I opened a spreadsheet to calculate when I would die

Not in a dramatic, self-destructive way. In a project-management way. I had just been approved for a disability pension, diagnosed with Bipolar II after decades of treatment, and I did what any analytical psychologist with a grim piece of data might do. I went to the literature, pulled the mortality statistics, split the difference between the studies, and ran the numbers.

Seventeen years. That was the projected remainder of my life.

So I planned accordingly. Finances. Relationships. Output. What to build and what to abandon. Everything reverse-engineered from an estimated date of obsolescence.

Years later, I deleted the file. Not because I recovered, but because the diagnosis was wrong.