Journeys in Mental Health: ‘Meeting a torn Mum’

In the first ‘Journeys in Mental Health’ blog of 2026, PLOS Mental Health hears from Psychiatrist Dr Hena Jawaid, who has chosen to share her reflections of supporting people affected by substance use. Upon hearing the mother’s account, in which she described her soul as a “sifter/mesh with many holes”, Dr Jawaid was deeply moved and chose to share her reflections with us in the form of poetry. She also shares a poem about the biological underpinnings of the substance use behaviours

‘Meeting a torn Mum‘

Dr Hena Jawaid, 2026

The first few seconds were spent; folding and unwinding,
the grip, the lapse, the move, the flow
the cloth that she was wearing was a shifting throw.

She came closer and whispered, “It’s my soul”
the horror, the growl, the fear, and the blow.
I felt within these seconds and much more,
can’t be said, expressed or shared as a lore.

“Who caused these scars and such a sore?
she lamented and mourned and raised her brow,
a young boy wrapped in a smoke, sitting on a floor
chasing the powder that his fingers throw.

Enigma, silence, serenity and pleasure,
the burst of ecstasy that leaves no shore,
imprinting his steps on (her) soul
making more holes…

‘Dopamine Road’

Dr Hena Jawaid, 2026

The lust, the wish, the love and uproar
Cannot discern in between them, anymore
My highs, my ecstasy, my dupe, my core
are indulged in the realm of pleasure till pore

The right, the left, the up and beyond
The wish to keep connection and belong
The wish to find balance in between
Sensuality, senses, spirituality and its realms

Powder, Crystal, injection or pipes
Anything that detaches from reality for awhile

As long as I enjoy the pleasure till withdrawal
Why intoxication can’t overcome all these brawls?

Where life reduces to the senses and haunts
The love, the lust, the wish and the fond

The baggage of choices, the guilt and it prices
That took me to a land; a land of greed
The road to hedonism and its breed

The echo of more; more and more
Drugs, sex, and indulgence till sore
Till the very end, when Life looks bored
Gloomy, dull, and dark like a chore

The drop of dopamine can’t pick me any soon
The lethargy, the death, the anxiety in my cocoon

What can I call it a withdrawal or a shame?
Shame of my soul; it’s lament and blame
To wake me from going to an alley of sore
Lo! that my life is out of any cure

It’s a reserve of deficit,
a mode of deficit,
a point of deficit

A shine, that was, once my life!
My vigour, my charm and my beloved on my side
One by one they depart, disappoint
But now I use whatever I find..

I am losing my breath, but can’t escape!
The choices, the spirals and the downward ways

I move towards my ebb with such a pace
Losing control over morals in this maze

I am becoming a monster of my craze
The saga of my choices leading to dark haze…

PLOS Mental Health has chosen to share these poems because the depths of lived experience, and witnessing those experiences, cannot be captured by scholarly communication alone. PLOS Mental Health will continue to use its platform to bring the voices of lived experience into publishing. Our ‘Journeys in Mental Health’ series, which started in 2024, will continue this year, and is just one of many ways in which the journal will continue on this mission. We sincerely thank Dr Jawaid for sharing her words.