I can relate, but I found it hard to smile when I was in this state. I would still joke around about suicide with my friends, but the laughter was more the pathetic, tapering-off type. I was working about 98 hours per week at the time, and I spent the vast majority of them sitting in a small cubicle-style desk (the kind you might see at universities, with the walls for test taking privacy), my mind completely consumed by thoughts of suicide. It became such a powerful force of habit that even when I did feel happy, I would tell myself it was wrong to do so, and I'd go back to thinking about why I shouldn't be alive. It wasn't so much the methods that I obsessed about; it was more the relief I craved. I was completely, 100 percent, sick of feeling. Do you think about suicide in a philosophical way, or do you actually want to kill yourself?