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To dull my domineering nafs, I deliberately neglected treatment for several years. And, in my mind, it worked. I felt in control, my spirit subdued, my vigour vanquished.

But that apparent spiritual success may have been a mere mirage. What I perceived to be progress may have merely been melancholy, and my self-restraint an intense lethargy.

Of course, everyone around me could see that long before I could, diagnosing depression, anxiety and personal neglect. It would take an almighty crash for me to see that too.

Still, there was something appealing about that period of self-restraint. I miss it now, as my soul responds to every scheming call that fleets across my mind.

I am a man who feels like he has a hundred browser tabs open in his mind, each one vying for attention constantly. Neglecting treatment was my way of shutting them down, and silencing that inner clamour. Success of sorts.

Now I know that is not the solution. That course of action comes at too great a cost. Weak and aching bones should not be embraced. The lethargy and melancholy unfair on all who must live with me. The side effects hardly justify perceived positives.

No, I suppose I must find a better way to manage my scheming nafs. True self-restraint that can only come from God-consciousness, if only I could muster some. All of us have a little of this — the stuff that ensures we never miss a prayer, or still fast even when no one else is around.

If only I could apply this to every fleeting call of my ego, and remain constantly alert to all that undermines me. I tried treating this with the physical. Perhaps it’s time to delve deeper and call on reserves beyond myself. To ask of the One in whose hand is my soul.