Excerpt From Mind Emerging

Psychiatric Hospital

It’s May, 2007.  Another stay in Banner Thunderbird.

I am furious after seeing Dr. Purewal, the hospital psychiatrist who has been my doctor for years. Every time I am in the hospital, I see him. Initially, every time I see him, I want to go home. I tell him I am allergic to psychiatric medication, to psycho-tropics. He does nothing with this information. I tell him that if I were pregnant, I would not be able to take drugs.

“You’re not pregnant,” is his reply. The reply that I expected.

I say, “Maybe I will get pregnant.” Again, he does nothing with my statement, rather he dismisses me for the evening, opening the door, signaling me to leave. I turn back to look at him after walking out the door. He is quick. I am stuck looking at a closed door.

Once on the unit, I walk to the end of the hall with its gray industrial carpet and kick the glass door leading to the parking lot as hard as I can. Cutting its own path, the sound travels to where the psych techs sit, all the way back down the hall. I kick the door again, hoping the sound will magnify against the pale pink walls. I can’t contain myself. I can’t contain myself the way they want. I can’t contain myself the way I want.

Dr. Purewal orders a shot of Haldol. The psych techs corner me and force me into the isolation room. They pull down my jeans. They stick me. I am so angry, I barely feel the needle pierce my skin.

They are done. They move out. I am left to pull my pants up. I end up in bed, the covered, plastic pillow tucked under an ear.  The Haldol grips me fast. It causes fog to overtake my mind. This ends my anger. Shame settles in like peeing accidentally in my pants. Sleep comes.

The Magic in the Ordinary

I have Haldol induced dreams.

Spirit moves like a sprite throughout my unconscious mind. We are in a food pantry. There is an open box of cereal on the shelf. Spirit retrieves the box, searching for the prize that is promised. The prize is a little green army man, crouched and ready to shoot, the rifle is as long as his leg.

It is gray in this dream. Something moves me away from the pantry. Maybe the odor of vinegar.

Spirit sits with me at the side of my grandmother’s bed in the nursing home. It is Friday evening and quiet. I can hear breathing from the woman sleeping on the other side of the curtain, maybe twelve feet away.

Soon, the moon’s gaze will pass through the window lighting grandmother’s face. She looks as if she’s blushing. I haven’t seen grandmother’s face like this since her death. I miss her smile and the ease with which she took my hand.

Still dreaming, I am ready to go swimming. The pool is in the next room of the nursing home. I leave grandmother. The pool is lit by a single light above the diving board. There are lawn chairs along the right wall.

Spirit dives into the water first, checking for lobsters. One day years ago, I placed the shell of a lobster at the bottom of the pool before swim practice. Cheryl, one of my teammates, was the first to jump in. She came eyeball to empty eye socket and broke the water, screaming. I laughed. My coach was not amused.

The gray is slipping from my mind. I have yet to jump into the pool. My sleep is disturbed by the call of the psych tech announcing medication time. It is morning. The Haldol caused me to sleep through the night. I wake slowly as if there are dimes on my eyeballs and gravel in my mouth. The gravel tastes of mint. I have no idea why. Mouthwash is not allowed on the unit because of its alcohol content. I wish to go back to the pantry of my mind. Instead, I am forced to stand. Spirit pushes me out of bed. To Spirit, all days are moments of possibility in which to meet God. Spirit promises to take me with her. We will one day meet God together. In the meantime, I can pray for vision.

Vision means the release from the weight of schizophrenia. My dream life is powerful enough without soaking into my daily life. I don’t want psychosis to rob me of the magic in the ordinary, like simply sitting still on a bench watching a child blow bubbles with her wand of soap on a sunny day. I like being able to grocery shop. I like being able to open mail. I would not trade these things for a healthy bank account. It is in these fragments of ordinary things that I feel most well.