Right now my back hurts and I’m mostly in bed. It feels worse than psychological suffering, because you can’t really fight it. Not that you can always fight your psyche, either.
As I spent a lot of time in bed these days, I got to spend time with several books. It feels great to read. This time, however, one of my choices was rather dark. But well worth it.
Irvin D. Yalom, Momma and the Meaning of Life. The book is well worth a read. Here’s from Amazon because I have to go back in bed in minutes.
Tales of therapy are also tales of therapists, and Irvin D. Yalom–author of much bestselling psychiatric fiction and nonfiction–is a seasoned storyteller. This new collection of “tales from the couch,” part memoir and part fiction, is the work of a therapist unafraid to become deeply engaged with his patients; people, not pathology, are the stuff of Yalom’s psychotherapy. Ego, doubt, and fantasy are rarely confined to the couch, and the doctor learns as much from his patients as they from him.
. . .
The last chapter is a great piece of fiction about a man and his psychotherapist, a beautiful woman, and a cat that haunts her lovers. I highly relished it. It took Yalom into a different territory. His teacher voice crept in a little too loudly at the end, but still, the piece was wonderful. So was the rest of the book, and two other books of his I’ve read, about Nietzsche and Schopenhauer, among other things (see below). Of all three, I enjoyed the Nietzsche one the best.