Once only, ever, have I come close to knowing depression. It was a year or so before dx, so had nothing to do with meds. It had to do with feeling superfluous, in short, it was a 'poor me' moment, but it was, nevertheless very frightening to find my usually jolly self thinking how nice it would be to be dead, to end my life right away and get everything over with NOW.
All the children left on the same morning after spending two weeks all together with us in the house in Denmark, with spouses, and the couples had not been getting along very well with the other couples - much of the strife still stemming from childhood resentments.
Lots of company, lots of strife, and then with one fell swoop, we were all alone, my husband and I.
Jumping off a cliff was what came to my mind then. Fortunately the island is quite flat. The next day death was no longer a tempting option, but I still remember that shocking feeling of wishing for death. It was truly horrible.
I hope you never, never return to that place, Greg.

birte