The Gate of Heaven


The Gate of Heaven
 
 
After my dream about heaven and my father, I was blessed with a new inspiration and I went in search of help. I called my mom and I told her that I wasn’t doing well. She talked to Jacob. He said I could move back in so my mom could take care of me. I took the offer quickly. I wanted to be close to my mom. Jacob took me to County USC hospital. He drove me there and dropped me off. I had my backpack full of clothes. I wanted to get admitted in the psychiatric ward, but a doctor needed to evaluate me.

It was such a scary, dingy hospital. There were so many people in pain waiting for hours to be seen. It was late night and I could see the sorrow in their tired faces. Some were sleeping on chairs. Others were crowded by the nurses’ station asking, “How much longer?” There were so many people ahead of me and I was frantic for medication. But they wouldn’t see me unless it was an emergency. Couldn’t they see that this was an emergency? What did they need to witness in order for me to get help? Must I display my psychoticness in public in order to get some medical attention? So be it. I threw a neurotic tantrum. I fell to the floor and started screaming and kicking. I screamed out all the vulgarities that were burdening my heart. I became hysterical. I was manic and had lost control. I started out as a cry for help and ended as a crushing mania.

“I need help! I’m going crazy! Everyone is always using me and abusing me. Mike, you cheated! Scott, you abused! I’m broken and sick! God, help me! Please help me!” I yelled out and banged my backpack with my fists.

A doctor soon came out and knelt beside me on the floor. “Excuse me, miss. You need to stop screaming. You are waking up all the patients. You need to put yourself together. We will get you help. Please just calm down. Come on, get up.”

He reached out his hand and helped me up. He took me into a room and gave me tissue. I sat down and he began questioning me. I told him that I had bipolar disorder and he said that he didn’t want me to be misdiagnosed. He said that I was just probably suffering from anxiety and depression. He didn’t prescribe Lithium or Depokote. He just prescribed Zoloft, an anxiety medication. I knew that it wouldn’t help much but there was not much I could do.

I could only take the medication and go on. Maybe it would help me at least a little bit but it didn’t and the manias and sleepless nights were taking all the life within me. I went eight days without sleep. I just couldn’t function. And still I went to school. I went to work. I lived on.

 

October 17, 2002

 

One night, I went to school completely manic. I went to the school newspaper room and spoke with my friend, Xavier, who was on staff. I asked him if I could stay there and type in my journal. He said yes and told me to just lock up.

I don’t think he saw how bad I was. He couldn’t see it in my eyes. And I didn’t tell him. The truth was that I wanted to feel safe. I was afraid of my deteriorated state of mind. I knew that I couldn’t drive anymore. I needed a place to stay. I was afraid of what could happen to me out on the streets in the darkness of the night. I knew I was manic. I knew I was weak. I hadn’t slept for so long. I wouldn’t eat. I’d lost about ten pounds. My mind and body were shutting down on me. As I typed manically on the computer, I began to gasp for air and everything began to spin all around me. I walked over to the staff table and laid my body across it. My legs were hanging over. I couldn’t breathe.

“Oh Lord, help me. I don’t know what’s happening to me. I need help. I need a miracle. I can’t breathe.” I started doing breathing exercises. “Inhale, 1, 2, 3, 4. Exhale 1, 2, 3, 4.” I had my arms up in the air as I took each breath. Suddenly, the little strength that was pumping my heart fell weak. I felt my arms fall over and they hung motionless over the table. I passed out. I was unconscious. And I could no longer feel my body. I was gone.

I felt my soul ascend into a majestic world were there was no pain, a beautiful paradise beyond the clouds. All that remained in me was in tranquility, a floating spirit that breathed in the same air as God. I was in His glory.

“Is this what it feels like to be in heaven? Have I died?” The Lord speaks through the heart and mind and He revealed to me that it was not my time to die. But I wanted to stay. “Open the gates of heaven, Lord.” But there was a boundary that I could not cross. I pleaded with God and God revealed that I had to go back because I had a purpose in my life and I had to go back to fulfill it.

Suddenly, I heard a deep voice, “What’s going on in here?” I thought it was the devil. He wanted my soul. He wanted to take me from heaven. I started screaming, “Oh, my God. I can’t feel my body! Don’t rape me you evil beast! In the name of Jesus Christ, leave me alone, Satan! He will destroy your yoke! He will make you crumble!” I screamed out. It wasn’t the devil; it was the custodian who had found me unconscious on the table. He came to help and in my delusional state of mind, I thought he was the devil.

When I opened my eyes, I saw worried faces looking down at me. It was the custodian, dean, nurse, and security guard. They were trying to revive me.

“Are you OK? Can you hear me?” asked the custodian.

“Huh?”

“What’s your name?” asked the dean, as he gently shook my shoulder.

“Maricela Estrada.”

“We’ve called for help, Maricela. Just hang on.”

“I can’t feel my body,” I said.

“How long were you unconscious?” asked the nurse.

“I don’t know.”

They all looked at me with sadness. They wanted to help me but I knew that I was going to die. I wanted to die. I wanted to go back to my paradise. Soon, the paramedics arrived and carried my immobile body into the ambulance truck. I heard the sirens and saw the bright lights all around me piercing the night skies. They shut the doors of the ambulance truck and a kind man with blond hair and crystal-blue eyes sat by my side. I thought he was an angel dressed as a paramedic. He was sent by God to take me back to heaven.

“Thank you for sitting by my side, sweet angel.” He just looked at me with tears in his eyes. I rambled on with my delusion and he just looked at me with his troubled face. The ambulance stopped and I no longer heard the sirens. I just saw the bright red and yellow lights as they carried me into the emergency room. The sweet angel stayed by my side. As I lay in my hospital bed, he stood before me. He just stared at me.

“I have to go now,” he said.

“No, please don’t leave my side. I’m going to die. I need you to be with me.” A nurse walked in and interrupted, “He has another call!”

“I have to go now,” he said, “but I’ll pray for you.” And he was gone.

I knew my time was short. “Nurse, nurse, I need to use the phone. I need to call my loved ones and say my last goodbyes. I’m going to die. My time is short, you know.”

“You’re not going anywhere,” responded the nurse.

“But please. I need to use the phone.”

She hesitated but then handed me the phone. I began to dial. I called Mike but he didn’t pick up. I left a message, saying that I still loved him. I called my family and my work. Soon after, I heard the voices of my family, friends, and Hometown Buffet managers when they came in to see me. I told them that I was going to die and go to heaven and they knew I was delusional.

Until this day, I wonder what really happened that night. I wonder if being at the gate of heaven was a delusion. I wonder where my soul ascended while I was unconscious. What happened that night will remain a mystery; all I know is that for those moments, I was in heavenly peace.



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