Chapter 14: The Stop Sign

Once started in 2009, the manic episodes occur almost every year. Either in winter or summer. One would blame the weather for it, but I know my triggers. It returns whenever I solve a problem. Usually in breaks – summer or winter. When it happens, it happens in the early night. I get an idea which makes me excited, and so I do not fall asleep. Then working all night on the idea while going in and out for smoking and listening to music on YouTube. The music slows me down otherwise I’ll go out for smoking more frequently.

When I smoke in the street, a stop sign – which is on the school side across the street – bothers me. On a red octagon-shaped sign STOP is written in caps. Like it is shouting at me, “STOP, STOP SMOKING” Ayisha is also allergic from my smoking. She says that the smoking smell is adhered to my clothes. In time when I need her most, she cannot come closer to me. Especially, she has become more opposing when our son was born.

I see meanings in everything. First in the stop sign, then in my son name. We have named him Ryan. The closest Muslim name is Rayan which is a gate in heaven. Like he’s my passport to heaven.

The smoking almost separated us. In the small house we don’t really see each other. When I’m in the living room, Ayisha goes to room. When I’m in the room, she stays in the living room.

One night in March 2009, the spiritualism was at peak. Ryan was not born. He was born in July. I realized I must take action. Something I didn’t do for year. So, I went to one side of the living room, where the closet was, and I prostrated. My mouth was shut. I didn’t say anything but went straight down and placed my face downward on the floor. I was relieved at once. What I denied, I just did it. Suddenly I recalled as to where was Ayisha. I went straight to room. The door was closed. When I opened it, she was lying in bed. Her hairs were laying widely open on the pillow and she was crying. Her eyes were red. I asked her, “Why are you weeping?” She sniffled, “I don’t know.” I left her there and noted in my diary in the living room: Depression is a field like gravitation field. It exists everywhere in the house. All are affected by my depression. Since that night was the strongest, the field was also very powerful which made her cry.

Ayisha has many expecting from me. Every time when I’m elevated, I make big claim that my discovery is so important that I’ll get a job in NASA. NASA needs people like. Or I’ll go to Princeton or MIT. She believes me.

The mania doesn’t go unless I realize errors in my calculation. As soon I detect mistakes in my papers, I become like a flat tire. All the tremendous energy just blows out of my body. My mouth is burning because of chain smoking and have earache from continuously listening to music. In mania, I’m nauseous and feel hunger when mania goes away. I ask Ayisha to make chicken curry for me. She makes delicious food. I ask her to make it too spicy. I cannot wait to eat it with rooti. I become sleepy and sleep like a baby at the night. Next morning I get up very fresh. But being fresh is not a good thing. It means I’m again energetic.

These papers on which I work during illness are not related to my Ph.D. projects but more to number theory. One of my statements is that complexity is not in the system, it is in the numbers that describe it. I believe that there exists other numbers when discovered will overcome all complexities.  

One day in September 2010, we Pakistani students gather in a restaurant in downtown for a lunch. There are several Pakistani students in Physics. We all have families get together, especially on Eid. Today we only boys are in the restaurant. In fact, this party is in honor of a guest who came from New York City. The party is arranged on a short notice. I’m in office when Assad comes to my office. I’m working on a paper. This paper is related to my Ph.D. project. I know I’m not good shape but he insists and so I go with him.

We are six people on the table. They are discussing Pakistani politics. I am not taking part in the discussion but thinking to myself. I say to myself I can do it. I want to cry. To weep on purpose. Yes, on purpose. It needs guts to intimidate yourself in front people. Nobody can do it, but I can. My heart is softening until I start to weep. The guest says, “Did I say anything that hurt your feeling?” Rafiullah tells him, “No, no, his mother recently passed away.” My mother died last month. I was not informed. Aziz told me ten days later. I had Ph.D. oral exam that day when Aziz called me. I remember mother words when I was coming from Pakistan. She kissed me nick and said this might be her last time to see me. I have never been to my home country once I came.

I’m at once relaxed. I did it. When the party is over, we come outside. I look up to the southern sky which is visible from the street. There is light behind the clouds. I know He has forgiven me. When I come home, I happily tell Ayisha that I recover from illness. It is gone. I was never like this before. I’ll also quit smoke sooner. She believes.