Over the summer I had to isolate myself in my house because of murder/suicide urges. I couldn't walk through a store without frightening urges to attack and kill random humans, just because I hated us as a species. I really wanted to just open fire on a crowd, or even go bonkers and bite and claw people werewolf-style. Then I'd either blow my own brains out, or arrange for a suicide by cop. And this shit was AFTER they discharged me from the hospital, feeling even worse than the day I entered.
So yeah, I couldn't be in public for about 6 months. It's "better" now in that I don't want to kill anyone but me. It's not even a rage quit thing anymore. I'm just so, so tired of existing. Just the burden of keeping a body alive is exhausting to think about, let alone going through that experience while perceiving, remembering, anticipating, and the whole shit show that makes up consciousness. What even is the point of making a pile of organic molecules aware that it exists? I mean, actually I don't believe in gods or that the universe has a meaning, but even in a meaningless universe, consciousness seems like a particularly stupid thing to have evolved.