I'm resilient and I've learned to take chances. The beaker doesn't scare me. I've tried all sorts of meds.
But pay no attention if this is a life-or-death situation. I've experienced THAT second-person but not first person. My OCD always trumps the dark nothingness.
At my very worst dumpster-diving feral human state I choose to continue. I think I got that from my crazy rocket-scientist grandpa who lived 90+ years even though he was often very seriously fucked up in the head in any situation outside engineering or during World War II getting other fucked up engineers and scientists out of jail.
"We'll take it from here, Sheriff, he's no longer your problem..." with a big military car and a driver waiting at the curb. A handsome eccentric lunatic my grandpa was, contributor to the Apollo project, parts he made or designed are on the moon and in the Smithsonian.
He did have a few girlfriends after my grandma passed, even in the nursing homes. Maybe that was his motivation. He was always good for a very wild ride... far more interesting than me picking hairs out of my face or writing useless code. At least my feral dogs love me unconditionally, even when my extended family and friends sometimes lose patience.
My other crazy grandpa went into the dark nothingness soon after he retired. He worked in the shipyards during World War II, a conscientious objector building Liberty and Victory ships. Ships were his career. There were plenty of people who would have accepted him as he was, the good, the bad, and the ugly, but he couldn't see that.
So I had three grandparents who were wizards with metal, my cop-biting crazy bag lady hoarder grandma who never understood anything but dogs, horses, horny sailors, and hot metal, and one "normal" grandmother who died early of something she did not deserve.
I don't know what that means.
Random stuff.