SALMAN’S STORY
Assalamu Alaikum,
I am Salman (a pseudonym).
Addiction doesn’t care about your background. Pain doesn’t knock before entering. I grew up as the eldest son in a respected, conservative family. Everyone looked to me as the example—the responsible one, the quiet achiever. But when my mother passed away during my HSC exams, something inside me broke.
I didn’t cry in front of anyone. I didn’t want to “look weak.” But inside, I was drowning. In university, a close friend handed me some pills. “It’ll help you sleep,” he said. And it did. For the first time in weeks, I didn’t dream of graveyards. I didn’t cry into my pillow. Then one pill became two. Then stronger ones.
I started skipping classes, then entire semesters. I would lie to my father, saying I was preparing for BCS. In truth, I was locked in my room, numb and lost.
One day, I collapsed on the roof. My younger cousin found me unconscious. The shame on my father’s face at the hospital haunts me still.
That’s when he took me to AMAR Home.
At first, I was angry. Why am I here? I thought I could handle it alone. But the counselors, the group sessions, the prayer time—it began to soften me.
I learned that strength isn’t in silence. It’s in facing your pain.
Now, I’ve gone back to finish my studies. I help out in local youth programs and always speak about mental health. Because someone out there is hiding their pain like I did. Please keep me in your prayers.
Salman