Mind games

What is it like to spend your life struggling with your own mind as your enemy? Being unable to trust your own thoughts and feelings? This writer tell us how she went from being a victim, to actually helping other people who suffer from mental illness.

Life in school was lonely. I was simple, polite and shy, wanting to excel in studies but never attaining more than average grades. As a result, I was constantly stressed, depressed and fearful, and wasn’t able to hold on to friends.

As a family, we were not very social, never going to any social gatherings. My father stuck to his family like glue which was really irritating and left very little time for us. Like my father, my mother also worked long hours and we were left to the mercy of male servants.

Having suffered sexual abuse as a child, I was very protective of my younger sister. I had been molested first by a male servant, then by my maulvi. I had told my mother about it and my father had gone to the mosque and humiliated the maulvi for what he had done. But that didn’t stop me from crying myself to sleep every night. At one point, I blamed God for not having prevented the abuse.  At another point, I was convinced that my mother hated me.

School at the Convent of Jesus and Mary was a safe haven. But although I loved it, I couldn’t seem to make friends. I really wanted to become a prefect but wasn’t able to. St Joseph’s College, on the other hand, was simply a blur.

Then came Aga Khan University. I was proud to be in the most prestigious medical college of the country and loved my classes. But soon everything fell apart. One boy gave me red roses and I was convinced that every man liked me and that every woman was jealous of me. I couldn’t handle the pressure of studies and living in the hostel made it worse. I had come to AKU to become a doctor, not to find a match but could not stop thinking that if I could find the right guy, everything would be all right. Then in the 3rd Year it came to a head. The anxiety, depression and paranoia from the abuse made me break down.

My parents took me to a psychiatrist who only prescribed some injections and drugs. The Pakistani doctors I was taken to were largely indifferent and always in a rush, hardly ever bothering to listen to anything I had to say. On my father’s side of the family, there are instances of mental illness, mainly schizophrenia. But because my parents are open-minded, I had a distinct advantage in battling my condition. We emigrated to the UK and I found that doctors there were compassionate, tolerant and kind. What helped more than anything else was the fact that they listened to what I had to say. If I didn’t want a certain kind of medication, they would give me an alternative. I also underwent cognitive behavioural therapy which was a great help. The doctors really believed in me and were open-minded about treatment.

I took up studies again, clearing, on my second attempt, the Professional and Linguistic Assessments Board (PLAB) and the driving test, and started working at a hospital. But then I suffered a relapse. I hated being in the spotlight and having to handle the expectations and demands. Again I became fixated on finding a guy to marry. I was convinced it was essential to my happiness.

When the episode passed I started studying psychiatry, mainly to develop an insight into my illness. I felt the pain of my patients and believed deep down that they were victims of their circumstances.

Mental illness carries a stigma unlike any other illness. In Pakistan in particular, people feel that those with mental disease deserve what they get. But it is possible to overcome psychiatric illness and live a normal life. For me, it was the support of my family and friends and a deep faith in God that got me from being a victim to being able to help others who are going through the same ordeal as I did.

Published in The Express Tribune, Sunday Magazine, March 4^th, 2012.