Lady Lazarus is a bitter, scathing dramatic monologue about death and rebirth, survival and revenge by Sylvia Plath.

The descent into the bleakness of depression can happen both gradually and suddenly. For me, the entirety of December becomes a month long test of my fortitude and strength as well as a great opportunity to exercise the tools I’ve learned over my thirty-plus years in therapy. I’ve yet to encounter a December that hasn’t kicked my ass despite all my tools, medications and training.

2317 days ago, I woke up from a drug induced coma to the face of an unknown woman with crystal blue eyes, brassy yellow hair and gray roots. I don’t remember speaking to her. I don’t think I could. But I vividly remember the shock in her face when she looked down at me after she adjusted something over my head. She gasped and then exclaimed, “Oh thank goodness honey. We didn’t think you were going to make it.”