Stand Tall My Sweet Dandelion Girl

by Jimenez, Javier

  “Did she ever tell you that she had been skipping her medications at any point in time?” Dr. Alvarez asked.

  “No. Not that I know of,” my grandmother responded.

  “When we searched her room, we found that she had left all her antipsychotics, but what is more troubling is that they were nearly untouched. She had been skipping her medications for over the past week. Do you have any ideas as to why she would be doing that?”

  “Not really,” my grandmother responded. “The only thing that comes to mind is her mother’s death being last week, but I don’t think Sam would have remembered that her mother died 12 years ago last Wednesday.”

  “Well, Ms. Grey,” Dr. Alvarez said, as she flipped through sheets of paper. “Sam has been known to display severe positive symptoms of paranoid schizophrenia. Our notes from her last two hospitals say that she struggled with malignant voices at several points throughout her treatments and that she has also experienced several visual hallucinations that have impaired her treatment before. The list of symptoms goes on, both negative and positive. Social withdrawal, disorganized thoughts and speech, psychosis, tactile hallucinations, delusions, easily susceptible to frustration. We have successfully treated most of her symptoms, but there is still much more progress to be made, especially in light of recent events. The board was considering of releasing her within the next month, however, she may still need more monitoring, so within the next two months, her mental state will be reconsidered. If she shows improvement, then we could make her an outpatient.”

  I thought about what they said.

  My grandma underestimated my comprehension of situations. I knew perfectly well that my mom had died on September 17, which was last Wednesday. And Dr. Alvarez was right; I was skipping my medication. Skipping my medication was a way for me to fight back against several of my problems—because through a plethora of coping mechanisms, I managed to rationalize why I should not take my antipsychotics. And when the voices in my head called me a liar, I acted as if I didn’t know what they were talking about. But even so, my voices know what I know. They called me a liar, because I didn’t tell anyone that I had been skipping my antipsychotics.

  My mother was still stroking my hair. “Mom,”

  “Yes, Sam?” she responds.

  “I’m not going to see you anymore once they put me back on antipsychotics,” I tell her.

  She continues stroking my hair, “That’s fine sweetie. You don’t need me. You are strong on your own, Sam. You will be your own little fighter, okay?”

  “Okay,” I smile back.

  “But you’ll always be my sweet dandelion girl, so stand tall and raise up your fists.” The dream suddenly resurfaces and I remember everything. From picking up the dandelions to her telling me to fight back. And I found myself smiling. And in that moment, I realized something. I realized that it doesn’t matter if I’m happy in my dreams, because there is nothing better than being happy in the real world. No matter how absurd it is.

  She ran her hand through my hair one last time and gave me a kiss on my forehead. “Goodbye, Sam” she whispered.

  “Goodbye, Mom,” I whisper back.

  My grandma opens the door and walks towards me while my mom began walking out. Both crossing paths, but on different realms of reality.

  “Sam! You’re awake,” my grandma said excitedly.

  “Yeah,” I giggled. My body still hurt.

  “Why were you in L.A.! That was irresponsible! What were you thinking, and you’re covered in bruises. I demand to know what happened!”

  I remembered about the journey that I made to go see Maribel, and how I didn’t even get to say goodbye to her. It made me feel sad remembering.

  I told my grandma about how I went to see Maribel, being careful not to tell her anything else. I told her that I got their too late, but I was safe.

  Dr. Alvarez eventually walked in as well and asked me if I was okay. She advised me to never do that again because it’s against the Center’s policy and detrimental to my treatment. She asked me if I experienced any relapse of schizophrenia while I was alone. I told her that I hallucinated crows that weren’t actually there, but that was it, I refused to tell her more; just in case they began asking more questions.

  “We want you to continue taking Perphenazine for the next month, and if you are still having troublesome symptoms, we will switch you to a different antipsychotic, okay?” Dr. Alvarez explained.

  “Okay,” I responded.

  Dr. Alvarez scribbled some information on her clipboard and took a step outside.

  My grandma looked at me with a concerned expression. “Sam, did anything else happen while you were out there? You are beaten up,” she stated. “Your clothes are damaged, you have bruises and cuts all over you, and your nose has a dark red splotch. Even your belongings were pretty banged up.”

  “I fell, and I couldn’t get to Maribel on time,” I explained to her.

  “Where did you spend the night?” she continued.

  “I spent it at the train station, long after Maribel left. I was safe, don’t worry,” I kept assuring her.

  “Are you sure, Sam? You were crying when you called me this morning,” she continued, insisting that something more must have happened.

  “I was just scared, that’s all.”

  Dr. Alvarez walked back in with one of the Center’s health advisors. He looked at my nose and luckily, it was not broken, it was just bruised. I asked him about a cut on the back of my head and he gave me an ointment.

  The health advisor also gave me an icepack for my nose. Then he disappeared with my grandma to go fill out some paperwork. Dr. Alvarez stayed. She advised me to go change my outfit, and to get it washed, and reminded me that I should not exit the Center under any circumstances. She also said that she was going to have one of the counselors watch me drink my medications from now on.

  “You are here because you want to recover, Sam. If you don’t want to, than we will have to relocate you,” she explained.

  “I understand. I won’t be skipping my medication,” I answered. And to be honest, at this point, I don’t think I really wanted to skip my treatment, not after all the chaos. I had almost forgotten what it was to live in a waking nightmare.

  My grandma came back, I hugged her goodbye, and we parted. It was now Dr. Alvarez and I. Now that we were alone, I had something that I wanted to ask her regarding a patient here.

  “Dr. Alvarez,” I said, getting her attention. “I was wondering. There is a woman named Malory who also has paranoid schizophrenia, and I was wondering if she was an outpatient or inpatient here?”

  “Malory?” she responded back. “I haven’t treated a woman named Malory. Maybe Dr. Oliver, or one of the other psychiatrists must be treating her.”

  I was a bit confused. “If it’s not too big of a burden, can you ask if there is a Malory Laventure who comes here? It’s just that she told me that she was getting treatment here as an inpatient,” I asked.

  “Well, a patient’s records are suppose to be confidential,” Dr. Alvarez warned me. “What I can do is ask Jackie if we have ever treated a woman named Malory Laventure, but that’s about it,”

  “Please, can you? That would be great!” I responded.

  Dr. Alvarez walked out the door and was gone for a whole minute. She came back with a confused face. “Azalea? We don’t have an inpatient by the name of Malory here in the Mental Hospital. And nothing came up for outpatient either. There was nothing, no current or past record of a Malory,” she explained. “What did you say your relation to her was?”

  “Oh, it’s just that I met a woman who called herself Malory, and she told me that she came to this hospital and that she was an inpatient too. She even followed me when I escaped the hospital…” I explained to her. At first I was confused, but then I grew scared by the possibilities.

  It couldn’t be. Malory had to be real.

  Dr. Alvarez gave me a strange look. She handed me my orange capsule of antipsy
chotics. “I want you to drink your antipsychotics from now on, okay, Azalea?”

  “Okay,” I replied.

  Dr. Alvarez made me drink my dosage of Perphenazine and escorted me back to my room. A few people stared at me and I couldn’t help but feel embarrassed. She unlocked the door to my room and let me in. My drawstring backpack was already in here. Dr. Alvarez told me that she would be meeting up with me more often. She also told me that my counselor would want to see me drink my antipsychotics from now on. I thanked her for everything.

  After Dr. Alvarez left, I made my way to my bathroom. I undressed and wobbled my way into the shower. I was alone to myself, my thoughts, my worst enemy.

  I think about Malory, and I can’t seem un-puzzle whether she was real or not. And then I remember. She told me something important. Her words echo in my head, “Sam. If you are going to remember one thing about me, I want you to hear this. ‘I think, therefore I am.’”

  As the warm water washed away the blood and dirt off my body, I seemed to find myself reliving the entire night of my escape. Till finally, I thought about the man who scattered my buttons all over the alleyway, and I begin to cry.

  Part 8

  Chapter 76

  Two months have gone by since the day I went to go see Maribel. I never got to say my goodbyes but that’s just something that I have accepted. Goodbyes mean a lot to people, including me, but I know that Maribel will do well at Fresno. She will do great things, and knowing that, keeps me from falling into sadness when I think about how I never said my goodbye.

  I met with my counselor, Ms. Stone, and she made sure that I drank my antipsychotics. However, despite the mistrust, when it came down to it, I no longer had the urge or desire to skip my medications. It was bad enough that I saw flames in my nightmares; I didn’t need to relive them in my waking life.

  I also told Ms. Stone about my insomnia. She redirected me to Dr. Oliver, and he assigned me sleeping pills for when I had trouble going to bed. I slept much better after that. Before, I would get seven hours of sleep, sometimes six, but with the sleeping pills, I was finally able to sleep for a total of eight hours.

  As time passed, so did the death of my mother. September 17th was a hard week for me. I had less and less dreams about burning apartment buildings and burning people. The only thing that I wasn’t sure of was how I would handle it next year, but then again, I have my grandma to help me get through it if I have troubles. I want to mourn for my mother in a healthy way. I don’t want to find elaborate ways to damage others or myself. I learned that just because things get stressful, doesn’t mean that I should skip my medications.

  My behavior also changed. I became more social. During our group therapy sessions, I talked more. I learned how to make friends here. I tried to be friendlier and more approachable to the other patients.

  Zoan got a lot better. He didn’t come out of his room for a week, but after a while, he came back to himself. It was good seeing Zoan again. Although I have to admit that his personality changed a lot, Zoan found his way out of his room and back to everyone else here at the Center. I even became friends with him. It was nice having him back. On the last day of his treatment, his mother came and picked him up. Zoan gave us a last goodbye. He explained how his mother planned to take him up to north California to live up there. Of course, he would still be receiving treatment, but this time, as an outpatient. He said goodbye to all of his friends, including Fidel and I, and finally, he departed.

  I was happy that Zoan was recovering, and I was happy that he didn’t let his disorder conquer him. It made me feel that he was succeeding.

  Over the next couple of weeks, I socialized more, and I befriended a group of women who were in their mid-twenties. I would also spend time with Fidel, and I got to know his friend, Jeffrey.

  Having friends was really nice. I didn’t have to spend my days here as lonely.

  Towards the end of the two months, I met with Dr. Alvarez, Dr. Oliver, and Ms. Stone. They saw that I had improved immensely, and they decided that I was finally able to become an outpatient, meaning that I could finally leave the Mental Hospital for Recovering Schizophrenics, a.k.a. the Center.

  The day before my departure, Ms. Stone met with my grandmother and I. She advised us that I should have a strong support system when I get back home. Ms. Stone said that I would benefit from a supportive environment where I could get back on my feet. Ms. Stone also advised my grandmother that she should treat me kindly and to try not to get frustrated with me because of my disorder.

  Of course, my grandma assured Ms. Stone that she would do everything in her power to help me. And it’s true; I knew my grandma would help me get through all of this.

  Eventually, my last day here came. It was the end of November. And to think, one year ago from today, I was like any other senior working on my college applications. Never in my life did I predict any of this.

  I gathered all of my belongings. Everything that I had come to own was neatly packaged in suitcases and backpacks. I was leaving early in the morning. I said my goodbye to Fidel and all of the other friends I had made here.

  I hugged Fidel and wished him good luck.

  I said goodbye to all of the employees and I thanked them for everything they did to help me get better.

  My grandma finally arrived. I walked her up to my room, and she helped me carry my belongings. “So do you ever plan on returning to high school, Sam?” she asked me.

  “I don’t think so. I think it would be more convenient for me to get my G.E.D. and from there, apply to the community colleges close to home,” I explain to her.

  “Are you sure you wouldn’t want to go back to Golden Heights and redo senior year?” she asked me.

  “I wouldn’t want to. I’ve been through too much to go back,” I responded.

  She understood and gave me a smile. I smiled back.

  As I looked around, checking that we had everything, I heard the caw of a crow. A crow, far off in the city. Passed the Center’s fence. Passed the trees. Passed the nearby buildings. It came from where the city is. And it echoed.

  “Ready, Sam?” my grandma asked me.

  “Yeah,” I sighed. “I’m ready.”

  I didn’t have much, so it was only a one-way trip to my grandma’s car. The only things that remained in the room were two empty beds, a cabinet, and a desk. We made our way out of my bedroom, and I locked the door.

  My grandma smiled at me again, and I smiled back.

  We made our way down the hallway one last time, down the stairway, through the dining hall and Commons Area, till finally, we reached the front office.

  I gave one last goodbye to Nurse Jackie. My grandmother and I pushed past the Center’s front door, and suddenly, I was outside. I was free.

  I looked up at the sky, and it was silver. The air around us was very humid.

  “Is it always foggy in the mornings here?” my grandma asked.

  I chuckled. “You know, I told a good friend of mine that it’s always foggy here, because a lot of things in the world won’t make sense and that there will always be complexities that we will never understand.”

  She looked at me without saying a word, and she smiled, and I smiled back. And for the first time, I felt truly tranquil. I felt that everything was going to be okay.

  THE END