Someone With a Pen: Richard Grayson’s Diary

Monday, November 13, 2000

6 PM. The election drama is all being played out in Florida, with court cases, administrative decisions, hand recounts.

By now we all know what a chad is – that little piece of cardboard the stylus should but doesn’t always punch out – and about Palm Beach County’s infamous butterfly ballot, which led many Gore voters to mistakenly cast their ballot for Pat Buchanan.

Where it stops, no one knows, but by the end of the week, when the overseas absentee ballots are in, there will probably be some Florida result. It’s quite a mess.

Last night I watched the Fox cartoon shows and Malcolm in the Middle. I didn’t sleep very much although I had a now-rare dream, this one about Grandpa Herb as a young Marine.

My cold is still hanging in there, though the worst of it seems to be over. I got up at 6:30 AM and exercised to Body Electric, but I didn’t leave the house till after 8 AM.

It was only 41°, and I bundled up in a long-sleeved corduroy shirt under my sweater under the heaviest jacket I’ve got here. (My winter jackets are in Apache Junction.)

I felt icky and shaky, and at school I took an Ativan to get through my classes. Basically I did okay, lecturing on argumentative writing and having the classes read Andrew Sullivan’s paean to the drug companies and a Voice column criticizing him for being a corporate shill.

I gave back the English 105 class’s papers but I left everything in my office so I can’t do the English 101 papers tonight or tomorrow – but I told the students I’d get them back on Friday.

Before coming home from ASU, I stopped at Albertsons for some groceries. Once again I couldn’t finish all my lunch veggies at once.

I’d left a message at the Student Health Center for Bev Reinhart about my blurry vision, and Dr. Brogan returned the call; I told her it wasn’t so bad yet and that I’d continue taking the 20 milligrams of Paxil.

Most of the afternoon I felt tired, and it was all I could do to read the paper.

But at 4 PM I went out for a walk and ended up walking for 45 minutes, going to Osco for tissues, passing the artificial lakes, and standing above the traffic on the Dobson Road bridge over U.S 60 as I listened to my Walkman play All Things Considered reports on the Florida vote challenges and then a piece on Aaron Copeland’s Appalachian Spring.

Somehow I felt as if the Paxil had started to kick in. I’m sure it’s illusory, but I just had this feeling that everything was going to be okay.

The sky was blue, and for the first time I began to like my neighborhood. Somehow it felt right just watching the traffic and the people strolling over the bridge with the mountains in the background.

When I came home, I had dinner and my Paxil, and now I feel exhausted, so I guess I’ll go lie down for a little while.

*

11 PM. I’ve been lying in bed for hours now. I actually dozed off for an hour around 7 PM, but since then I’ve been up, drifting through Ally McBeal and then just drifting.

Now that it’s late, I’m starting to get anxious, so I took an Ativan. I have about four of the pills left, and I’ve still got a refill left.

I guess I could have spent the evening doing something constructive like preparing for my MCC class in the morning, but maybe I needed the downtime – for one thing, to recuperate from my cold.

Hey, I’m only going to be as easy as I can on myself these days. Yes, I have the anxiety about insomnia which can lead to that giant anxiety attack – but that’s what the Ativan is for.

Mark Savage wrote to congratulate me on the Republic article, which his parents sent him. I did write that I got a card from them in Sun City West, right? I told Mark about my depression in a very matter-of-fact way.

Teresa sent a long email this morning, detailing visits to her aunt and uncle’s house and to Barbara’s in New Jersey and telling me about having Paul’s mother over for dinner.

I got a substitute W-9 form from the Republic that I mailed back to them so I can get paid the $500 for my article.

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Tuesday, November 14, 2000

2:30 PM. I just came back from my appointment with Susan, which made me feel better.

She gave me a Daily Mood Log in which I can record moments like the anxiety I had on Saturday night when I catastrophized my blurry vision into having to stop taking Paxil. It has a way to test your beliefs against reality, so it looks like it may be helpful.

Actually, Susan gave me more good suggestions than I feel able to handle. Right now I’m exhausted from not sleeping at all last night, and I still feel sick from my cold.

But as I said, remembering Dr. Lipton’s asking me what the “payoff” was for my panic attacks, I know that feeling so bad means I really don’t have to think about my future and make plans to deal with my career and my finances and relationships, etc.

I spoke about to Susan my parents and how they view my brothers and me as if we were children of a still-young couple.

I don’t put parents in most of my stories because I can’t write honestly about Mom and Dad. But Susan suggested I could write about them just for myself.

Maybe I need to write more to help myself get out of this mess. If the Paxil is causing me not to have or not to remember dreams, and I miss the sustenance they gave me, Susan said I should try to make my own dreams and write them down or to write about daydreams I’d like to have.

When I spoke about my good feelings yesterday on the bridge over the freeway, Susan again brought up the possibility that I might be slightly bipolar and that the Paxil is “cycling” me through low-grade euphoria and low-grade depression.

I brought up a whole lot of stuff I can’t remember. I told her I missed having erections in my sleep, which the Paxil seems to have killed. And I said how I hope something good comes out of all of this to get me to the next level – but right now I can’t even think about where the next level should be.

I couldn’t get another appointment until Thursday, November 30, but at least next week I’ll get to see the psychiatrist.

Susan suggested that I might want to take a walk every day, as it made me feel good yesterday.

God, these are hard times. It’s so chilly out, and right now I almost wish it were 100° again, as I could use the warmth.

Although I was trembling and anxious this morning, I went to Mesa Community College and had a half-decent lesson. During the night I couldn’t sleep but never really became anxious. I’ve got to have faith that eventually I’m going to feel better.

I need to use my Daily Mood Log to catch myself when I catastrophize or engage in other unrealistic thinking. Right now I’m anxious about grading the English 101 papers by Friday, but I know I can manage that.

I’m also anxious about teaching. But hey, I’ve gotten through this much of the semester already.

This morning at MCC, John and Deborah were talking about ASU classes next term, and the more I heard, the more I know I don’t want to be teaching at ASU.

I didn’t go to today’s workshop on hiring at ASU and I won’t go to tomorrow’s. I’m beginning to make decisions about what I don’t want to do. That’s a start.

I felt secure in Susan’s office. She has a little teddy bear resting on top of a high desk. Maybe I should buy myself a stuffed animal friend.

My apartment is so drab. Maybe I should get some pictures to liven it up. I’ve always lived in sterile environments.

I haven’t gone online today, and I guess I need to check my emails.

This diary entry reads like freewriting; it’s completely without transitions.

I need to write – not for publication but for myself, in order to help myself get better. I see myself coming out of this depression sometime next spring, but I need to feel at least some relief before then.

At least I’m getting help by seeing professional mental health care providers and by starting to take Paxil and Ativan.

The Florida election drama keeps playing itself out, and so many of the cast of characters I see or hear in the media are familiar to me from my years in the Sunshine State – from Bruce Rogow and Jon Mills to the politicians of Broward and Palm Beach Counties.

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Friday, November 17, 2000

6 PM. I’m still sniffling, but my cold is a lot better and the Paxil still seems to be working.

Although I didn’t sleep well and had a kind of upset feeling during the night, I didn’t really feel tired today.

Up at 4 AM, I listened to NPR. At 6 AM, I exercised to Wai Lana Yoga on Channel 8/KAET.

The Times didn’t come today because of a production delay, and it’s probably just as well, as I got other stuff done.

I was at my office at ASU by 8:45 AM after the brisk walk from the parking lot.

Our normal highs in November are in the 70°s and 80°s early in the month, but this year it hasn’t hit 70° once. (A year ago today it was 90°.) Still, I’ve gotten used to the chilly weather.

In my classes, to look at the argument over the legalization of marijuana, I played the mid-1990s PBS North Florida Journal tape in which I appear as a staff attorney at the University of Florida.

I also felt puckish enough to show my 1990 video clips on the Trump Rescue Fund, Pauper Magazine and Radio Free Broward from CNN and WPLG in Miami.

The class must think I’m a nut, but I don’t care. I liked seeing myself on tape. I was a pretty handsome guy at 39 and even at 44.

Now I feel I look terrible, but after I returned the TV/VCR combo to the Nursing Building’s media room, I checked myself out in the men’s room mirror and I didn’t look all that bad. But since I’ll probably never have any more interest in sex or sexual ability, I guess it doesn’t matter all that much.

Avi, one of my students who saw me at my worst two weeks ago, asked how I was feeling now, and I said, “Basically normal.”

After lunch, I went to Apache Junction, and Mom and Dad told me I looked much better than I had the last time they saw me.

Jonathan was at home, but Marc was at work. Yesterday Marc had to take a drug and alcohol test, which cost him $60, and on Wednesday he’ll be spending the day in jail as part of his sentence for the DUI.

Mom keeps after me to try to convince Marc that he, too, needs to be taking antidepressants, but I don’t know how to do that. Is it even my place to do so?

From the closets in the house, I took my heavier jackets – about five of them – and an equal number of sweaters. This week I’ve worn the same sweater every day, though it warms up enough by afternoon that I can take it off.

CNN was on at my parents’ house with reports on today’s ups and downs in the Florida vote count.

First, a Tallahassee judge ruled that Secretary of State Harris didn’t have to wait for a recount from Broward, Palm Beach and Miami-Dade to certify the winner of Florida’s electoral votes.

After that, Harris said that after counting the overseas absentee ballots tonight, she would declare that Bush is the winner of the state’s electoral vote tomorrow.

But then the Florida Supreme Court enjoined Harris from certifying a winner until after a Monday hearing, and the Eleventh Circuit in Atlanta turned down Bush’s plan to halt the hand counts in the three South Florida counties.

So the suspense continues.

As soon as I got home, I put up two loads of laundry and went over the mail I picked up in Apache Junction.

After putting the laundry in the dryer, I went to the library to return books, and then at Bank of America, I used my new ATM card to deposit my Mesa Community College paycheck along with a couple of credit card refund checks.

I spoke to Sat Darshan before she left work. She still hopes Gore will get enough votes in the recount to win Florida and the presidency. But she hates Bush an awful lot.

I told her if she decides to take Kiran to the zoo this weekend, I’d be happy to go with them. I have no papers to grade or other work to do, and I got the laundry, bank and library chores and errands out of the way today.

Although I really like to get a good night’s sleep tonight, I’m just happy that I’m feeling a lot better.

I didn’t seem to have that jittery feeling today, so perhaps the other symptoms will start to go away as my body adjusts to getting 20 milligrams of Paxil every day.

I don’t want to give myself a kinahora, but I didn’t expect Paxil to begin to work so quickly. I still fear a “crash,” but I’m not in the mood for obsessing.

It might be a decent Thanksgiving this year after all.

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Monday, November 20, 2000

7 PM. It hit 73° today, a normal high, although this morning it was quite chilly.

Alice phoned and we played answering machine tag, but she also emailed. She and her brother have been spending time at Andreas’s house in New Jersey, getting it so that it can be sold in the spring.

Yesterday she found lots of old birthday and Christmas cards that I’d sent, along with a photo of me “in some slick magazine” that Andreas had cut out.

That was from BusinessWeek in 1988; I remember Andreas had Alice call and tell me that the photo was in there. That was just after the first Bush was elected President. It seems so long ago.

As I was driving to ASU this morning, I heard Jon Mills discussing the Florida recount on NPR, and I heard him again when I returned to my car after classes at noon.

Today Bruce Rogow, representing the Palm Beach County supervisor of elections, was one of the lawyers arguing before the Florida Supreme Court about the recount. The three networks carried the entire oral argument live.

My own feeling is that whatever the court decides about counting the manual recounts in Broward, Miami-Dade and Palm Beach, Gore has received so few extra votes so far that he should call an end to it and concede.

Even if Gore were somehow to get the votes to overturn Bush’s 900-vote Florida lead, the GOP would say he’d stolen the election, and the next four years would make the partisan squabbling of impeachment look like a tea party.

Let W become President, and with the Republicans in control of Congress, at least they’ll stop being so paranoid.

I had two decent classes, teaching argument rather conventionally out of the textbook. Although I felt edgy before class, the feeling disappeared, so I felt comfortable teaching.

After my classes, I felt good enough to stop at the Wendy’s on Rural Road just south of the ASU campus at Apache Boulevard to get a baked potato and read the New York Times – the paper didn’t get delivered today, so I bought it on campus – or at least the front page, the editorial pages and the now-daily “Counting the Vote” section.

I think it’s possible that someone came in this morning and regrouted the shower and tub – unless I just forgot how I left the bathroom.

Teresa emailed that it was 32° today in New York. She’s got Diane’s two dogs in addition to her three. Although they’ll put Hattie in a kennel, Teresa will be able to take the others to Mattituck for Thanksgiving.

Pam has definitely decided to leave Norton. He wouldn’t give her $250 for graduate tuition, but then took off to South Carolina to play golf.

To Teresa’s surprise, Paul agreed that Pam could stay at their house, but for now, Pam says she would prefer to be on her own.

Although she has no money – sort of like me – Pam has decided she’s going to try to look for a place in Brooklyn first.

I called Sat Darshan, who told me Kiran was throwing up again this weekend, so they didn’t go to the zoo as planned. Sat Darshan isn’t sure what’s the matter with Kiran although she seems to be vomiting a lot lately.

I still haven’t shaken my cold and I’m still sniffling a lot.

It’s a little worrisome – though I’m not going to let myself obsess about it, am I? I have the Daily Mood Log that Susan gave me to help me deal with unrealistic thoughts.

I didn’t sleep too well last night, so at 3 AM I felt so exhausted that I lay down for about 90 minutes. That was after I did laundry – mostly the towels I used on the floor to dry things up after the flood this past weekend.

I’m still taking everything one day at a time. Each day that I can get through without feeling bad is a small pleasure.

Of course, my life has changed irrevocably in some ways. I may have to guard against depression for the rest of my life. I’ve read that if you’ve had your first depression around 50, statistically you’re likely to have more recurrences.

I’m perfectly willing, if I can afford it, to spend the rest of my life on antidepressants if that’s what I need to do. After all, I used the Triavil 2/10 daily for all those years.

At my age, my brain now has less flexibility to recover from the shock that occurred when the depression was triggered, and so I feel a little more fragile.

I guess I always knew I would have to accept the limitations of living life after age 50. Having this depression is sort of like discovering that I was diabetic.

I’m going to watch TV news now.