Seeing Through The Brain Fog

By Aisha Hasnain

Abruq calls me to ask if anyone could tell me which coaching institute would be best for her 11^th grade medical student cousin.“I will take a look at my contacts and see who can help,” I say. I scroll through my contact list and I get stuck at one contact. I take some three looks to ascertain if this person can help:“Gul Kaak Kaandur”. Gul Kaka, the traditional baker. I keep scrolling and stop at many such contacts – Dadi, Arbeena JK Bank, Bright Smile Clinic, Shahkaar Ornaments . . . eventually my English teacher. My English teacher was someone who could have helped and hence, I called him. He declined my call and never bothered to disconnect with a default message reading 'Can you please call later?' How mortifying! Ultimately I called a junior who was recently studying at a coaching institute in Srinagar. She was kind enough to not disconnect. Instead, she did not answer at all. She called back immediately though and my pride was saved.

By some divine grace, I was able to pay a neighbourhood aunty – who is in her late fifties – a visit. She gladly narrated stories of her childhood to me. Somewhere in the middle of the conversation, I lost touch. No matter how hard I tried to concentrate, I did not seem to hear what she was saying. Reading her expressions and gauging from the tone in her sentences, my brain generated reflexes of facial expressions that could correspond to her speech, trying hard to stick to the act while in fact grappling for a way out of the mental maze it somehow landed into in the middle of the conversation. It gives me a guilty conscience to bluff the other person like that.

After a gap of a few years, I failed to get back to my studies when I tried to. I remember studying three pages from my textbook word by word followed by two revisions on two consecutive days, yet I was hardly retaining anything. I could simply not consolidate the information I was taking in. I had lost a big deal of my retention power. It is hard to stay motivated when you barely see any results to the efforts you put into something. Perseverance is pricey.

Instead of telling me that my ancestors were the great apes, I like biology telling me about neuroplasticity. My ancestry makes me miss body fur during winters. Neuroplasticity is a hope, if you were to ever look for science behind hope. You don't need to by the way. See Einstein's theory suggested two things: The universe was either expanding or, the opposite, contracting. But Einstein wanted to keep the universe static (as a static universe was the prevailing assumption during his times). Hence, he added a cosmological constant which counterbalanced the gravity in his equation until Edwin Hubble discovered for him that the universe was actually expanding and not static. Einstein took his lambda constant back and called it his biggest blunder. He was right all along without the lambda. See instead of expansion, it could have been hope that the equation was pointing at, to speak in a philosophical manner.

A hefty stressor such as a divorce, death of a loved one, a traumatic event, abuse, a terminal illness, dealing with a loved one with a terminal illness, job loss, crushing responsibilities, a dysfunctional family, is a powerful event which gives us mental overload for almost a lifetime. While we are physically present in our house, at our place of work or inside a bus, our brain is preoccupied with the distress caused by this stressor and the uncertainty it brings. Subconscious knows no time. For it, the past, the present and the future are not clearly demarcated. If you have been a victim of trauma, you are still trapped inside that room where you were harassed or tortured ten years back. Hyperfocus is needed to carry day-to-day tasks. When that eventually becomes burdensome, the brain goes back to the only thing where it finds life, functioning and focus: the stressor. Even when it is an exasperatingly miserable state to be in. Able to feel grounded, feel the warmth of the sun, see the rushing cars while crossing the road or tend to your crying child's needs is all alien. Life passes by you. The present becomes a utopia. There is no mindfulness. There is no presence. Your brain is on autopilot mode. Why did you call your spouse when it was your friend you were supposed to call? Your brain is relying on habits.

Mindfulness is about feeling the present. Five things you can see, five you can hear and a few you can feel in the now. The Now! The last time I have done anything close to meditation was last month. It was a PMR (progressive muscle relaxation) exercise. That day I woke up during the wee hours and to help myself fall back to sleep, I played the ASMR video in my playlist. While I was back sound asleep, all the videos in that playlist were playing automatically. By the time it was 8 in the morning, the PMR video started to play and in my sleep, I followed the instructions: Stretching, straining and relaxing my muscles for some 15 minutes.

My protective friends are of the opinion that I am a beautiful Kashmiri pheran packed inside a box, and disappointed that I am selling myself as a rag by putting forward my mental health issues only. Well, honestly, I do not have a problem with that. This attitude towards life coupled with hundred other special features, I am blessed with enough to remind me of the worth I hold, at least after 9 years of (successfully) battling debilitating anxiety. If my brain has received a blow and is hence suffering, it is as normal to me as the excruciating pain I suffered when I met with an accident a few years back. And these topics are not something that does not require addressal. Someone who does not understand anatomy in general and neurology, neurons, axons, serotonin, cortisol and company in particular can be excused for failing people like me, or for adding stigma to the injury.

Anyway, 3/4. Bear with me one last article – the 4/4 – on the last Friday of Ramadhan, which is not going to be about me or my mental health tales. There is a parasite on the run in the valley who is feeding off the defenceless and innocent people's survival in the name of religion.

The names in the article are fictitious. The author goes by her pen name, Aisha Hasnain. She can be reached at [email protected]

• As an extension of Kashmir Observer's Mindful Fridays column - aimed at raising awareness about mental health issues - we are inviting readers to share their personal journeys of struggles and victories with mental health issues. This article is a part of the said project.

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