Chapter 10: Recovery

On the eighth day of treatment, I feel a severe shoulder pain, and so the ECT is discontinued. I remember those eight days like a dream. I remember only early evenings and mornings. In the evening when I woke up and looked up at the fan and other things in the room, they looked to me golden. I thought I turn them into gold. Then my brother-in-law Azmat would come and give me an injection. Azmat was once a nurse in a doctor clinic. When I get up in the morning, I wrote quotations or equations on piece of a paper and threw it on the rooftop or here and there. In one quote, I wrote that a single electron contains information about the entire universe. The reason I was throwing here and there was I knew someone would pick it up. In the back of my mind my mind was Mr. Monologue. Since his nation isolates and puzzles him, he solves the puzzles and throws it away. There is a special TV channel which broadcasts Mr. Monologue all day 24 hours. Whatever he does, people interpret it. He solves problems in a cryptic way. His solution is a puzzle per se. Thinking of Mr. Monologue, on one note I drew random lines very rapidly and threw it. I shouted, “Figure it out what it meant.” One of my nephews was always present with me.

I didn’t know what my family thought of me. One morning, all my sisters-in-law, sisters, and my mother came to my room. My sister Pashmeena said we knew you could cure sick people. I said, yes I could. I blew dam, blessing, on everyone in the room. Then mother asked me that she had joint pain. I said to her to show me her legs. I tightly hold her leg in my both hands and stretched it to pull out all the pain. She shouted. I should too, asking everyone to leave my room.

One evening, there was party in our hujra. I was not allowed to go to hujra. I knew President Pervez Musharraf must be present. They would be figuring out how to safely escort me to the United States. One day I was told that one of my high school friends was killed by his enemies. I said to myself that it was easy. I rolled a paper making a tube. I looked in the tube. I just needed a photo of the dead person and I could bring him to live. Another time, I turned off the lights in the room and covered my eyes with a cloth. I knew I could see sun. After a prolong observation, I saw a shining dot that slowly moved as I rolled my eyes.

The pain is so severe that there is no way to relieve it. It makes me forget about all my crazy thoughts. To relive the pain, I lie on floor keeping. Two pillows under my head. When two pillows do not help, I put another a thicker one under my feet, and then another one under my nick until I’m totally lying on pillows. My nephew Naveed is observing me. I’m in the living room. Then I go lie on the coach. I wiggle some parts of my body all the time. Sometimes I wiggle my toes, then feet, then fingers. Then step out and go to hujra where I sit on the edge of a cot and then come back home quickly. This parade continues all day. I cannot stay at one place for long. When I come back home, mother – who is sitting all day in the veranda – feels sorrow for me for being restless. I sit down on a chair in the veranda and smoke when I get very tired. My gaze automatically follows the ash falling on the ground and on my shoes.

**

Two months later, on November 4, my illness is diagnosed. In today follow-up, I am no longer thinking that I’m dealing with an actor but a real psychiatric. Like other days, my brother is also present. Today the doctor does not ask my brother but directly asks me to describe my problem. Since he is psychiatric, he knows that today I’m able to talk. I describe my problem in one sentence: what I think right now I think of the very opposite at the very next moment ad infinitum. When I say ad infinitum I have physics in mind. We commonly use this word in physics. The doctor does not ask me for further explanation but gets it. He diagnoses that it is bipolar disorder. I’ve never heard of it. I only know that schizophrenia is a mental illness. The psychiatric gives me an example that the renowned painter Van Gogh was also bipolar. The choice of colors in his painting reflects his emotional state. I’m confused here. A renowned painter was bipolar. Does this mean that bipolar is an illness or a talent?

“I cannot help to cure it, but I’m prescribing you this tablet called Lithium, it will lower the cycle.” He says.

When he says, ‘lower the cycle’, he brings his index finger and thumb closer. I say, “I get it. You’re controlling the amplitude.”

“Exactly.”

“I learn sinusoidal motion in physics: oscillating spring, motion of a pendulum.”

My brother also laughs, “I do not understand what you two are talking about, but it is good the illness is diagnosed. Diagnostic is half a cure.”

**

Of course, I’m concerned that I have mental illness but also relieved that I’m me Shahid not Mr. Monologue. To confirm it, I go to the rooftop and everywhere in the house where I dropped the notes. They are exactly there. I threw one magazine behind cabinet in my room. The cabinet is heavy. Somehow I manage to slide it. The magazine is lying right there. Nobody has picked up anything. I’m still walking like Mr. Monologue, keeping my feet in V-shape and sliding it, eyes wide open. My sister-in-law notes it and so I also leave this habit.

My illness is diagnosed in the month of Ramadan. It is a fun month. Everyone wants to have iftar with family. Delicious foods are cooked. Beside the normal meal, iftar has its own menu: samosa, pakora, kabab, data, sherbet and more. After iftar one is full that she/he cannot walk. Bazaars become lively in the afternoon. Abdur passes time in Peshawar Saddar bazaar. He goes with his buddy Gohar and also asks me to go with them. They sit in the front seat, I hop in the dyna, minitruck. We put two chairs in the back. Though I’m not fasting, I’m enjoying it very much. My family knows about me but never have said anything. Only my deceased brother Afnan was very strict. He was tablighi. Like Jehovah witness, tablighis are Allah witness, they go door to door preaching Islam.

After Ramadan, Eid gives me further pleasure. Since the tara factories are closed during Ramadan, drinkers cannot wait for Eid. Abdur and his company drink every night. I also join them.

Everyone is surprised at my quick recovery. Perhaps this is because I quickly realized my problems. Abdur also understood my problem. Everywhere he goes, he takes me with himself. This helps me to recover from my problems. I’m really very thankful to all my family members. At all times, someone was present with me. One day, I slammed Hafiz very harshly. He said nothing. Another day, I held up my eldest brother, Laiq, and swirled him. He said nothing but ran away from my room.

Sometimes my father-in-law, who is a principal at High School No.2, Jamrud, calls me, and I spend the day with him. My in-laws do not know about my illness yet. I would be very happy if they came and asked for my illness, but my family didn’t inform them.

In December, I return to university. When I return, Daud, my roommate, has gone to the United States for Ph.D. Most of my friends have gone abroad. Usually students obtain M.Phil. from here and apply for Ph.D. abroad. I was never motivated. Doing again the coursework, again comprehensive exam, TOEFL, GRE. I’m independent learner. Neither do I like courses nor exams. One contributor to my illness was also the comprehensive exam which was this last September. It stresses me out. Since I was at home, I missed it. The next one is next year.

I do not stay longer in the university. I cannot adjust so quickly. I miss my home where I have more fun. Now the state of happiness is gone. I remain depressed most of the time. In bipolar disorder, also called manic-depressive illness, moods swing. It is a brain disorder that causes unusual shift in energy, energy, activity level, and the ability to carry out day-to-day activity. In manic episode, patient feels high, has lots of energy, increases activities, has racing thought, trouble sleeping, starts big project, spends too much money. Depressive mood is the opposite. One is very sad. Little to no energy, sleep too little or too much, self-loathing, suicidal thoughts.

I have been through most of these phases. In one moment, I would be laughing and then suddenly crying like babies, or dancing and then become sad when a song ends. I have fear of end. Why there is end. I see ends in the depressed mood. I see people like walking dead. One day they will die, and they are still happy. Why don’t people feel it. It is a truth. There is no cure to it. When I’m reading a book, I see many scientists in the book who are dead now. Why would they spend all their life in proving theorems if they already knew they would die one day. They should have saved themselves from dying.

Still depression works for me. At least, I don’t do stupid things. I don’t think about Mr. Monologue. When I go to my psychiatric, I ask him to depress me. He laughs. He admits that I’m his unique patient. I don’t tell him long stories but that what the amplitude and period of moods are. He advises me to watch my sleep, thoughts and their speed, and carefully watch my braking system. He also warns about not taking too many projects. Do not miss forest for trees.