Stand Tall My Sweet Dandelion Girl

by Jimenez, Javier

  Dr. Sanchez added, “Currently, because she was your only guardian, and we could not trace any immediate family members,” she paused a bit, as if she did not want to continue out of fear of disappointing me, “it has been determined that the State of California should claim responsibility for you.”

  It was nice that someone cared about me so much, but it also hurt me that I didn’t have a guardian, and I spent a lot of time wondering what would become of me.

  Chapter 29

  A week later, Dr. Sanchez returned with a different man.

  He looked different from the people who worked in the police department. He didn’t dress like them; he dressed more like a doctor. As I kept inspecting his outfit, I began to discern clues about his uniform. He didn’t look like the pediatricians that I had met here, or the surgeons, or the nurses. The man looked like a doctor, but it didn’t look like he ever did any medical work like the nurses or surgeons.

  “Good morning, Sam,” Dr. Sanchez began in a very optimistic voice. I felt that she was happy to see me.

  “Hello, Dr. Sanchez,” I responded, as I smiled back.

  “Sam, I want you to meet Dr. Lucio,” she said.

  “Good morning, Sam,” the unfamiliar figure finally said to me.

  “He works here at the Chickadee hospital,” Dr. Sanchez explained. “He works here in a special department, actually,” she said, and her speech began to slow down so that I wouldn’t panic. “Dr. Lucio works as a psychiatrist and he just wanted to talk to you.” She put her hand on my shoulder so as to comfort me. She gave me one last glance, but said nothing. Dr. Sanchez just gave me a comforting smile and left.

  He shook my hand and smiled, then took a seat next to my bed, a chart and pen in his hand.

  “I don’t want you to be scared, Sam. I’m here to help you, and so does everyone else from the police department. We are all here to help you,” Dr. Lucio said to me.

  I nodded.

  Within 30 days, I was diagnosed with paranoid schizophrenia.

  Chapter 30

  I told him everything. About the voices and seeing creatures. And how when I was in the hospital, I still heard whispers sometimes. And how I couldn’t run away and that whispers followed me everywhere. And I told him about how bad they made me feel and how they would tell me that everyone hated me and that I was useless, and how I started believing the voices sometimes, no matter how hard I fought. And I told him about how I was attacked by creatures and how everything felt real, how I actually felt my skin burn from the creatures’ heat, and how I felt blood dripping down my skin and how they pinned me and grabbed me.

  Dr. Lucio explained that hearing voices was more common and persistent in paranoid schizophrenia and was classified as auditory hallucinations. He also told me that seeing flames, embers, warping walls, and the monsters that I described were all considered visual hallucinations. Dr. Lucio continued to explain that feeling things on my skin that are not there would be considered tactile hallucinations, which included the burning sensations of heat from the monsters, or the feeling of blood dripping on me, or being grabbed by monsters. He also explained that having false beliefs that my family and friends hated and scorned me were considered delusions and that believing that I was useless and disposable was also part of the delusions.

  He asked me about my home life and how I went about my day-to-day life. I told him about how involved I was in school, as well as how dedicated I was towards my education. I told him about all my time, effort, and investments in my academics, and how my UC application was very important to me, and how I had all these projects and exams and assignments, and how everything had been stacking up in a precarious mountain of responsibilities. He asked me about my stress levels and I told him that they were very high, along with constant fear of not succeeding.

  From this information, Dr. Lucio gathered that I had experienced a schizophrenic episode. He said that I had manifested social withdrawal alongside a decrease in my grades, which were early signs of schizophrenia, but I told him that those things had happened for a variety of other reasons. He did, however, say that the small glimpses that I had offered of hearing voices and seeing an ember figure for the first time were positive symptoms of the schizophrenia, and he agreed that the high amount of stress of my UC application and assignments had likely caused a severe schizophrenic episode and finally unraveled my schizophrenia—that I left my prodromal phase to my active phase—and that’s what had brought me here to this very hospital.

  He even went so far as to say that my schizophrenic episode had been so severe that I was experiencing psychosis, which he defined as a mental health condition that causes an individual to lose touch with reality.

  The part that terrified me the most was when Dr. Lucio said that the episode could have gone on for hours on end, and I could have caused more harm to others or myself if it hadn’t ended so quickly. When I told him about the porcelain lamp he said that I simply must have struck myself, which is why I had the stitches.

  Through the course of those 30 days, I continued to go through psychiatric evaluation, medical history evaluations and exams, and brain scans to search for abnormalities.

  Eventually, to stop the whispers, they finally gave me the medications that I needed.

  Chapter 31

  And just like that, I had lost my grandmother; I became a state dependent, and I was diagnosed with paranoid schizophrenia.

  And even though it seemed like I had already lost enough, my fate proved otherwise.

  With all the medical and legal developments covered, my academics also took a huge hit. The unimaginable happened.

  Right after I had my manic attack, the nurses injected some sort of anesthesia or tranquillizer to calm me.

  When I woke up again, it was almost 6 P.M. I looked out the window, and it was pitch dark. “One of the perks of November I suppose,” I remember thinking to myself.

  November. November.

  My head felt weary from the constant sleeping, head injury, and tranquilizer. But when the word November formulated in my head, it ran a shock that felt almost electrical—a sudden realization.

  “November!” I shouted. “November 30! November 30!” I continued to shout manically but weakly.

  “Dammit!” I yelled, “Get me out of here!” No one came.

  I sat up and began walking. Then I felt my arm being tugged by tubes with a machine. In fear of disconnecting something and causing trouble, I simply grabbed the contraption and pulled it along as I walked.

  As my feet made contact with the cold and glossy floor, I quickly noticed that I wasn’t wearing any shoes or socks. I was barefoot and I could not find my shoes anywhere nearby.

  Despite the uncomfortable chilly conditions, I made my way to the door and exited the room.

  As I entered the hallway, I still couldn’t seem to find anyone—neither the patients, nor the nurses.

  The entire level of the floor was, for the most part, shaped like some sort of hallway. I quickly spotted an elevator and began making my way towards it. Dragging my machine. I still didn’t feel fully conscious of my senses. I began feeling tired and my breathing became a bit choppy. But I didn’t stop. I kept walking.

  November 30 was the UC Application deadline.

  Chapter 32

  I finally reached the elevator door, with tubes and fluid contraptions and everything. I pressed a button and waited for the elevator room to open. With a bing, the metallic door finally opened.

  I can’t remember what I was searching for specifically—someone to talk to, a computer, or any sort of answers to my questions. Right as the door opened, a nurse holding medical equipment emerged.

  I had a startled expression, which caused her to ask me, “Do you need something?”

  I felt that my mouth was immobile, but then I remembered the intense need for answers. “What day is it?” I almost demanded.

  “Today? It’s Thursday,” she informed me.

  “Yes, but what day? Is it t
he 30th yet?” I continued asking.

  “It’s the 29th, actually,” she said, as her suspicions began to grow.

  I still have time, I thought to myself. “I need a computer. Where can I find one? Please, I need one.”

  “We do not have computers available for patients. Were you recently admitted?” she asked me.

  “Please,” I pleaded. “It’s an emergency!” I took a step towards her, and the tubes began to tug at me. She stayed silent, and I felt desperate. And for the first time, I ran out of words. I had been exhausted and felt that I had lost the ability to speak after making so many attempts. No matter how much I pleaded, I felt I couldn’t make myself heard.

  And I just looked at her, and in that silence, I felt myself reach this rock bottom. And I looked at her and made eye contact, and I think that she saw my pleading in my eyes. My eyes felt heavy, but I forced them to meet hers. Despite my injuries and the effects of the tranquilizer lingering in my bloodstream.

  And after a whole ten seconds of silence, she sighed and said, “Come with me. Let’s see if we can get you some help in the front office.”

  “Thank you,” I whispered, as my voice seemed to wilt from years of unrequited devotion to my studies.

  We climbed into the elevator, and she brought me to an office that didn’t seem like it was for the general public. The office appeared to be in place more for the utilization of patients than anyone else.

  “Hello, Alice? This young woman needs to use a computer. It’s very important. Is there one available that she can use?” the nurse asked nicely.

  The woman spun her chair a little bit in our direction while holding onto a paper. She looked at the both of us for a second, and continued with, “Yeah, there’s a working one in Dr. Alonso’s office that she can use. He’s not here right now, so just go ahead and use it, Lucy.”

  “Okay,” the nurse, Lucy, responded.

  She walked me to a doctor’s office and let me use the computer. She stood nearby, which didn’t bother me; she was just making sure that I didn’t do anything absurd, despite my already desperate demands on the first day of being here.

  I pushed the “power” button and waited for the desktop computer to load. After five minutes, everything on the screen finished loading. Luckily, the computer had an internet connection, which made everything a whole lot easier. I launched ‘Internet Explorer,’ which took another whole minute to load. I typed in “UC application” into the search bar and waited for the results to load. I clicked on the website and felt my hands becoming moist and my heart rate increase as the white page continued to pend.

  After a full five minutes, the login page finally finished loading. But it was different. There was a small note at the top of the page, or more of a warning message. An exclamation encased in a circle appeared, followed by “As November 30th approaches… expect delays in logging in and completing application… due to large amount of applicants.”

  I froze. I didn’t know where I would even begin. I didn’t have my resume on hand, but the real problem was that I didn’t even have my Personal Statement with me.

  Chapter 33

  I proceeded to enter my e-mail address and password, making sure that everything was correct. And I hit the login button. I stared intently at the white page that seemed frozen.

  “How long are you going to stay here, sweetie?” asked the nurse.

  I was afraid to respond to her. I didn’t have any clue how long it would take or how to explain this to her and how important this was to me. I turned to her and said, “I’m not sure. I’m trying to submit an application.”

  “Oh, okay. What for?” she asked.

  “Well, it’s an application for college. For a University of California to be specific,” I added.

  “Oh,” she said in a more surprised yet content voice. “What school are you applying for?”

  “Well, I’m hoping to apply to Berkeley, UC Berkeley,”

  “Tell me how that goes, okay?” she asked.

  I clutched onto the mouse and stared at the white screen. I felt really tense, but managed to muffle an already defeated, “I will.”

  There was silence in the room, and she asked me, “Sweetie, what’s your name?”

  “Sam Azalea,” I answered.

  “Okay, Ms. Azalea. I have to get back to work. You can call me Lucy, and over there at the counter, just outside of this office, is Alice. If you need more time, she will take care of you. I have to get back to work.” She picked up the medical equipment and walked out, and I heard her muffled explanation of my situation to Alice as she left.

  There was a long silence in the air that seemed to drag on every second. I stared at the white screen and the ticks from a clock adjusted onto a wall seemed to etch the passing of time into my consciousness. Occasional tacks from a keyboard on the desk where Alice was placed emanated and echoed through the ever growing, but still night.

  After ten minutes, the page crashed, and I knew that I was in trouble.

  I kept re-logging in, hour after hour, only to be greeted by a crashed screen every single time.

  My persistence was unrelenting, but after three hours of this repetitive process, I knew that I had missed my window. No one had to spell it out for me.

  Maybe in a fairytale, my misfortunate circumstances could have been saved by a miraculous outcome. Maybe a stroke of luck or an answered prayer could have redeemed something from my old life. But the reality was that I wasn’t going to get any of that. I really was at rock bottom.

  I fell asleep that night on the desk, my hand clutching the mouse. Soon afterwards, I was taken back to my room while I was sleeping, and that concluded the tale of the ‘prominent overachiever, Sam Azalea.’

  Chapter 34

  When I woke up the following morning, I asked around for Lucy, and when she came, she escorted me one last time to Dr. Alonso’s office, this time on a wheelchair. Dr. Alonso’s room was still unoccupied. I logged onto the UC application one last time, only to be greeted with the message, “The fall applications for the year 2008-2009 are now closed.”

  I simply stared at the message, and in spite of this, I didn’t cry. But sometimes, I wished that I had cried that day and that I had let myself accept this one defeat. But I never found peace or solace, and the worst part was that even till today, I still carry this failure within my heart. The combination of an inevitable sickness and misfortunate circumstances formed the haunting toxin that resides in my heart. The toxin that deprives me of sleep and haunts my dreams. The toxin that makes me feel inadequate and makes me feel void of my own abilities. I never reaped the fruits of my efforts. I never became what I wanted to be, what I tried so hard to be, what I wished that I could be—recognized and outstanding. Even when I played my cards right, things had a funny way of tearing me down.

  Chapter 35

  Despite all of these circumstances, Maribel Perez managed to find a deep place in my heart. Amidst my bandages, my mania, my schizophrenia pending to be treated, my disappointment in my college application, the loss of my one and only guardian, the legal and medical developments, and everything else in between, she gave me comfort and constructed a momentary serenity for me. She acted as a loyal friend and someone that I looked up to.

  Although Maribel was never around when the doctors saw me, or when the social workers and psychologists interrogated me, she tried her best to understand my condition.

  I was about three months into my senior year, and she was in her second year of community college. I was seventeen and she was eighteen.

  She explained to me that she was in cross-country and that she had injured herself very badly during practice, which is what brought her to the Chickadee Hospital. Maribel explained that she was running uphill and began to feel a pain in one of her legs, and in spite of this, she had continued to push herself upward and misplaced her foot and felt a searing pain. She fell, and because of gravity, she had rolled down the hill.

  She had a very humorous person
ality on top of being very kind, so when she told me this story, she cracked jokes about the whole ordeal.

  I remember her announcing, “Caution: teenager rolling downhill!” as we both broke into laughter.

  Maribel explained that she was taken to the hospital later, where doctors told her that she had damaged a tendon from the whole incident, and that’s why she was bedridden for the time being.

  In the time that we spent together, she made me feel at ease.

  Admittedly, I was afraid to talk to her when we first met. It wasn’t until the second day that we were together that she made the first attempt in starting a conversation. “So what do you think of the show?” she had asked, as a T.V. show played on the large plastic box attached to the wall. The T.V. show was the same one from the day before, with the family cracking jokes in a loving way. It looked a lot older than something from our time period.

  “Is it a sitcom?” I asked finally.

  “Yeah, it is; it’s called Married with Children. The family argues a lot, but it’s really funny.”

  It kept playing for a few minutes, and before I knew it, I was laughing, too.

  She was very relatable and informed me that she had graduated from a neighboring charter high school, which meant that it wasn’t part of the Greenwood Unified School District. I explained to her that I came from Golden Heights High School and that I was a senior there.

  After my UC application disappointment, I refused to bring anything up that was related to academia, so we never really talked about what kind of student I was. That was one of the last things that I wanted to talk about while I was there.