I wish I had a physical opponent. People could see then I was fighting a war.

Anyone who would hear this would think that I’m mad, well I am.

When I was 16, I knew that my world had changed. I did not talk about it with anyone because I thought that no one would believe it. I quietly lived my life begging for a normal day, there was none to come. I told myself that a change might make things better; so, I went to college 2000 km away. This decision did eventually change the game.

I was 20 when I finally spoke up and admitted to my family that I needed help. I couldn’t live a normal life, ever, after that day. I’d already been in therapy on and off for the last 5 years. Seeing a psychiatrist only made things more concrete.

I was finally diagnosed with schizoaffective disorder. It’s the onset of schizophrenia which is clubbed with another disorder. I faced it with bipolar. 17 years have passed, and I am still on the road to recovery; I have a small level of normalcy around me, but I have a reason — a family that loves me unconditionally; even when the cloud of my disease looms over my head waiting to burst and drown me.

The worst part of my life is the fact that I can’t tell anyone. The possibility of lack of acceptance scares me. People, even educated ones, usually only understand physical pains. 

The only physical proof that I have is the tremor in my hands. But the doctors chalk it up to my smoking addiction. Yes, I have an addiction, and I am not ashamed. Well, maybe a little but then I realize that it is imperative for my existence, or at least I think it is.

I would do anything to go off my medicines. The weight gain, trembling hands and no control over concentration drive me crazy every day. I will not go into the technicalities of the disease because there is no point in it at all. Explaining these small things doesn’t make people accept me.

The experience is something right out of a movie. Think Mr India and the fact that he exists but no one is able to see him. Or maybe like a ghost. My world floats in and out of reality. I guess it’s a lot like being high all the time. Even the smallest tasks involve an astronomic size of concentration.

I had friends, at least until I decided to come out with my problem. When I opened up almost all of them vanished into thin air. Some could not comprehend, some thought I was lying, some were scared as if I would kill them.

I would though kill to change my disease into a physical one; at least then people would believe and understand. I sympathise with even people who have a toothache. All I wish for is that I could see my enemy and fight it with everything I have rather than going to war in my own head with myself.

I just want a physical opponent, that’s all.