POINT OF NO RETURN, SEPTEMBER 2003

Was I born like that or did I develop my senses and faith to interact with the non-ordinary world? Both are correct. But I needed to go through a dark period at age thirty-five to realize that I could not go on with my life as I had been doing up to that date.

It was a sunny Sunday in late August 2003 around lunchtime. I was on the highway traveling from the south of Switzerland to Zurich. I had spent some joyful days with my younger brother and his family, but I'd felt a demanding urge to go home earlier than I'd planned. I admit I am, by habit, a speedy driver, and I normally use reasonable judgment on the maximum speed I attain. However, that Sunday was different. I was speeding at around 180 kilometers per hours (115 miles per hour), and I was experiencing destructive thoughts. Anyone who has driven on Swiss highways knows that there are lots of bridges and tunnels. And there were many on the highway I used that day. The most shocking realization I had while speeding was that I was analyzing how to best hit a bridge pillar or a tunnel wall. Just like that, even though I was not concentrating on the wheel, I felt my hands strongly. It was as if there was an inner fight going: "Yes — no — yes — no — no!" I cried within. "Yes, please let it stop," said another voice. "We can't anymore! It's all too much! We just want to rest. We want to be left alone. We no longer want to deal with all the people who want something again and again! But we need to find the best angle, the best speed so that it is over, finally and forever over! You don't want to wake up in hospital and be paraplegic."

Still speeding, I gripped the wheel more strongly and lowered the music to ground myself. "No, no, no — not at all. Never, ever, will I do that!" I thought. I was still speeding, taking the curves, and watching bridge pillar after bridge pillar pass. "That one would have been a good one. There's another one like that. Stop! No more talk like that. No!" Tears ran down my cheeks. I was utterly scared, and I increased my speed so I would arrive in Zurich as soon as I could. I guess I would have even welcomed a police car stopping me that day. I simply wanted to leave the car, as I felt I was in utmost danger for my life. But by whom? By myself!

I talked out loud saying "No! No!" repeatedly. I felt as if good and bad angels were on my shoulders having a dispute, and that my head was in between. I cried. I did not know what to do. I just followed the road, speeding. The closer I came to Zurich, the less insistent was the voice urging me toward the bridge pillars, as fewer and fewer opportunities presented themselves. Arriving at home, I parked the car on the street, took my little bag out of the trunk, and mounted the two flights of stairs to my old apartment. I closed the door and let my belongings fall to ground. I no longer had the power to hold on to the simplest thing. I took refuge on my bed, letting out all my tears, weeping for my life. I was at the end. I had no clue what to do. I did not know if I ever again would be able to stand up, literally or metaphorically.

Up to that moment, I'd had a successful career and the freedom to do anything I wanted with my life. I had meaningful relationships, and yet, at the time this happened, I was single. I traveled the world for my job and was respected and needed — retrospectively, maybe too much. I don't recall exactly why, but on that Sunday afternoon, I knew I couldn't go to work the next day, not because I wanted to call in sick, but because I couldn't do anything anymore. Nothing.

At one point that Sunday afternoon, sleep rescued me from thinking, crying, and being desperate. But waking up the next morning, I found that nothing had changed. Nothing. I was broken, at the end. I called my friend in the human resources department at my work to let him know that I couldn't come to work. He would have noticed my absence already, I assumed, as we normally commuted by train together. I dialed his office number, but another person answered as my friend was not yet in. I didn't know what to say, but that didn't matter; the words just floated out of my mouth with no control. I don't know what exactly I said, but the woman on the phone was calm. She listened and only asked one question: "Do you have a doctor you trust, Kathrin?"

"No, I don't."

"Then please take pen and paper and write down this name. I will call this doctor and make a referral. Promise me you will call and make an appointment as soon as you can. Please promise me that, will you, Kathrin?"

I wept as I heard real concern in her voice, and I felt again, "No, that's not good at all." So I promised her I would call the doctor, hung up the phone, and went back to my refuge, my bed. I fell asleep. One or two hours later, I woke up and saw the note with the phone number. I don't know how I managed to call, but I did, and as I mentioned my name and that I had received the number from a friend, the assistant said, "You have been referred. Where do you live? Can you come in today at the end of day? The doctor really wants to see you today."

I didn't know what to say other than, "Can I come by public transport?" She said it would be easier with the car, and I said, "No, no car — I don't know what will happen if I use the car ever again."

I barely made it to the doctor's office, as one part of me did not want...