But Hank is also tortured, and that’s not too strong a word for the mental miseries he endures. He spends chunks of time—fifteen minutes here, an hour there, sometimes an entire Saturday morning and even longer—brooding. Troubling, jagged thoughts, images, ideas, and feelings pop up unimpeded in his mind like rocks in a river’s current as he desperately tries to steady his mental raft. They keep on coming, smashing against his mind over and over while he bravely tries to survive another trip down the relentlessly moving rapids within.
This is me.
