Seven years ago today. Seven years! This was the day I decided to quit. To quit my PhD, to quit being a workaholic, to quit battling at writing code and to try quit life. The voices in my head shouted and I over analysed all that was said to me. On a broken phone line I dialled home to Zimbabwe and then paced around my shared apartment talking gibberish to my flatmate.
After a night of no sleep I caught the metro to EPFL and told my department I wanted out. I waited all day for my supervisor and HOD and then told him I couldn't do it any more. They offered me an avenue of seeking help and I took it. I was driven to CHUV where I was cross-examined in French and then placed under observation. Lying on the hospital bed my mind raced and I had trouble knowing what was reality.
At midnight they said I could either go home or be transferred to the mental health facility. Not trusting myself I chose the second and climbed into an ambulance which took me off into the night to an unknown destination.
In the dim lights I got out and entered the corridor of locked doors of the asylum. It felt like a scene from a thriller and I pondered how I had come to be being here, although deep down I knew I had had this sickness inside of me for a long time and it was finally coming to the surface from the depths. Finally my DNA and childhood were catching up on me and I was facing my inner demons.
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