If I got rid of my demons, I’d lose my angels
Writers are paranoid, because they’re living two lives – their creative life, which they are most protective of, and their life as a human being. They have to protect both lives. I put a premium on the creative life. One risks one’s personal life in order to work, and when one cannot work, or when one expects total failure, there is a crisis. In one such crisis, I went to Dr. Lawrence Kubie, who said I’d written nothing but violent melodramas because of the violence of the times. He told me to break up with Frank, whom I suspected was a heroin addict. Kubie thought I should be heterosexual. He was a strict Freudian. He was a divine man, but I wouldn’t break up with Frank, of course, so I broke up with Kubie. Besides, if I got rid of my demons, I’d lose my angels.
There are times in your life, though, when you reach such a peak of crisis that you have to go to a shrink. But even he can’t finally solve it. He just gets you through it. Kubie would imitate my father and scream at me – to break the doors down, you know. What he gave me was not forgettable. I actually learned to respect my father, and now that he’s dead, I love the old son of a bitch.