This week, as I sat and stared during my team’s weekly Monday morning meeting, I was mentally knocking my head against a hard wall, over and over again, in boredom and frustration.

I thought to myself: I can’t deal with this. I want to slit my wrists. Or at least poke needles into the tips of fingers.

But that’s not realistic. I am afraid of pain and blood after all.

Hmmm… maybe I should get anti-depressants, I thought. A couple of pills here and there. And I could get through the day, without feeling suicidal. With a smile even.

That really scared me. The fact that I was being so realistic and reasonable – the fact that I was measuring my problem and mentally taking a calculated step to solve it: “I have a problem, and this is a feasible and socially acceptable to way to mitigate my pain.”

Imagine, *taking pills* to get through the work day. To live life and just breathe.

That the first step down the slippery slope of giving up. The dangerous first step of self-medicating to cope with life.

What next – drugs?!