Someone With a Pen: Richard Grayson’s Diary

Monday, March 12, 2001

7 PM. For whatever reason, I’ve felt really good the past few hours, and I’m soon going to take my first Triavil 2/25. Although I didn’t sleep much last night, I didn’t feel too panicky, either. Perhaps being on spring break helps.

I called Teresa after listening to her email on Yahoo’s voicemail. She has bronchitis and so is staying home. (She interrupted our call to take the van in for the repair of the cracked windshield.)

Teresa said that Jade hadn’t been attending classes and didn’t realize until this weekend that it was spring break at Purchase.

Her parents’ 50th anniversary party went great, and it didn’t start to snow until after 8 PM, at which time everyone quickly left.

Teresa enjoyed her British guests, from the 83-year-old grandmother to the young couple. They didn’t want to go anywhere in the city except to the top of the Empire State Building and to Canal Street, where they mostly just looked and didn’t buy anything.

After the Brits left on Thursday, Teresa and Paul spent the cold weekend on Fire Island, working on the new house, taking apart the “installed” couch and fireplace.

Teresa told me that she’d thought about renting out the beach house for August because she could make a fortune, but then she realized that she doesn’t want to be around when Cat has her baby.

At this point Paul and Cat see each other only around town, and Teresa hasn’t seen Cat’s husband since Christmas 1999. (She invited Cat only to her parents’ party.)

Teresa is trying to get antibiotics from Leon for her bronchitis but says Leon is a cautious doctor and wants her to wait a few days to see if it’s just a viral infection.

I miss seeing Teresa and Paul and their families, Pam and Long Island – which seems like my second home – so I love to hear Teresa’s stories about what’s going on there.

Teresa said that Tony Soprano had yet another panic attack on last night’s episode. (He also had one in the second episode after threatening Meadow’s black Jewish boyfriend.) In therapy, Dr. Melfi and Tony discovered his panic revolves around meat and watching his mobster father cut off some man’s finger when he was a kid.

Later, on the phone, Dad told me that he had never cut off anyone’s finger.

I’ve spent the last couple of hours on the Web, enjoying the huge drop in the stock market today and reading stuff on Salon and Slate.

“Let the Hogfest Begin!” was the title of an article on the new strict bankruptcy bill that Clinton vetoed but Bush will sign.

A decade after the Japanese bubble burst, that country is still a basket case, and I’m hoping that the U.S. will experience something similar, though I doubt it will happen. I have this feeling that I would come into my own in a Great Depression-style economy, but of course it’s just a nice fantasy.

As the Serzone leaves my body, I notice I’m feeling more sexual – or maybe it’s just the increased Klonopin dosage. This morning I did feel very uncomfortable at Borders – that weekend anxiety – as I read the paper and even graded eight out of 13 ASU papers (ones by the good students).

I’m working on the Backinprint.com stuff for Lincoln’s Doctor’s Dog and xeroxed some material at Kinko’s.

I shopped at Albertsons and did laundry, but by noon I was so anxious that I needed a third Ativan in 18 hours. (I can take it every six hours.)

I not only wet my briefs with the wet flatulence, but I also seem to have had a little burst of urinary leakage. Sat Darshan said it happens to older women when they cough or sneeze, so perhaps it happened when I farted.

She got turned down for the job with the state, and today at her workplace they’re having a big meeting. Bev was bought out, and her husband is leaving the firm, presumably to spend time with her before she dies.

As the afternoon wore on, I began feeling better. It hit 71° and was sunny and I sat outside reading my library books using “tricyclics” in the index to find the pages I wanted.

Somehow I hurt my left hand, but I’m in a good mood, so I’m not obsessing. Otherwise, I’d be totally obsessing.

I plan to put the bottle of Serzone away with the Zoloft sample and the bottle of Paxil – wait, no, I sent that to Timmy in Tennessee – in the cupboard closet.

I just took this salmon-colored round generic Triavil 2/25. It’s made by Mylan, who made my old Triavil 2/10. We’ll see if this version of my old friend causes side effects.

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Friday, March 16, 2001

3 PM. I’ve just returned to Apache Junction after a difficult night and day, and I just reinjured my back when I took the luggage out of the car. This is something for Susan’s chart:

Triggering event: Hurt back.

Catastrophizing: I’ll be in as much pain as I was weeks ago (it’s the old injury).

Probability: 90%.

Countering: It’s not clear this is going to hurt that much. I may be imagining it a bit.

Revised probability: 60%.

Anxiety level goes down from 6 to 4.

But I did not sleep well last night. I woke at 9:30 PM, an hour after falling asleep, and any further sleep I got wasn’t satisfying.

I guess it was seeing the insurance claims rep today. I took .5 mg. Klonopin today at 4 AM and then again at 7 AM.

Jeff from Scottsdale wanted to come over, and it turned out he got to the apartment at noon and had to leave before Darrell Bullock from the insurance company got there at 1 PM.

Jeff seems like a nice guy. Originally from Pittsburgh, he considers himself a New Yorker, having lived in Manhattan and Brooklyn for so long.

I knew I’d never be attracted to him, and I wasn’t, but he’s a good person to talk to, especially about my mental problems.

He has plenty of his own as well. Diagnosed as bipolar in New York City, he now takes 40 mg. Paxil every day and seems to have had this horrible experience with the nursing program he’s enrolled in. Jeff has been here in Arizona for five years with his sick mother and says he has no friends.

Darrell, the claims rep from the apartment complex’s insurance company, took down my story but said he won’t have to type it because they have my letter.

I gave him the business cards of my doctors and recreated the incident as I saw it. He’s already got the police report and I signed permission to get my medical records.

Darren was a friendly black guy from Chicago, so I got along with him. What will happen in my claim against the apartment complex, I don’t know. I guess I could get anything from a few hundred dollars to more, but right now I don’t care.

Talking to Darrell wasn’t all that bad, but it brought back the sense of helplessness I felt during the mugging. He didn’t like it when I went to where I was pushed down and lay on my back on the ground there to demonstrate what had happened.

But this is a guy who’s been around a long time, and I have this feeling he’ll be fair. Still, I could be wrong.

Right now I’m fixated on my back – the old injury – which I put an icepack on. Maybe I’m thinking about the physical pain I’m in so I can avoid thinking about the emotional pain I felt reliving the mugging.

As Dr. Hill, the chiropractor, said yesterday, while I’m feeling this distressed, I’m going to keep injuring myself until I calm down and relax my muscles.

I got out here to Apache Junction, driving in a sort of a haze, and I feel exhausted now. Maybe I should have stayed at the apartment in Mesa. It hasn’t really been much of a spring break for me: no holiday from anxiety, stress and suffering. I need to calm myself down. Right now I’m not thinking clearly.

For my back, I could return to the chiropractor. It looks like she does nothing, but the next day I do feel better.

It’s not so easy being here with my parents and brothers. I guess my depression number will be high today when I record my stats for Susan – if I can find my chart.

My back is throbbing now. I almost knew I’d hurt myself when I lifted the suitcase out of the trunk, so it’s obvious that I did this to myself.

Reliving the pain of the mugging was pretty traumatic. Two months later and the emotional pain is still sharp.

Eventually I will be okay. Someday this has to end and I’ll have a different life and be back to some semblance of my old self.

I got emails from various friends, including Alice and Wes Lin at Oklahoma State (whose story I critiqued), but right now I just need to chill out.

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Saturday, March 17, 2001

3:30 PM. I’ve just been lying down in Marc’s room and I sort of fell into a peaceful alpha state.

My back and buttock still hurt, and I’ve got an icepack on the area now, but it’s not that bad, and at the moment my mood is good.

Last evening I enjoyed hanging out with my parents, looking over Mom’s old Playbill collection from shows she saw – some of which, like Golden Boy and Baker Street, I also saw.

I threw away all my old Playbills during one of my many moves. Mom said she has only a few of hers left, but she’s got about thirty of them.

We talked until 10:30 PM about how the bull market that started in 1982 seems to have finally ended and discussed the new harsh bankruptcy bill and whether we will live to see a real change in this country: stuff like universal health insurance and better education.

I didn’t sleep that well on the floor, but not that badly, either – and I had a dream about Brad. I assume that he’s dead. Brad fell in love with me in the summer of 1969, that magical time when I felt reborn. Maybe such a time is coming again.

This morning I trembled only a little, and when I began to feel that restless anxiety that marked previous Saturdays, I decided – perhaps foolishly – to try taking my old Triavil 2/10; Joel Deutsch sent me three bottles just before I stopped taking it.

I think the Triavil might be of more help than Ativan, and I felt no need of the latter the way I did on previous days (whether I actually succumbed or not to taking it).

I went to the new giant Albertsons on Ellsworth and Baseline, which has its own Starbucks and cleaners, etc.

But I wanted a haircut, and the Supercuts store (nor anything else in that center but Albertsons) hadn’t yet opened for business, so I drove down Baseline to Power Road and went to the Hare Cut.

Then I walked across the parking lot over to Starbucks and made iced tea by putting a cup of ice cubes into hot Calm green tea. Sitting there, I read the Times – although I’d already looked at some of the articles online this morning.

Last night I got a message from Dairy Hollow: “Your Residency Awaits.”

The horrible part of the message was learning that Ned Shank was killed in a bike accident last November. He seemed like such a great guy when we talked on the phone. Ned was younger than I am.

I can’t imagine how horrible Ned’s death must have been for Crescent as well as for everyone else at Dairy Hollow.

It seems like they were saying I could come to Eureka Springs whenever I want, so I’ll consider going in late August or early September, assuming I’m really starting to feel better by then.

If I had gone to Dairy Hollow last July, I would have been spared so much of the trauma I experienced late that month and in early August here in Phoenix: the car troubles, getting stuck in 115° heat, etc.

I guess I’ll need to ask if I can have a month to let them know about coming to Arkansas late this summer.

At the Wendy’s on Main and Sossaman, I finished reading the paper over a baked potato. I enjoyed reading about the LAization of Chelsea and the exciting news that New York City has again grown to a population of eight million, thanks to immigrants. (Chicago has also started growing again.)

At the Apache Junction public library, when I helped an old Minnesota couple send email to their relatives (who were named Olson, of course), it made me recall how much pleasure I got in empowering people when I was a trainer in computer education. I loved helping people learn word processing and how to use Lexis in law school.

I sent long emails to Teresa and Alice and a few other people and posted some comments on my Multicultural Film class discussion board, though I know I already have my A in the course.

In the library I read that Triavil could make some people cycle into a kind of mania. Yesterday Jeff said – as Susan has said – that like he, I might have a low-grade level of bipolar disorder. Well, we’ll see what happens.

Aside from my tushy aching, I actually feel pretty good. I gave Dad another $900 this weekend to add to that CD in case I need to buy a car or for when I go bankrupt.

When I called Sat Darshan, she said she had a visitor and would phone me later.

It’s quiet here in Apache Junction. Driving around the far East Valley, I realized I feel more comfortable here than I do in Mesa and Tempe and Phoenix. While that’s probably because my family is here, it’s also because things are newer here, the way they are in West Broward.

Well, so far it’s been a nice St. Patrick’s Day.

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Monday, March 19, 2001

6:30 PM. Right now I’m shaking like a leaf and having terrible anxiety.

It’s lasted most of the day, and I’ve just taken Klonopin and Triavil and pray that it will help. But somehow I got through the day without taking Ativan or Triavil 2/10.

Here’s the biggie: Nassau Community College wants to interview me for a full-time job. They’re having interviews on four days, so it sounds like there are about 20 people or more being interviewed.

I doubt I’ll get the job, and I’m not sure I want it. Yet I already made a flight out of Sky Harbor to JFK for Friday, April 13, and will be interviewed four weeks from today, on Monday, April 16.

Right now I can’t imagine getting to the airport and in a plane, much less through an interview. I don’t think I’ve ever been so terrified in my life.

I may well back out of this, as I have done in the past. I don’t seem to be getting any less anxious. I can’t stop trembling. Well, actually, I’m not trembling all that badly.

I was nervous enough with the start of school today. It cost me $30 for taxis back and forth to ASU because I flooded the engine at 7 AM – at least I think I did, as the car started up right away later in the day.

I trembled a bit during my classes, where I received papers and handed out an outline of where we’re going for the rest of the semester – which is already out of date because of my trip.

I decided to basically miss a whole week of school. I feel a little like I’m letting my students down, but who cares?

Teresa and Paul will be in St. Maarten till Wednesday, April 18, so I wanted to stay in Locust Valley longer so I can spend a little time with them. Fuck ASU and MCC.

As Teresa said about my anxiety, it’s not like going to NCC is a job interview in some strange place: it’s Long Island. While she and Paul are gone, I can share the house with Pam and Jade.

Although Teresa said I can have the car while they’re in St. Maarten, I may rent one instead.

I booked a nonstop flight on America West both ways to minimize anxiety, and it’s only $389. If I chicken out, I’ll use the money I already laid out to go to New York another time for an extra $100.

Last night I slept pretty well, although I kept wakening and falling back asleep. In the last dream – just before I awoke around 4 AM after six or seven hours of sleep – Dr. Hersh was injecting Novocain in my mouth in his office on our old block in Brooklyn.

I guess a Freudian would say that was a phallic sexual dream, but to me it represented safety. I actually like the pain of Novocain needles at the dentist because it means numbing the pain I’ll feel later.

And of course, Dr. Hersh’s office was on the corner of our old block in Brooklyn, and I miss that blocks so much. Even when I was agoraphobic, I didn’t mind going for appointments with Dr. Hersh, who was the first dentist I wasn’t scared of.

Today I was made more nervous than usual by the constant drilling and hammering going on outside my apartment; it seemed worse than ever before. That constant noise would make even an average person jittery, and I felt like Franklin Pangborn, the nervous nelly in those old movies.

I called the English Department secretary at Nassau Community College, and she said they need letters of recommendation and transcripts. I can’t find my letters from Betty Owen or Mary Ellen Grasso, and I need to look through my folders to see if I have them.

I don’t have recent letters of recommendation, either, because many of the people I work for are no longer teaching.

So I called Ben Mulvey at Nova, who told me he would send me a “To whom it may concern” letter so I can use it when I need to.

But Ben also said I should apply for a writing faculty job at Nova and mentioned that a literature professor may be resigning soon and that he would let me know if and when that happens.

God, I would love to go back to Nova.

Sat Darshan seemed more nervous than I was after she had a horrible weekend, with confrontations with Nirankar, whose sister, Kiran’s biological parent, came over and that was a mess, and with Gurudaya, whose boyfriend has been divorced twice. Sat Darshan said, “I’m not going to let her live that kind of life under my roof.”

I really don’t understand her attitude, but I’m not a parent and I’m not Sikh. Sat Darshan said that Gurudaya should move to Española, but she doesn’t want to, so mother and daughter are at a standoff.

Sat Darshan is going to India with Kiran on Sunday if their tickets and visa arrive by Express Mail in time.

Sighing deeply, Sat Darshan said she felt lightheaded and shaky, and I told her to call the doctor, but I’m sure it’s just stress – and that she really needs to go to India to get herself together mentally. After all, Sat Darshan hasn’t left the Valley in four years.

I don’t know if I can function like a normal person, but I guess it’s a step forward that I didn’t need to call Susan before making plans for the interview in New York.

I scheduled my interview at Nassau Community College as late as I could. Hopefully, I’ll be feeling better by mid-April.