Whispers of the Mind۔

There was a time in my life when I heard words that shattered my heart: "You are mentally unstable, you are very ill, and you need rest." These words came at a moment when I was enduring the toughest, harshest period of my life. They tore my heart apart and left me feeling fragmented and hopeless. I lost faith in humanity, in myself, and in my family. The only thought that consumed me was suicide. It seemed like the only escape from the overwhelming darkness surrounding me.

Everywhere I looked, I saw shadows of despair. No matter how hard I tried to find a glimmer of hope, all I could see was darkness, so dense that even if I ran in search of light, I wouldn’t find even the faintest ray. I struggled and cried out, but it all felt useless. I was trapped in a time of severe hardship, unlike anything I had ever experienced before.

At first, I thought my mental issues were just a minor joke, something temporary. I believed that with a couple of days of medication, I would be back to normal. It seemed to me as if it were just like having a fever or a cold, where you take medicine for a few days and then recover. I went to the doctor for a routine check-up, thinking I might as well get a mental health check to ensure everything was fine. The doctor asked me questions, and while I answered them, sometimes smiling, sometimes showing sadness, and sometimes just staying silent, I never realized the gravity of my situation.

The doctor observed my every reaction closely. She asked me a simple question: "How many times a day do you wash your hands?" I replied that it depended on where I was. If I was in a dirty place, maybe 10-15 times, otherwise, around 8-10 times a day. She asked if I always felt my hands were dirty. I said yes. After this, she prescribed me medication to take daily before sleep.

Initially, I thought it was just like taking medicine for a fever or a cough. But after a few days, I didn't notice any changes, though my friends could see differences in my behavior. I became more irritable, laughed for no reason, cried without cause, and constantly did something or the other. My friends expressed concern, but I felt I was perfectly fine. However, a senior friend of mine, whom I considered a sister, insisted on accompanying me to the doctor next time.

When we went back, the doctor asked if I had noticed any changes. I said no, but my friend detailed several changes she had observed. The doctor seemed worried and suggested further tests, ones I had never done before. Seeing these tests, I became more anxious and frightened. Why was this happening to me? I thought I was fine, but deep down, a small part of me feared the truth.

The tests revealed a lot, and soon my medication was changed. With these new medications, I began to notice changes in myself. I was becoming physically and mentally disturbed. Emotions and feelings buried deep within me started surfacing. The medications were so heavy that they made me feel disoriented and tired. I couldn't tell where I was or what I was doing. My memory began to fail. I started forgetting names, addresses, even my own name sometimes.

My eyesight became sensitive to light, so I preferred staying in the dark. I isolated myself from others, spending most of my time in my room. My friends tried to help, but I pushed them away. I was filled with anger and fear, and they were scared of me. My speech was affected; there were days when I couldn't talk at all. I realized the struggles of those who are unable to speak. My heart went out to them, understanding the frustration and helplessness they must feel.

During this period, I encountered faces I never wanted to see. Some people made fun of me, thinking it was a joke, while others genuinely tried to help. But the mocking words cut deep. Nightmares haunted me, and I would wake up in terror, feeling as if someone had thrown me from a height. These jerking movements, as medical science calls them, added to my fear and anxiety.

I was scared of everyone, even those close to me. It felt like everyone was out to get me, and I could trust no one. I stopped talking, stopped going out, and confined myself to my room. My room became my safe zone, a place where I felt somewhat secure. I feared that stepping out would lead to an attack by the world outside, much like an animal being hunted.

My hearing was already impaired from childhood, and my vision started to deteriorate. The light hurt my eyes, and I removed my hearing aids because sounds became unbearable. This sensory overload was torturous. My mind was clouded with thoughts of people wanting to harm me. I felt utterly alone, lonely, and misunderstood.

As my condition worsened, I contemplated suicide. The thought of ending my life became a constant, frightening companion. Sharp objects seemed inviting, and I thought of slitting my wrists or jumping from heights. The urge grew stronger until one day, I actually cut my wrist. Fortunately, my friends found me in time, bandaged me, and tried to console me, telling me I could share everything with them. But I still couldn't trust them.

This continued for not just days or months, but two long years. Frequent doctor visits, changing medications, and tests became my routine. I struggled to keep my mind and body together. My memory became so weak that I would forget where I was going or what I was doing. College attendance dropped as I could no longer function normally. My friends and doctors tried their best to help, but I felt like a burden, useless, and unwanted.

I lost confidence in my existence and saw myself as a burden, someone the world would be better off without. I felt like I had no purpose, no significance. Thoughts of ending my life became stronger. The depression and anxiety were suffocating, leaving me feeling like an outsider, even among friends. The world seemed like a hostile place.

However, this dark period taught me invaluable lessons. It revealed who truly cared for me and who didn’t. Difficult times show us who our real friends are, and this was true for me. Some people supported me, lifting me when I fell, while others ignored my struggles. Despite everything, there were those who stood by me, helping me through the darkest days.

The emotions I experienced during this time are beyond words. The despair, fear, loneliness, feeling of being lost, and moments of hopelessness are indescribable. Yet, sharing this story is important because it sheds light on the internal battles faced by those going through similar struggles. This is just a glimpse into the agony of mental illness, a fraction of the pain and turmoil experienced.

In the end, it is the support of those who genuinely care that makes a difference. Understanding, patience, and empathy can help someone navigate the darkest paths. My journey through depression, anxiety, and schizophrenia was filled with pain, but it also revealed the strength of the human spirit and the importance of compassionate companionship۔