

“How much?”

“Do you fantasize about them? Do you see them? Talk to them?”

“Yes and no. I don’t think I fantasize about them, but they do talk to me. I can see them. I know how they look. Hell, I made them. They are who I wanted them to be.”

“Quite so. Have you talked to other writers; do they have the same problem?”

“Some do, some don’t.”

“Of the two groups, who do you think is the more sane?”

“More sane? Not sure I’m the one who should judge. The ones with characters as friends are the most interesting. Would that make them sane?”

“Not necessarily. What do you hope to achieve with therapy? What is it you want from me?”

“Validation.”

“Validation? You want me to tell you if you’re sane or insane?”

“Can you?”

“Well, first sanity is a legal construct. It has no meaning in my world. Few people are ‘sane’. Few people are without challenges, without some areas of concern. What do you talk about with your friends?”

“Could be anything. I don’t intentionally talk to them; they talk to me. I start writing and then their words fill the page. It’s like I’m no more than a scribe. A scribe they let into their world.”

“A world you created?”

“Initially.”

“Are you welcomed in this world?”

“They act as though I don’t exist. I’m a guest they ignore.”

“So, they’re not really friends, but merely people on the street.”

“It’s more than that. I know what they’re thinking, what they’re feeling. When they’re happy, I’m happy. When they’re sad, I’m sad.”

“Hmmm…interesting. Do they make you happy or sad, or do you make them that way?”

“I never thought about it. I guess it’s how I feel is how they feel.”

“If they are sad, do you try to make them happy?”

“Yes.”

“Good.”

“Good?”

“Yes, good. Your friends want to be happy and they want you to be happy.”

“They do?”

“Yes, we do. See, without you we would not exist. We need you. You’re quite sane.”