I was awoken by my mother pulsating shrieks. She was
in the room adjacent to mine. I pulled the blanket off my head and looked
around. She must have gotten agitated again with no preceding event of
provocation. I stayed in bed silently, deliberately and indeed
shamelessly, kept on staring at the walls and ceiling. Her voice was growing
louder with obscenities. I could feel the heat around my ears and my heart
pounding in my chest; I could feel the trembling in my fingers and the churning
of my stomach.
I did not know if it was my sweat or my tears, since all was mixed. I pursed my lips as the ambulance horn blared in the distance. Someone must have taken action. Suddenly, she stopped shouting. Steps were heard going- up the stairs of our apartment. A door opened and my mother started yelling again and this time even more loudly. I immediately covered my ears and pressed down on them really hard.
This was the second such episode of aggression in a
month.
My mother was suffering from schizophrenia.
I was a year old when my father divorced my mother because of her mental illness. Since then my two sisters, mother and I had been living with my aunt – my mother’s sister, the woman who called the ambulance that would whisk my mother away to the hospital.
My older sister got married and left our house when I was only 7.
I remember waking up early to prepare for school but my younger sister would not come out of the washroom. She would repeatedly wash her hands for 1 or 2 hours due to her fear of contamination and dirt. She had been suffering from eczema and recurrent fungal and bacterial infections because of excessive hand dryness from the obsessive compulsive hand washing routine.
She was the most beautiful and intelligent girl in
my class and I wanted to be her best friend but I did not know how to talk to
her. I was aware of how awkward and unlovable I was. So I distracted myself and
looked out of the window instead.
The result was to be announced in an hour.
I got 96% in a class but I was second and not first.
I took my prize and came back to my chair. My heart was beating faster than
last night, my fingers were trembling and I was sweating profusely. My body was
aching due to pain and dejection as if someone had slapped me in front of
everyone. She had done better than me; she had obtained 97%.
Unable to take it anymore, I rushed to the washroom. It was hard to hold back those tears. I was ashamed of myself, my life, my failures, and my unquenchable thirst for supreme grades. Success was a dream and it seemed like it was bound to remain just a dream. I was a loser. Utter loser!
“I can't go on like this.”
I put my head down on the table and started crying.
The doctor pushed the tissue box towards me and offered a glass of water.
I drank it. And then answered her questions.
It was my first consultation with a psychiatrist in
her office. It was one hour long. A vent out journey, one could call it.
PSYCHIATRIST
After she left my office, I documented her current
medications, signs and symptoms of her psychiatric illness and a future
treatment plan.
My patient was a young 24-year-old student of fine
arts, with a family history of parental discord and ultimately divorce,
schizophrenia, obsessive compulsive disorder and depression. She currently
suffers from bipolar affective disorder with an ongoing episode of depression
and borderline personality disorder.
After completing the note,I placed the chart on the
rack. I caught sight of the newspaper that she had brought along with her this
time.
Her first story had been published today and she had
been excited to show me. I read it. It was astonishingly well articulated short
story for school-going children. It was about the goodness of a character and
how it significantly affects ones life.
I have been following her progress for the last
three years. During that time she has been persistent in her desire to attain
excellence in writing and painting.
Today- occupational therapists celebrated her
success. Yesterday, her first painting was sold at a good handsome price.
While thinking about her, I realized that therapists and physician also derive lessons and learn wisdom from their patients’ ends.
Sometimes
people learn, grow and evolve through thick and thin, regardless of whether
they are the patient or the clinician, whether they are the counseled or the
counselor. She was indeed a special one in my life who taught me resilience,
courage, struggle and optimism.
She has paved her way through the most turbulent of
times and has taught me how to see life from within and not without.
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