Sanna Khalid
I must have been 11 or 12, when I hadmy first encounter with an individualthey called a psychiatrist. I don’tremember a lot, but I do remember beinginstructed not to disclose my seeing apsychiatrist to anyone. And so, I thoughtI was committing a sin. A shameful one.It took me some years to realise that notbeing able to adjust in a new school, justwhen puberty had hit, was not my fault.And asking for help, was actually notsomething to be ashamed of. And thatmedicine did not help much. At least,not me
I am doing fine today, but even afteralmost a decade, I am still not really sureabout the state of mental health literacyand acceptance in Kashmir. I don’tknow if they still ask kids and adults tohide their mental pain from society. Idon’t know if the so-called society – animaginary construct created by people,who then themselves fear the judgementthereof – has gotten softer on issuesregarding mental health. I wonder if abroken mind is now shown at least afraction of the sympathy that a brokenbone receives. While people have begunto open up a little more about the battlesin their heads, I wonder if they havestarted addressing the root causes ofthose struggles, yet. There, definitely, hasbegun a spark of hope for mental healthstruggles. But the little flicker of change,is still too tilted towards one field:psychiatry-based therapy. Psychotherapy,as from the lens of psychology, is stillalien to Kashmir and its people.TheTalking Cure is still something thatpeople in Kashmir don’t find worthy and effective enough.
While we have to give it to them, theover reliance on psychiatrists, manyof whom do not even have a validcredential, makes me concerned.Because a 12-13-year-old boy, showingthe most obvious signs of conductdisorder, cannot be kept reliant onmedicines alone. But he is being. Hisyoung body, ridden with anxiolytics -induced sleep, laying around a cornerin the house, is seen as a sign of himgetting better. Because the tantrums aregone, at least for the moment. But is hereally getting better? Is he improving orare his internal struggles being drapedaround by a blanket of slumber? Whatif those demons wake up again one day,when the drugs are no longer used? Whatif the demons have things to say, but noone to talk to? Or is the plan to keep thechild on drugs for as long as they can?
A woman in her early 40s, showing signsof depression, is explicitly told by herpsychiatrist that she should get ready forECT – electroconvulsive therapy. Sheasks, “What will they do to me?” andbreaks down. Medicines alone are nothelping her, but she keeps taking them.Because there’s no other way out, or soshe is told. And all she does, is wonderwhy she’s not getting any better.Astudent suffering from symptoms ofanxiety before an important exam,is prescribed Alprazolam. The namesounds fancy, but its effects are drowsy.The student ends up sleeping all day.And even if he/she does get better forthe time being, the issue recurs. Againand again. Because medicines do nottreat low self-efficacy. Medicines do notreduce the self-doubt that cripples theyoung minds. Medicines don’t changethe cognitive distortions that drivethe anxiety in the first place. We keepputting off the fire, but we continuouslyignore what causes it to begin with.Every disorder or symptom has a cause.While some do have physiologicalcauses, like schizophrenia, many mentalhealth conditions are birthed from thingshappening in the mind. Not in the brain.
I have nothing personal against psychiatrists, and the work they do. But when you come from a place where dependency on medicines is the norm. Where Dolo-650, not dimes, emerge from people’s pockets, like candies, it does make sense why the psychiatry industry has begun to bloom, here in Kashmir. Maybe, just maybe, because there is a medicinal side to it… maybe because there is something of a proof you can show to the ever- judgemental society that you are actually ill, because you are taking medicines for it, psychiatry is starting to see people opening up. Opening up just a little more. Maybe it does not feel as shameful and as guilty when that person in the white coat prescribes you drugs for your low mood, just like how he would, say, for your low blood pressure.But medicines can only take one so far. If the battle has its roots embedded in one’s environment, in one’s school, in marriage, or work, or in the reflection they see every day in the mirror, or in the voices they have to hear, medicines, despite their boastful heavy MGs, will fall short. They definitely will. While it should be noted that some issues can only be managed with psychopharmacology, there are many more that need something far beyond, and more humane than lengthy prescriptions.
Over just the past few months, I have come across the news of multiple suicides by students in the valley, unfortunately devouring those precious souls, and the dreams they once carried. I have heard of innumerable examples of people, many of whom I know in person, who are depressed. Not necessarily diagnosed with depression, but depressed enough that one can tell. Hopeless about their life and their future. While medicines and drugs are extremely helpful, especially when no other alternative works, or is available, the question that begs to be asked is, “For how long?” For how long will we hold on to one paradigm of treatment? And who’s to be blamed for us, in Kashmir, having to rely so heavily on psychiatrists and the meds they prescribe?
As I end this article, I become increasingly aware of the little positive bias that I have towards psychotherapy. I am a psychology student, of course I would want my field to thrive in the heart of my homeland. But that bias is too little compared to the pain I see around me. Of people…kids, adults, males, females, alike. Of people whose fight is just too much for only medicines to halt. Of people who do not even need any medicine, just someone who can hear their thoughts. The need for psychotherapy in Kashmir, I feel, is ever-growing. But so is the need to show respect to the Humanities and Social Sciences, which have since time immemorial, been dehumanised, along with the people who take them up. We will talk about the unavailability of psychologists in Kashmir. We will speak up against the unaffordable prices that
the sessions of the limited psychologists cost. But one thing we won’t ever question is, “Why do we not have enough psychologists? Not enough people who care about the Humanities?” For Kashmir to become mentally and emotionally healthy, it is high time that psychiatrists and psychologists both are thought of as partners. Not as being the pillion riders to one or the other.
Author Sanna Khalid is a postgraduate student pursuing her Master’s in Psychology from the University of Delhi. She is passionate about mental health advocacy. Email: sannakhalid49@gmail.com
Disclaimer: The views and opinions expressed in this article are those of the author and do not necessarily
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