Modassir Khan

Hello, my name is Modassir Khan, and I'm fundraising for myself. I have endured interconnected mental health issues since childhood. Reflecting on my past feels like assembling a jigsaw puzzle, as many of my problems were and still are unrecognised and untreated. I know I have PBA (Pseudobulbar disorder), which is brain damage caused by physical trauma. It disconnects a person from the brain's pleasure and pain responses. This means I sometimes find myself laughing or crying for reasons I have forgotten. It often happens when I tell a joke, only to laugh without feeling amused because I thought it might be funny to someone. As always, they don't laugh because I laughed at my own joke. I don't know 2hen I was physically and mentally harmed to cause such brain damage, but my dad was a very angry person. Whatever happened, I either repressed it as a child due to horrid things, or I was just too young to keep it as a memory. During my time at primary and secondary school, I stayed very quiet to control this disorder, thinking it may have been a devil or even madness that caused my bursts of laughter. It started with uncontrolled, hysterical, unstoppable laughter. It stops only when my lungs can't take it, triggered by surges of emotion, unconnected to what I'm supposed to feel. I picture it like 2 colours put in a cup of water: you put in red, it turns red, you add green, and the red and green are no more. They turn brown. My emotions are like this. Both happiness and sadness cause the same emotion: brown, neither red nor green. When I left school, I decided to learn about Islam rather than go to college to continue my studies (I hoped to study criminology and eventually work as a detective). During my studies, I kept to myself as people didn't understand, as the saying goes. They would give me awkward looks and treat me badly due to this disorder. This one person brutally attacked me because he thought I laughed at him, as if he were homosexual, as most of the other students did. He was a lot older than me, and he saw sadness as a target to prove his manliness. At the time, I did know a lot about self-defence, but I did nothing to him, as that would have meant my expulsion from the college. I started getting paranoid as the abuse got worse, and I wanted out. My father, who was very proud of me for studying Islam, started saying things to me that angered me a great deal. He'd say things like, "I'm the reason for your place here on earth." It was like the world was turning against me. Then I had my mental breakdown, when I attacked him, by kicking him hard, sending him into a wall. I instantly realised what I'd done and fell over. Everyone decided I was crazy, and my studies ended, and medication began. They and I thought that I was hearing voices, acting on whatever they wanted. The voices everyone believed in started only after I had the breakdown. This is why I'm trying to fundraise for myself, because the mental health system has neglected and misdiagnosed me for a very long time. I want private treatment, not free treatment. I also found that I was prescribed medication for PBA before, when the psychiatrist kept asking me what funny things my voices were saying, making me believe it myself. The medication was called Sertraline Did the olanzapine play a part in the voices manifesting, or were they always there under the surface? I don't know. Their voices used to be so clear, but I don't remember them. They were probably affecting my short-term memory. One thing I know I enjoyed about the voices was that they kept my feelings of loneliness at bay. Eventually, I'd randomly speak out loud to myself with no one to talk to, only to laugh at my own words. It felt good to be heard, even though I just talked to myself. My family panicked, and we had an appointment with the psychiatrist, who decided I needed to have depot injections, because my brother claimed I was not taking the medication. I got injected for many years due to misdiagnosis, and can't really walk anymore due to all the places in my backside that got injected in. I also suffer from PTSD (post-traumatic stress disorder), and have had pointless therapy with two students who were aspiring therapists. They never listened and were only like a project, not a person. Growing up with my father's anger issue, my father got seriously angry at my sister and decided to kill her while we slept. Walking up the steps, knife in hand, only to be confronted by my mother, who grabbed the knife with her hands to stop him. My sister and all my siblings panicked and called the police. When I woke up that morning, I found my mother bandaged with a bleeding hand, and everyone else was also crying, with worried relatives walking about. I asked my elder sister what happened, and she said angrily, "Dad tried killing my sister. " This is when my fear started for my father, and maybe that memory of getting brain-damaged slightly surfaced too. I wish I could remember the first time I felt raw fear like he would murder me, his son. Please help!