Mental Health Without Direction

Personal stories from clinics and streets show how mental health in Kashmir moves on goodwill and chance, while clear pathways to care remain absent.

- Dr. Nowsheen Jan

A 33-year-old woman sits across from a psychologist, uneasy and weighed down by reactions she no longer trusts.

She talks about anger that rises fast and leaves damage behind, often before she can stop herself.

During the assessment, she shares a moment that still unsettles her, recalling how a surge of rage once drove her toward her husband with a knife.

Outside a clinic, such a story usually triggers a swift response. Families step in, police enter the scene, and judgement spreads quickly through society.

But inside the clinic, the focus shifts. The first question is simpler and more human, asking whether this story should begin with blame or start with care.

Anger shows up in everyday life, and almost everyone feels it sooner or later.

Trouble begins when that anger spills out and harms someone, because it often points to pain that never found words.

That pain can grow from early experiences, loss, or pressure that keeps building over time.

Mental health develops slowly, formed by family life, daily surroundings, and the expectations people live with.

The woman's story shows what happens when someone runs into old pain that never got settled, all within a tight social space.

People speak about mental health more than ever now, in homes, schools, and public life. But what people still look for is a clear and consistent way to turn those conversations into real help.

A second story unfolds in public view.

A 62-year-old man wanders the streets after the death of his wife. His speech drifts, and his actions draw attention. Many respond with irritation or fear, and a few offer food and move on.

A local health worker finally alerts services, and a critical care ambulance brings him to the mental hospital in Rainawari.

Food can help someone get through the day, but a mental crisis needs real care.