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.