One night when I lived at Mary and Les’, I was home alone. The psychosis was bad. At school, I had watched as a stream of fog had entered the lecture hall, and eventually filled it with smoke so I couldn’t see the student next to me. At home, the shapes and colors merged until the house became an Expressionist painting. Mack wasn’t answering. I lay flat in bed and stared at the ceiling. Mary’s Cadillac was in the garage, and they wouldn’t be back for a while. I could turn the car on in the garage, lay down by the exhaust pipe, and die. I could do it now.
But as I lay on the bed, I saw Mack’s friend Max walk in the room clearly against the mush of colors in my head, in three dimensions. He faced me, at the foot of the bed, and said, “There is something good inside you that is stronger than all this bad stuff” and poof he was gone, all the colors were gone, and I was fine. I was fine! I could think clearly, read, see!
I had taken a class with Max on Hinduism or something, a little Jewish gnome/guru to me. He represented calmness and clarity. While I was lying on my bed contemplating suicide, Mack and Max were having dinner at Max’s house, and had been talking about me. After dinner, at the exact time I saw Max, he became exhausted and took a fifteen minute nap. Had my mind chosen him as a messenger of sanity? I’m not much for spooky explanations: I’m an atheist. I don’t believe in ghosts or deities who make the Cubs win the pennant.
But something happened, because I was immediately healed of hallucinations and psychosis, and it lasted for thirty years. Is there something in the head that’s stronger than insanity? Is there anything “good” or “bad” inside, or just neurons and chemicals? More questions than answers.