Mirror Magazine

I could see them trying to hold back their laughter, staring, pointing their fingers at me. Why? What was wrong with me? Why were they laughing? I started to run… it didn’t matter where to… I would run till they stopped laughing. But it didn’t stop. It was following me, wherever I ran, whatever I did, it was all I could hear. The incessant laughter… the endless stares, people whispering to each other and pointing at me… there was nowhere to run.

I’m a copy writer at an advertising agency and my work is my passion. Brainstorming, coming up with ‘out of the box’ concepts and ideas, working around the clock the night before a big pitch… slogging it out, but loving every sleepless minute of it.

When you eventually nail that big client who’s going to rake in the big bucks for the agency… there’s absolutely no feeling like it.

The countless pats on the back from your workmates whose respect and admiration you’ve now earned, the approving hand shake and nod from your boss, a name for yourself in the industry… you’re practically on top of the world.

Draw in a few more big clients, who are happy with your ideas and have placed their implicit trust in you, so much so that they’ll only work with you, and you’re set for life. The entire industry’s clambering to entice you away from your current employer by trying to outshine their terms. Your bosses will do anything to keep you. You’ve become ‘the man of the hour.’

The descent was slow and painful. Initially the signs were quite subtle. I was always on a short fuse; many were the times I just lashed out at my work buddies for the slightest thing. Soon, I became virtually unapproachable. Next, my work started to slack. I couldn’t concentrate on one thing for more than ten minutes at a time. I felt frustrated and confused at the same time. What was happening to me? I was the man of the hour… I can’t afford to have off days. So I pushed myself harder, put in longer hours until eventually I was left alone. Nobody would work with me, nobody could work with me.

I had become an alien in my own world. This was my turf. Everyone looked up to me for guidance or advice. What was happening? I was losing control of the world I once ruled. This couldn’t be happening, not to me.

But it was and it did.

The next thing I knew, I was in my boss’s room and I could distinctly remember him saying in a patronising tone, “Maybe it’s time you took a short vacation. You’ve been working too hard of late. Take your time, there’s no hurry, I’ll get someone to cover for you.” Now, any fool knows that this in lay person’s lingo means, ‘I’m going to have to let you go.’

So, there I was. ‘The man of the hour’, not knowing what to do, where to go or whom to turn to. So I just fell to the ground on the bathroom floor and cried… hopeless, alone and confused.

The next few weeks were a blur. I presume my employer had already spoken to my family, because when I got home, everyone was looking solemn and speaking in low tones, and trying to console me by saying that everything was going to be alright. The whole family was there. All my sisters and brothers and their respective spouses, some who I’d not seen in ions, were all gathered in the hall, shooting sympathetic glances in my direction, but making sure not to meet my eye.

Man, this must have been big news! Their ‘perfect’ kid brother cum son finally had a flaw.

An hour or two later, I was summoned from my room to hear the family verdict. My fate had been decided on by the family, at the ‘round table meeting’ that had just been held in my honour. Now the only thing left for them to do was to try and break the news to me gently.

My next recollection was of me sitting in a room opposite a man (who I later discovered to be a psychiatrist) who was asking me, if there was anything in particular troubling me. No, of course not, why would anything be troubling me, I had just lost my job, everyone apparently thought I was a lunatic and now I was sitting in front of a ‘shrink’, the ultimate taboo word in today’s society. “You are suffering from a mild case of dementia. Don’t worry, it can be treated.” he said.

I had hit rock bottom.

This was not happening. How could ‘I’ have lost it? Loony, nut case, pissa; terms I myself had used and laughed about with my peers in reference to a mutual acquaintance or colleague, who was known to be a little eccentric. Now, I was all those things. My perfect life was shattered.

I must be dreaming. They say it’s supposed to be hereditary, or there has to be some sort of family history or something. I must get a second opinion. I should just refuse to take my medication, then they’ll realise that there’s nothing wrong with me.

Day by day I got worse. I began to have sudden memory lapses, I couldn’t focus on anything for too long. I wanted to get better, but I couldn’t take the medication. I wasn’t mad. There was nothing wrong with me. I became a pathetic reflection of my old self.

The few times I ventured out on the street, I could see them stop and stare. There goes the mad man, I heard children shout. Parents huddled their children close and rushed away from me. “Don’t go near him, he’s mad,” they said. But the constant laughing. That was the worst. I just couldn’t take the laughter. There’s nothing wrong with me. I too laughed like you once. Don’t run away from me please.