I remember the reviews of this book, a description by the writer, William Styron, of his battle with depression in the early 90's but never got around to reading it until I saw it recently on a book shelf in the Prendergast Library and picked it up. It's a short read, an extended essay, but well worth reading, in fact, it should be required for everyone since one of the main themes of the book is that no one but the sufferer of depression can understand what it's like to be afflicted with this disease.
He makes clear, early on, that depressions do not disappear overnight; there is no panacea, no easy, quick cure, no drug, no operation, nothing but time, therapy, perhaps drugs, and hope. It is an eye opening look at this disease, something many people suffer through, misunderstood, and mostly ignored, by family, peers, even the medical profession.
As he says: "Depression is a disorder of the mood, so mysteriously painful and elusive in the way it becomes known to the self---to the mediating intellect---as to verge close to beyond description. It remains nearly incomprehensible to those who have not experienced it in its extreme mode, although the gloom, 'the blues', which people go through occasionally and associate with the general hassle of every day are of such prevalence that they do give many individuals a hint of the illness in its catastrophic form."
On a more personal level, he describes his depression: "Of the many dreadful manifestations of the disease---both physical and psychological---a sense of self hatred---or, put less categorically, a failure of self esteem---is one of the most universally experienced symptoms, and I had suffered more and more from a general feeling of worthlessness as the malady progressed...a dank joylessness." And this feeling of worthlessness comes from a world renown writer, famous world wide. His depression became most pronounced one mid afternoon when "gloom began crowding in on me, a sense of dread and alienation and, above all stifling anxiety." He adds, "For myself, the pain is most closely connected to drowning and suffocation...but even those images are off mark," adding that the psychologist William James, a sufferer most of his life described it best though implying its near impossibility: "It is a positive and active anguish, a sort of psychical neuralgia wholly unknown to normal life."
He also makes an interesting connection between hypochondria and depression, a feed back loop, where the sicker you think you are, the more depressed you get. And the more depressed you get, the more you find things that may be wrong. He takes us to the point where he considers life not worth living he's so desperate and talks about all the artistic types who end up committing suicide but stops short, realizing that life ultimately is worth living, that one can conquer this disease, it just takes time, a good doctor, and most of all, the realization that you need help. For him, finally admitting to himself that he had lost control was the beginning of his return. He is admitted to a hospital, stays there for a couple of months, and just the change of scenery, the isolation, being taken away from the world of anxiety and guilt, and left to just be free of all of societies nets seemed to be the prescription he needed. So the book, though not a happy one, ends on an optimistic note. It adds two caveats at the end; his doctor, for the most part, was less than helpful; he should have gone to a better one. And the drugs the doctor prescribed, he's sure, had some part in his final swoon. He also credits his wife, who stuck with him throughout, with being a saint. Depression is tough on any relationship.
As I mentioned earlier, every one should read this book, to better understand people who suffer from depression, what they feel and go through day after day, but also to see that there is a way out, with help and understanding.
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