An extra 24 hours

I had other plans for today’s post, but as usual: life got in the way.

As I’ve mentioned here before, mornings are the worst time of the day for me (and for millions of others with depression). I’d asked my sister to wake me up at 10am so that I could finally begin to study, which she did. But as soon as I heard her voice in the morning I felt as though someone had put a blade right through my chest. I said, in all my glorious morning irritability: “Leave me alone.” And I went back to sleep.

But in those brief 10 seconds or less, I’d already gotten a preview of what was to come. It was not good. And it wasn’t. I’ll just put it bluntly:

I haven’t the slightest idea how I made it through today.

And I still don’t. Sheer survival instinct, probably.

I finally woke up at 11:30am. The first few thoughts I had were: Fuck, I’m still alive. Fuck, I just want to dream, I don’t want to live. Fuck fuck motherfucking FUCK. Sure, those words might seem pretty harsh, but trust me, they do not, by any means possible, convey just how desperate and irate I was. Frustration was reverberating through my insides.

Unfortunately, 98% of the time I wake up feeling some iteration of this. Usually I can overcome it after a few seconds or minutes, because rationally I know it’s all part of depression, and of course I don’t want depression to beat me (do I?). But today was absolutely out of proportion. Not that it hasn’t happened before, but that doesn’t make it any less painful when it does happen. I’ll put it like this: would you ever get used to getting stabbed in the chest the first few seconds after waking up, day in and day out? I don’t think so.

So, I’m lying there in bed, dead inside, with a million thoughts running through my very much alive brain cells. What was I thinking of? Suicide. Plain and simple. I refuse to sugarcoat it. It is what it is.

After spending 20 minutes lying there in bed, I somehow found the strength to pick up my phone and write down my thoughts. This is what I wrote, word for word:

Wake up disappointed and angry because I didn’t die while I slept and my dreams were just dreams.

I feel I shouldn’t be living this, that I am way overdue, that I should have died long ago and all of this is just unnecessarily added time. Then I think: well, what am I waiting to finally do it?

If I stay very still I start to believe I’m dead. Right now I was thinking about how to do it, the details….

I’m better off with my eyes shut and completely still because I feel physically dead. As soon as I move what I feel is an incredible disappointment because I remember that I am still alive. I don’t want to keep on going. I don’t think I would leave a note, something short. My note would be my diaries.

I can’t think of a way to explain just how horrible it feels to know you’re dead inside but that you’re very much physically alive. And the pain….the godforsaken horrible pain I felt was unbearable.

I don’t know if I should be putting this out here, but right now I don’t really care. This morning I was ready to die, and I thought I was going to do it. I was wholly convinced I was going to do it (of course, I’ll spare you the details). I was afraid of myself, but at the same time I kept thinking: this is the right moment, this is it, better make the most of it before it goes away. At one point I was thinking: Yeah, I should definitely be in hospital right now, locked away for my own good.

But I didn’t care. I just wanted it to be done with. I wanted it all to be over. I didn’t even want to see my family, or see my dogs. And for me to not want to see my dogs…that’s big. It lets you know just how horrible the pain was/is.

I spent an hour and a half in bed, debating, wishing, thinking. I started thinking about this quote I read once that keeps me from doing “it” most of the time: “Suicide doesn’t take away the pain, it gives it to someone else.” I repeated it over and over in my head.

But it wasn’t working. Again, another sign of just how horrible the pain was.

Finally, as you can tell, I didn’t do it. How? I don’t know. As soon as I could feel my motor neurons sending the message to get out of the goddamn bed, I did it. And even while I sat in bed, I kept thinking my plan through. Even after going to the bathroom, brushing my teeth, looking at myself in the mirror (which I didn’t want to do), I still kept thinking my plan through.

Somewhere along the way, I was able to tough it out. Somewhere along the way I decided: Let’s give every second a chance and see what happens next, shall we? Step by step.

But this post won’t end on a happy note, I’m sorry to say. I still feel pretty miserable.

I just have one more day ticked off on my “life calendar”. Whatever happens next, I don’t know, but I will let you know that I’m still here fighting for now.


  1. Jen said:

    Do you think you will be able to treat psychiatric patients feeling like this? I ask not to be a jerk, but I’m genuinely curious. I have severe MDD, recurrent, and I eventually opted out of a PhD in psychology because I did not feel it would be fair to my patients. Have you thought about it? What are your thoughts, if you don’t mind sharing?


    • Hey Jen,

      No worries, I didn’t feel offended at all with your question. I’ll be posting about this soon-ish as it’s something I always have very present in my head but have barely elaborated on the blog. So, stay tuned 🙂
      Take care!


  2. Sophia said:

    Depression is much more common in physicians than the general public but happens to be very treatable and manageable with good follow up. Certainly the demands of training can exacerbate mood disorders but many of my med school classmates have mood disorders and are doing very well. Physicians also have physical ailments-back pain, migraines which you can argue could interfere with patient care but it’s not fair to ask us to be superhuman. Learning good self care is essential.


    • Hey Sophia,

      What you mention is spot-on. I’ll be writing a post addressing this soon-ish. Take care!


      • Sophia said:

        You too!
        I always find that argument hilarious (I’ve heard so many versions of it!) because if we eliminated physicians with mood/anxiety and substance use issues there’d be no one left to practice medicine. The general public has no idea how rampant these issues are in med students and physicians and how well most people do with treatment.


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