SandScript 2022

58
Best Friend
Ashley Deniz-Thompson
Oil painting
Porcelain
J Saldivar
September 24th, 2016 I was reborn, well in a
sense. It all started with the end of my shift at
work in Tucson, Arizona. I just had a gut feeling something
was wrong. I had been off my medication, and those who
had been there know it’s like a rollercoaster ride. One day
you’re manic high, and you think you can conquer the
world. Next, you want to go into the fetal position in a
dark room and isolate yourself. I knew that was next, so I
needed a game plan. I rushed home in a panic. That was the
longest 45 minutes to get home. I was full of panic, agony,
questioning and second guessing myself and my mind, then
finally I was home. Now that I was home and wanted to get
into isolation, my chemical imbalance was so overwhelming
it took control. My new game plan was to feel better by any
means necessary. “What makes me feel better?” I thought.
“MEDICATION!” I screamed. I sprinted to my cabinet
drawer, got all the medication I could find, and put it into a
bowl as if it were some sick Halloween. For one goddamn
second, I knew this wouldn’t end well. I started to endlessly
shovel this concoction of medication I made for myself. I
finally gave up and called my friends for some help.
After that it comes in waves:
My friends arrived, picked me up, and drove me
to the hospital. I started to hallucinate. My lips and fingers
started to go numb, I could feel them go crisp, and I no
longer felt like I was breathing. It was just not a thing
anymore. I could no longer exhale or inhale, but I was
still breathing. Anytime I moved my body, colorful dust
followed me like magic, and I felt everything and nothing
at the same time. On the way to the hospital, I saw a car
accident on the side of the road. A single-family with a car
in flames just glaring at me and holding each other tight.
Then I saw a bicyclist on the side of the road with severe
marks on his head. None of these were real.
As we kept driving, I saw an older Native
American man in the middle of the road. I kept telling my
friend not to hit him, and they didn’t see him. She finally hit
him. He dissolved into dust and appeared to me. He told
me I was not welcome with the dead and disappeared. My
friends were in hysterics when I was telling them what I felt
and saw. They rushed faster to our destination.
59
After that, I couldn’t remember much. When
I got to the hospital, the doctors kept asking me why I
did this, but I couldn’t even produce a sentence with all
of the hallucinations. After the doctor left, I remember
an eight-legged demon that asked me if I wanted to live
or die. I replied, “Live.” He then turned into my female
friend from grade school and slowly turned into a corpse.
After that, I couldn’t sleep for a couple of days. At this
point, I had been hallucinating for over ten hours and
was admitted into a psychiatric place for a week. On the
way to the psychiatric hospital, I met the EMT who
transferred me and a porcelain doll. For a moment in
time, I felt as if I were drowning in my own delusions,
choking on my hallucinations. My own eyes had
deceived me for so long. What was real? I questioned.
The porcelain doll continued in the glass where all
the medication was. No matter where I looked, it would follow
me. If I looked away from its direction, it would tap on the
glass with the softest yet loudest tap. I finally broke down in
tears and told the EMT what I saw, assuming he would think
I’m crazy but wanted him to know what was going on. I told
him about that son of a bitch doll and all the other unearthing
things I had seen since being admitted. He took a deep breath
in, exhaled, and held my hand. He asked if I could feel him,
and I could. He told me that was real and to hang on to that.
Our connection and skin on the skin were real, and my mind
was purposely playing tricks on me. I held onto that warmth
of his hand, to his words coming out of his mouth. I was so
cold for so long; his hand on my hand warmed my body like a
hug from your grandpa on Christmas day. I was drowning in a
pit of delusions, and he was the only sanity left. He saved me.
Only the EMT tried to let me know what was real and what
was a figment of my imagination. The fine line of sanity and
insanity. After my breakdown with the EMT, I was rebirthed.
When I woke up, I was reborn. I wasn’t the
same, and I am happy about that. I am grateful; I
appreciate my life and the EMT who rescued me. I still
don’t remember half of the time I was there, and I am
glad I don’t. Just fragments. I look back, and sure there
are hundreds of things I could’ve done differently, but I
wouldn’t be the person I am today. I look back and learn
from this, and it makes me a stronger person. I learn
from my unwise choices. There is a fine line between
sanity and insanity. I am happy I had someone to show
me the ropes.