Therapy

sleeplessness, and guardedly admitted to being under stress (I wasn’t yet prepared to open the door on the raving madhouse of my mind to another person). Patterson listened, grunted, and wrote me out a prescription for Valium.
    I was a Valium virgin — I suppose that was why the effect of the drug was so powerful. I couldn’t believe it, the extraordinary peace and relaxation that enveloped me like a warm blanket within minutes. My fears and anxieties shrank and receded and disappeared, like gibbering ghosts in the light of day. That night I slept like a baby, for ten hours. The next morning I felt torpid and mildly depressed in an unfocused sort of way. I dimly sensed bad thoughts mustering below the horizon of consciousness, getting ready to return, but another little pale green tablet zapped that threat, and cocooned me in tranquillity again. I was all right — not exactly in scintillating form either creatively or socially, but perfectly all right — as long as I was taking the pills. But when I finished the course, my obsession returned like a rabid Rottweiler freed from the leash. I was in an infinitely worse state than I had been before.
    The addictive nature of Valium wasn’t fully appreciated in those days, and of course I hadn’t been taking it long enough to become addicted anyway, but I went through a kind of cold turkey as I struggled against the temptation to go back to Patterson and ask for another prescription. I knew that if I did so, I would become totally dependent. Not just that, but I was sure that I would never be able to write as long as I was on Valium. Of course I couldn’t write while I was off it, either, at the time, but I had a kind of intuition that eventually the nightmare would pass of its own accord. And of course it did, ten seconds after Jake called me to say Estuary were going to recast and do another pilot. It got an encouraging response, and they commissioned a whole series, which was a modest success, my first, while the BBC show bombed. A year later I could hardly remember why I had ever doubted the wisdom of my original decision. But I remembered the withdrawal symptoms after the last Valium and vowed never to expose myself to that again.
     
    Two spasms in the knee while I was writing this, one sharp enough to make me cry out.
     
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    Saturday evening, 20th Feb. I heard a surprising and rather disturbing story from Rupert at the Club today. Sally and I went there after an early lunch to play tennis, outdoors. It was a lovely winter’s day, dry and sunny, the air crisp but still. Sally played doubles with three other women, I with my crippled cronies. It takes us blokes a long time to get into our kit, we have to put on so many bandages, splints, supports, trusses and prostheses first — it’s like mediaeval knights getting into their armour before a battle. So Sally and her pals were well into their first set as we walked, or rather limped, past their court on our way to ours. Rupert’s wife Betty was partnering Sally, and just at that moment she played a particularly good backhand volley to win a point, and we all applauded. “Betty’s been having some coaching too, has she, Rupert?” Joe remarked, with a grin. “Yes,” said Rupert, rather abruptly. “Well, our Mr Sutton certainly does something for the ladies,” said Joe. “I don’t know what exactly, but... ” “Oh, knock it off, Joe,” said Rupert irritably, striding on ahead. Joe pulled a face and waggled his eyebrows at Humphrey and me, but said nothing more until we reached the court and picked partners.
    I played with Humphrey, and we beat the other two in five sets, 6-2, 5-7, 6-4, 3-6, 7-5. It was a keenly contested match, even if to an observer it might have looked from the speed of our movements as if we were playing underwater. My backhand was working well for once, and I played a couple of cracking returns of service, low over the net, that took Rupert quite by surprise. There’s nothing quite so satisfying as a sweetly hit backhand, it seems so effortless. I actually won the match with a mistimed volley off the frame of my racquet, which was more characteristic of our normal play. However, it was all very enjoyable. Joe wanted to switch partners and play the best of three sets, but my knee had tightened up ominously, and Rupert said his painkillers were beginning to wear off (he always takes a couple of tablets before a game), so we left the other two