I didn't think life and PhD could come crashing down so hard on me, and I realize, I can only keep trying to be strong...
December last year, I thought about giving up on my PhD. Mostly because I did a doctoral plan practice talk in my group's lab meeting and got thrashed so hard that I was like, "Wow, you're clearly not made for a PhD'. More so because the comments were actually constructive and helpful for the improvement of the project (i.e., things that I should properly consider and not brush aside).
I'm the kind of person who really chases excellence. Hence, no matter how shitty I felt about myself, I worked to the bone to get my doctoral plans up to standard. Three weeks before my Aptitude Colloquium (AC; aka Quals/QE/CE), I gave the talk on my doctoral plan at my dept's colloquium, and it turned out really good. I received much praise and that was the first time I felt like okay, I actually CAN get to where I needed to be, and that all the struggle was worth it.
But 1.5 weeks before my AC, I went through a minor operation for a chronic condition. My condition unexpectedly worsened and I had the worst side effects that I could imagine. Following that, on the day of my AC, I began to develop symptoms similar to a panic attack. I passed my AC really well, but I felt so horrible about life that I told my supervisors I wanted to quit my PhD. When they interrogated further, I said the PhD was a means to an end of a career I wanted to pursue, and that the price of my AC pass was too high. Did I really mean it? No, but they took it really seriously.
So, my supervisors chose to give up on me. They said they wouldn't want to supervise if I had to hold my nose to get through my PhD. Following medical checks, I realized I didn't have a panic attack but heart conditions. I came clean, but they said it didn't matter, because I thought about giving up for months. Anyway, they didn't like that I chose to work and ignore health issues. It hurt so much to realize that people whom I thought cared wouldn't care to listen that the reasons for wanting to give up changed, and didn't care to even ask if I felt okay about my condition. It hurt even more realizing that I had to come clean because I was pushed to a corner and asked to leave the lab. And it hurt because I told them about it before I had mentally processed the doctor's call, before I told my family and close friends, and before I even figured out what that meant.
As my condition worsens, I keep wishing they would let me stay, just so I can complete my PhD. So that if I live till 35, I would have at least gotten to pursue something I cared about; and if I lived till 65, I would know that in my most dire state in life, I chose what mattered. Instead, I am writing to every other professor in the field and begging for someone to take me in.
On a brighter note, I am glad they have given up on me. We live our lives too differently, and have too different takes on work and life. I don't know what they will choose if in the same position. It took being told "Your heart is not normal for your age" to really figure that all the thoughts about giving up were just mere thoughts that floated through my mind -- I never actually wanted to.