When I tell people that I live with severe depression, anxiety, hypertension, and epilepsy, they rarely believe me. Some laugh it off; others offer the kind of sympathy that feels more like dismissal than concern. You’re fine, they say. Just pray, and everything will be okay. But everything is not okay. When I tell them that there are days I feel like ending my life, the same response echoes back .Read the Qur’an, pray five times a day, strengthen your faith. As if faith alone could cure the storms inside my mind.
In Pakistan, mental illness is not seen as a legitimate medical condition but as a moral weakness or lack of faith. Depression is labeled as ingratitude, anxiety as overthinking, and suicidal thoughts as whispers of the devil. We are a nation that prescribes fasting for lust and recitation for despair. We treat mental illness with suspicion and shame instead of compassion and science. When someone says they’re depressed, people don’t see illness they see a failure of belief. They don’t ask how you feel; they tell you why you shouldn’t feel that way.
My panic attacks are real. They strike like lightening my heart races, my breath shortens, my legs go weak, and I feel trapped inside my own body. I have seizures that leave me trembling and exhausted. Yet, when I reach out for help, I’m met not with understanding, but with verses and advice. Even doctors and educated professionals those trained to heal often turn into preachers. They prescribe Ayat-ul-Kursi instead of antidepressants and Surah Rahman instead of therapy. I’ve been told by psychiatrists to pray more, and by family members to stop being dramatic. But no one tells me what to do when faith alone cannot lift the weight crushing my chest.
This is not a war between religion and science. Faith offers comfort; medicine offers treatment. One soothes the soul, the other stabilizes the mind. But in our society, we confuse the two. Visiting a therapist is seen as a sign of weakness, but visiting a pir (spiritual healer) to remove a jinn is considered an act of devotion. Panic attacks are treated with holy water; seizures with exorcisms. And when someone finally takes their own life, we brand them as sinners instead of asking what kind of suffering drove them to that point.
In Pakistan, people are taken seriously only when they die or lose their sanity completely. Everything in between is treated as drama or exaggeration. We’re taught to hide our pain, to smile through despair, and to pretend we’re fine. Mental health has become a performance, and every day countless people play their part pretending to be okay because society refuses to hear otherwise. The truth is uncomfortable but simple, not everything gets better, especially when everyone insists it already has.
Mental illness is real. It is not a lack of faith, not a weakness, and certainly not something to be prayed away. It is a legitimate medical condition that requires treatment, patience, and understanding. The brain is part of the body and like any other organ, it can fall ill. It deserves compassion, not condemnation. Seeking therapy is not a sign of losing faith; it is a step toward reclaiming life. If only our society could understand that science and spirituality can coexist. If only our doctors remembered that faith and medicine are not enemies but allies. If only our families could stop silencing pain in the name of religion maybe then people like me wouldn’t have to scream just to be believed.
Admitting that you’re unwell isn’t a weakness, its courage. It means you’re still fighting, still human. Because the truth is, I am not okay. And maybe, if we could all learn to say that without fear or shame, then perhaps, for the first time, we might finally begin to heal.