Patient notes: Brown, Charlie. August 2020. Patient comes in for first appointment exclaiming “Good grief!” I inform him what I inform all patients: grief is neither good nor bad. It’s a passage. It’s the price of love. Patient says he’s over seventy years old, but he appears approximately eight years of age. Other than this red flag, clearly has commitment issues. Claims to love a little red-haired girl but when asked, offers he’s never spoken to her. I suggest he should come in once every couple months.

Patient notes: Brown, Charlie. October 2020. Patient returns. We talk more in-depth. Claims his dog, Snoopy, is his best friend. Also says his dog is a pilot known as the Red Baron. When I ask what type of aircraft he flies, he says, “Doghouse.” When I suggest this might be a flight of fancy, patient appears perturbed. “Dazzling wordplay, Doc,” he says. Abruptly leaves office saying he can find his mental health for a nickel on any street corner.

Patient notes: Brown, Charlie. December 2020. Patient returns, distraught. Shows remorse for interrupting our treatment plan by seeking outside help. His last mental health provider, Lucy van Pelt, is a sadist. It becomes quite clear upon my prodding that she’s not a licensed mental health professional. Her torments alone may have irrevocably stunted his emotional growth. Must look into reporting van Pelt to proper authorities. But if he’s willing to work for it, patient might be able to pull through emotionally. I suggest he should now come in monthly.

Patient notes: Brown, Charlie. January 2021. We may have finally uncovered the root of his abandonment issues. Patient claims, “Parents were largely out of my life during childhood. Not even in the picture during holiday specials.” I suggest he try to remember one memory from over the years that might have stuck with him. He only mumbles, “My parents sounded like muted trombones.”

Patient notes: Brown, Charlie. February 2021. This will be our last session as my practice no longer accepts MetLife health insurance. I inform patient 45 minutes past the hour of this fact. He appears agitated. His mouth gapes like a black hole. I offer him a tissue paper, but he refuses. I suggest he could pay out-of-pocket, but when I inform him of price, he shouts “ARRGH!” I hand him a pamphlet on the Kubler Ross five stages of grief on his way out the door.

Final prognosis: Brown, Charlie. During our time together, I amassed a tome of patient’s neuroses, which are very specific to him: inadequacy, ennui, and inferiority. He may need more help than I’m willing to give. However, in the end, I do believe one thing about him: Charlie Brown is a good man.