by Anna Berry
I stay overnight in Dean’s room after the party. We make love, then talk in bed for a few more hours before finally falling asleep just before dawn.
It’s that bedroom conversation where I get my first indication that Dean and Raj’s friendship, which goes practically back to kindergarten, is strained.
“Do you know when you might start working again, Anna?” he asks.
“As soon as I can find something,” I say. “I’m looking as much as I can, but it’s hard right now. Why?”
“Are you planning to stay in your apartment?” Dean grabs my hand, more nervous than I’ve ever seen him before.
“I dunno. I might need to get a new roommate if Aziz doesn’t stay after the lease is up, but—”
“Would you ever consider moving in here?”
“I dunno. Why?”
Dean sits up, tosses the futon’s covers aside. “I’ve been having trouble paying the bills here lately. Raj’s not very good about paying his share sometimes, and—”
I’m stunned. Raj drives a late-model VW Jetta, wears the latest fashions from J. Crew, and has a room stuffed full of expensive electronics that he spent half the evening showing off to party guests. “I thought Raj had plenty of money.”
Dean laughs. “He does. He just doesn’t always spend it the way he should.”
Dean then explains how he’s had to pick up the bulk of the household bills for the past several months—even sometimes fronting cash to Raj that he never pays back—because Raj has trouble understanding that his $4,000 monthly allowance from his parents and whatever he earns doing software training has to go to rent, utilities, and food before it goes to plasma-screen TVs, stereo equipment, and expensive clothes. Making matters even worse, Raj’s girlfriend, whom I’ll call Amy, has virtually moved into their apartment, eating more than Raj’s share of the groceries by herself and racking up huge, long-distance phone bills to her family and friends on the West Coast. Dean has tried meekly to put a stop to the situation, but Raj and his new girlfriend ignore him and just go on spending huge sums of money on themselves. Just last week, they purchased matching Cannondale carbon-fiber road bikes for $3,000 apiece while Dean got stuck with the full month’s rent and electric.
“I thought you said this guy was your friend,” I scoff.
“He is. We’ve been buddies since grade school.”
“A real friend wouldn’t treat you like his own personal ATM machine.”
Dean sighs. “I dunno—I don’t think Raj really thinks of me like that. He’s—he’s just had kind of a hard life, is all.”
I laugh. “That’s funny, since he obviously grew up on Easy Street.”
Dean sighs again. “Well, yeah, his family is wealthy, but they have a lot of problems. Raj’s dad is a bit of an asshole. He’s violent too. He beat Raj and his brothers up a lot when we were growing up. Raj used to come over to my house to hide from his dad when he was on a rampage.”
“My dad was violent too, and I don’t use you as my own personal ATM.”
Dean ignores this. “Raj has a lot of trouble knowing what to do with himself. He has trouble managing money especially. I just feel like I should help him, since he’s my friend and all.”
“Whatever. It’s your money.”
Dean looks hurt. “You’re such a kind and compassionate person, Anna, I thought you’d understand.”
“Dean, it’s really none of my business, but Raj is not your real friend if he does shit like that. He’s just using you, and helping him will only make the situation worse. I have an older brother sort of like Raj, so I know.”
Dean ponders this for a minute or two. “All right. But that’s all the more reason why you should move in here. I know you’re having money problems right now too, and I’d like to help you with them—”
“Dean, no. We’re not ready for that—”
He holds up his hand. “Hear me out. I know you’re struggling right now without a steady job. If you move in with me, you won’t have as many bills. It’s not like I’d be paying your way. And I need some help standing up to Raj and Amy. You’re strong. You could help me. We can help each other.”
Red flags go up in my brain. I’ve craved rescue from men for my entire adulthood, but every time a man has swept into my life—promising to “save” me from ruin, to give me the stable-yet-glamorous life I’ve always dreamed of—I’ve always jumped full-throttle into the relationship, moving too fast too soon. And it’s always ended badly. Just look at what happened with Dieter Franzl, for God’s sake. But I just shrug those concerns off. I’m the eternal optimist when it comes to boyfriends, even if my brain is sending out all sorts of smoke signals that if I’m smart, I’ll get out now. Those signals are just wrong. They have to be. Dean wouldn’t be offering to rescue me if he didn’t want to, right? Because I’m special. At least he thinks so, even if I don’t. And I latch onto that as a drowning man does a life preserver. With the noise that pollutes my brain on a daily basis, I’ll take whatever I can get.
As a young single woman who’s struggled with mood disorders on and off since high school, I’ve often judged my value as a person solely on whether I can get a certain man to love me or not (first my emotionally distant father, then a long succession of men I sought as replacements for the one man who’d first rejected me in favor of a succession of younger wives and their subsequent younger, cuter children). The tremendously needy, vulnerable part of myself that often first charms and attracts those lovers-cum-father-replacements is also what drives them away in the end.
Dean will turn out to be the latest in that long stream of men. Our relationship will ultimately burn out in the worst way possible, and all because at the age of twenty-eight I still lack the self-awareness and insight to recognize the destructive patterns of behavior in my romantic relationships. Red flags the size of Nebraska could be plastered across Dean’s forehead, and I’d still look right past them.
So I ignore all those giant red flags and decide to move in with Dean. I really think that this time, it will be different. And the truth is, I do need the financial help. Not two days after Dean and I have our late-night bedroom conversation, my roommate Aziz flies the coop, abandoning my apartment with nothing but a “Screw you, stupid American” note stating he’s returned to Malaysia, so there’s nothing I can do to make him pay his share of the three months’ rent still left on the lease. It will take all the savings I have just to cover my share of the rent for those three months. I’ll forfeit the security deposit if I sublet this late in the game, but Dean and I both decide that’s the best course of action to take.
For the next two weeks I set about listing the apartment for immediate sublet and selling off almost all my furniture and household items since Dean doesn’t have room for them at his place. By the time I move into Dean’s bedroom at the end of the month, my worldly possessions consist of my computer, my meager wardrobe, a small CD collection, four bath towels, and three cooking pots.
It never once occurs to me that I might be putting too much confidence in my belief that moving into Dean’s tiny bedroom in a cramped garden apartment he shares with another couple is equal to the stability and commitment of a marriage. But that’s exactly what I do. Logic is no longer part of my vocabulary. I’m drowning in a whirlpool of repressed emotions, financial stress, and nonstop mental noise by this point, and Dean is the guiding light of my rescue ship. Or so I think. He turns out to be something else entirely.
Looking back now, I think this is when the first seeds of my later psychotic episode begin to germinate. The DSM-V defines brief psychotic disorder as a temporary psychotic state that lasts for at least one day, but can last as long as a month, that is not related to bipolar disorder, schizophrenia, schizoaffective disorder, or delusional disorder. It frequently occurs as a result of extreme stress. Brief psychotic episodes involve disorganized speech, thinking, and behavior; hallucinations; problems with memory; sleep disturbances; the inability to make basic decisions; and unusual behavior
or dressing inappropriately. I will eventually show most of these symptoms when the situation with Dean becomes untenable. But I think the delusions first start here. I should already know by now that moving in with Dean is the worst possible thing that I can do, but I believe the exact opposite.
Still, I can see why I might have latched onto those delusional ideas. Raj and Amy (who by then is living in the cramped apartment full-time herself) are welcoming at first. And things are looking up in other ways too. I’ve returned to work on a short-term contract job writing grant applications for a nonprofit organization on the South Side, a job that requires I buy a car with my last remaining savings. The small women’s theater company I run as a side project is offered the funding necessary to produce a play about the Rape of Nanking; I manage the production crew and even help Dean get cast in it as his first professional acting gig. I offer Raj the opportunity to run the box office on weekends to make some extra cash, and he gladly accepts my offer. Dean receives favorable reviews in the Chicago newspapers for his performance in the high-profile play, and offers from talent agents and auditions for well-paid on-camera acting gigs start to roll in for him. I encourage Dean to pursue a professional acting career—he has talent, and as one of the very few working Asian-American actors in town, he soon finds himself in demand. Dean and I spend more and more time together doing theater work, and Dean soon finds a whole new circle of friends and acquaintances with whom to spend his time. Dean spends less and less time with Raj at the Ashland Avenue apartment and more and more time out on the town with me and our new mutual theater friends.
At first, Raj is happy for Dean’s newfound success. But he soon grows to resent it—especially when Dean finally puts his foot down (at my insistence) on Raj’s constant financial freeloading. Within a few weeks, things come to a head in the cramped two-bedroom apartment.
It’s clear how low Raj’s self-esteem is when he becomes so threatened by the attention Dean is receiving for his downtown theater work that he deliberately blows off his box-office duties for an entire weekend—the very same weekend I’ve planned to be away in Indiana taking care of some family business. I spend almost the entire weekend at my mother’s house on my cell phone, fielding calls from angry ticketholders and patrons who can’t get through to anyone on the box-office line, can’t get anyone to return their calls asking for directions to the theater, and can’t even have their ticket purchases confirmed. Dean tells me later that the cast and crew have to run the box office themselves one night when Raj fails to show, and they have to cancel the show on another because no audience comes to see it. The production loses several thousand dollars’ worth of potential ticket sales that weekend; the whole six-week run ends up a money-losing venture because of it. And so, my financial situation gets even worse as a result.
The stressors pile up, and my mental state continues to deteriorate. I start loading up on caffeine to stay awake during the day because I’m not sleeping well at night. The caffeine makes me jittery and short-tempered, and the lack of sleep gives me migraines. My eyes become bloodshot, and I somnambulate through my workdays with a facial expression usually only seen on war survivors. People begin to ask me if I’m sure that I’m okay—coworkers, friends, even random strangers on the el platform. Everyone except Dean, Raj, and Amy. They either act like everything is normal or just look past me as you would a smelly homeless person on the street you don’t want to acknowledge is there. That should clue me in that something is seriously wrong with both my relationship and my living situation, but I just ignore the warning signs. My delusions that everything between Dean and me is just hunky-dory and that my financial situation will somehow fix itself are so much more comforting.
When I arrive back in Chicago the Sunday evening after Raj botches the box-office management gig, my cell phone is still ringing off the hook with nonstop calls from angry ticketholders and the show’s livid director.
I’m furious.
When I get to the apartment, Raj and Amy aren’t home. Dean has just returned from the Sunday matinee performance a few minutes before, and he’s in our bedroom, sulking. “I’m gonna kill him,” he mutters over and over. “I’m gonna kill him.”
“I assume you mean Raj.”
“You know what happened, then.”
“My cell rang nonstop about it the whole damn weekend.” I sit down next to him on the bed, trying hard to bite back my rising anger, which by now is controlling almost everything I do and say. It’s all I can do to keep from tearing Dean and our tiny shared bedroom apart. “Look, Dean. I know you suggested I hire Raj to run the box office, but after what happened this weekend I’ll need to fire him. Which might make things a little tense around here, but—”
Dean stamps his foot. “No. Absolutely not.”
“Excuse me? He did box office for my theater company, which means he’s my employee to fire, even if he is only earning ten bucks a show.”
Dean sighs. “Look, it’s tricky with Raj. He sees any kind of criticism as a violent attack. I’ve known him long enough to know how to manage him. Let me deal with him myself. I promise he’ll apologize to you for what went wrong and that he’ll do the right thing from now on. Just let me handle it in my own way. He won’t screw up again, I promise.”
I mull this over for a moment. I’m beginning to see a lot of strange parallels between Raj’s behavior and my older brother Mark’s behavior. The thought that Raj might be a paranoid schizophrenic whose serotonin-and dopamine-addled brain considers me a lethal threat (I’ve seen that kind of behavior in my brother Mark often enough) crosses my mind. But I can’t trust my own emotions or perceptions by this point either. I’m plenty moody and unstable myself, with a hair-trigger temper and a life preserver of delusions that are fast becoming too little too late to save me from the violent storm that’s soon to come. But I still manage to give Raj the benefit of the doubt and dismiss my notion that he just might be as crazy as everyone in my own family, me included.
Against every instinct I have, I finally agree to let Dean handle Raj in his own way. And this is the latest in my very long string of mistakes.
“All right, fine. If it’ll keep the peace. But I won’t tolerate any more screwups on the box-office thing. There’s too much riding on that show and I don’t have the funds to float it myself.”
Dean goes behind closed doors with Raj and Amy that evening when they come home. They stay locked away together for almost two hours, and I overhear shouting and the muffled sounds of a heated argument. But in the end, both Raj and Amy come out and apologize for what happened over the weekend. Apparently, they’d decided going on a forty-mile bike ride together was more important than Raj’s part-time box-office job. They are truly sorry, and promise it will never, ever happen again. But their smiles are forced, and they still refuse to meet my eyes. My brain sends me paranoid flash warnings that they are planning something behind my back, and this time, I think that my usual self-defeating paranoia may actually be based on reality.
But I clamp those fears down. I will find a way to make this work, I tell myself, even though my gut tells me to dump Dean, get the hell out of there right now, and never look back—even if it means living in an alley.
I thank them both, shake their hands, and consider that the end of the matter.
But it’s not.
After the play closes deep in the red, what little spare personal money I have left goes to paying off the theater company’s contractual obligations for actors’ stipends and production costs. Raj’s botched box-office work (his work for the rest of the run is marginal at best) has cut into ticket sales so much that I, as the company’s sole fiscal board member, have to pay the bills out-of-pocket or risk being sued by the City of Chicago, which owns the theater where we produced the show. Then my temporary grant-writing job gets cut short unexpectedly when my non-profit employer runs out of funding and can’t make payroll.
Two months after moving in with Dean, I am unemployed and totally broke.
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br /> I spend my days holed up in Dean’s bedroom, desperately surfing the Internet for job opportunities and mailing out resumes. I’m not sleeping much at all by that point, and most days I don’t even change out of my pajamas or take a shower. Raj—who works at home when he works at all—becomes my daytime companion while Dean and Amy are both at work. He chats me up the first few days, asking me all manner of friendly questions about where I went to school, what kinds of jobs I’ve had during my short career, where I grew up, what my family is like, how long I’ve been involved in professional theater. I answer all his questions in polite, cheerful detail. In my innocence I think Raj is merely trying to mend fences over the botched box-office incident. But in reality, he’s on a kind of sinister reconnaissance mission. I reveal too much, of course. My dysfunctional nutjob childhood is laid bare for him to see in all its gory detail. Not only that, Raj sees first-hand just what a basket case I’ve become myself since moving in on his turf.
After a few more days of sitting home with Raj, I get a call from an employment agency offering me another short-term contract job as a temporary research assistant at a small brokerage firm. The job has no benefits and pays way below what I’m used to earning, but I take it to just get out of the house and start earning money again. In the meantime, I notice there’s an odd change in the air at the apartment. Raj and Amy start abruptly leaving the room and locking themselves in Raj’s bedroom whenever I walk in. I often catch them whispering to each other and casting me sidelong glances in the breakfast nook each morning. My worst fears have come true. I should leave, but I have nowhere else to go.