Bipolarity

My doctor calls it a mood disorder. That’s a nice way to put it. It’s called a Bipolar mood disorder. That means you jump from phase to phase. Sometimes high, sometimes low. Manic depressive mood disorder is another name for it. Manic for the up phases and Depressive for the down phases.

She says it’s not very rare to see people like me suffering from the disease. And before I met her I thought I was the only one. I’ve been Bipolar for almost fifteen years now, that’s almost half my life, and I’m still stuck with this thing. My dad’s planning to take me to a hakeem soon. They’re sort of like Islamic witch doctors.

I’m not so sure of going or not, at least not this time, and he’s also ready to give me another week to acclimatize myself to the idea of going. It’s no big deal, but I just don’t want to be under the pressure to show some sort of results again. You know what I mean.

My dad’s pretty sure that this doctor will show some results, and that’s what I’m afraid of. Who knows, it’ll be better than I expect, but it’ll be torture if things don’t go as planned. We have to go all the way to a place called Ambarpet—it’s quite far away from where we live. The doctor sees patients only over there.

A friend of my father’s agreed to take us there. He was supposed to meet my father in the mosque this afternoon, but my father had to come back home early so that he could have his lunch. (My dad’s diabetic and he’s supposed to eat on time.) The friend showed up at our house this afternoon to meet my father but he was asleep at the time, so he left him a message to meet him today after the afternoon prayers.

If all goes according to my dad’s plans, looks like we’ll be headed there this coming Sunday.