I heard Andrew Solomon interviewed a couple of weeks ago on NPR. The honesty and accuracy by which he discussed depression took me aback. I got to thinking that strangely I have never read any book directly addressing depression. Strange because I use reading to understand myself and what I think. I've read books about just about everything which makes up me and my life. Yet, I've never read anything on depression even though at times I've suffered from depression. So, I ordered his "definitive" book on depression: "The Noonday Demon: An Atlas of Depression." I could do without the "an atlas" in the title and I would rather not know he attended Jesus college (he also graduated from Yale) but I'm going to give it a go. Here's an early passage which draws an insightful connection between love and depression:
"Depression is the flaw in love. To be creatures who love, we must be creatures who can despair at what we lose, and depression is the mechanism of that despair. When it comes, it degrades one's self and ultimately eclipses the capacity to give or receive affection. It is the aloneness within us made manifest, and it destroys not only connection to others but also the ability to be peacefully alone with oneself. Love, though it is no prophylactic against depression, is what cushions the mind and protects it from itself. Medications and psychotherapy can renew that protection, making it easier to love and be loved, and that is why they work. In good spirits, some love themselves and some love others and some love work and some love God: any of these passions can furnish that vital sense of purpose that is the opposite of depression. Love forsakes us from time to time, and we forsake love. In depression, the meaninglessness of every enterprise and every emotion, the meaninglessness of life itself, becomes self-evident. The only feeling left in this loveless state is insignificance."
I want to remember that love "cushions the mind and protects it from itself." I love the mind, the intellect, but the more living I do I'm convinced it needs to be protected against its extremes.
7 comments:
Sounds like an interesting book. It is also true (but why?) that we must despair at what we lose. Or what we never had. Such is depression.
I'm not sure depression is such a bad thing. I'm thinking about a quote by Rilke, "perhaps all of the dragons in our lives are angels who are waiting to see us once beautiful and brave."
In my own experience, depression has served as a wake-up call--as a signal to reassess my personal circumstances and, more importantly, to make changes that, without the sense of urgency that comes with depression, I may never have made and would have regretted not making. In a way, depression has saved me from a more quotidian and less fulfilling life. So I'm thankful for it.
Granted, there are degrees of depression, and, in some cases, it can be debilitating, but, on the whole, I think the positives far outweigh the negatives. I think we NEED to discover the "aloneness within us". I think that's where "love" comes from. Now I'm thinking about another quote, by Lacan: "Love is giving something you don't have to somebody who doesn't want it." The idea is that love is an act of renunciation, a giving away of a self that never existed in the first place, a shedding of our masks, a disrobing. In other words, love, in its ultimate form, IS loss. You could even say, I suppose, that love is the act of affirming depression, of choosing honesty over fantasy, of recognizing the orientation of loss in another and communing through loneliness--and feeling good about it!
>>I love the mind, the intellect, but the more living I do I'm convinced it needs to be protected against its extremes.
I will be thinking about this.
I agree and slightly disagree Shane. Actually just before I read your response I wrote this, which serves as a good response, in another context:
"I’ve been thinking (over many months) about depression as a positive sign on some levels. A sign of dealing with, a sign of owning up, a sign of facing truth. My anarchist cousin once said that he thought the world would be much better off if people allowed themselves to feel sadness and to grieve. Of course at some point depression overwhelms and, as the first quote [another quote from Solomon] indicates, grows even as it enters thin air and even though it is (and hence the entire soul) disconnected from the earth, from nourishment, from any possibility of recovery. That is at some point it is a sign of ONLY death and decay."
i've been thinking a lot about depression/ anxiety lately. it's a topic I've always tried to ignore, but one I finally had to deal with when the "family curse" as we like to call it caught up with me. I wonder if our current lifestyle of relative comfort allows us to view depression as a potential positive or even "the flaw in love." We have medicines that work, so we can be philosophical about depression. But without those medicines? My grandmother and my great-grandmother were both institutionalized. My great-grandmother died in an institution. If they had had modern anti-depressants, that probably wouldn't have happened. In their case, the anxiety-depression was tragic, life-altering. I think Solomon's ideas are interesting, but I don't think we could have this conversation without the tempering effect of modern drugs. I'm glad he at least mentions these medicines in his discussion.
I saw a counselor for a while and he suggested that my anxiety showed up because of certain events in my life. While there was certainly an influence and the therapy helped me to sort out many things (Solomon's comments ring true here), I am pretty sure that my body was just hard-wired for anxiety/ depression. I think we do a disservice to people living with depression to associate it so much with "feelings" and life events and not acknowledge it as the medical condition that it is.
As a parallel, I have to take a thyroid supplement every day. If I don't take it, or if my dosage gets off, I feel many physical and "emotional" effects. If I get the right dose, all that stuff goes away. Feelings, but with a distinct hormonal physical cause. I think depression is the same. It's much more about how our bodies work than about how life events impact us.
Wow, I didn't meant to write that long. Ron, I love how you rarely post but when you do you get people talking
Lis—your comment reminded me of a conversation we had about depression 3 or 4 yrs ago. We were listening to some music in the lobby of our hotel at the pop culture conference in Albuquerque. Do you remember? We both talked about how, in the past, we had felt that anti-depressants were a crutch but that our views had changed with more experience—me because of my own bout with depression and you because of a family member. That’s a fine memory for me. One of the first times (maybe the first) I had honestly discussed my own depression with anyone other than my wife.
I very much agree with what you say: “I am pretty sure that my body was just hard-wired for anxiety/ depression. I think we do a disservice to people living with depression to associate it so much with ‘feelings’ and life events and not acknowledge it as the medical condition that it is.” And I think Solomon would agree. Still, your idea that drugs allow us to be all philosophical about depression hits a cord. When in the throes of a major depression, I doubt anyone is much interested in contemplating what it means or what its relationship is to love or whatever—they just want it gone.
And I remember you referencing the thyroid analogy in our earlier discussion. Certainly points to the medical condition depression can be. My bout of depression ended abruptly as soon as I got on a very small dose of Lexapro. I’d been seeing a counselor and was overwhelmed with the issues from my past etc, so much to talk about. After being on lexapro for a few days I went to visit him—I had nothing to say. It’s not that all the issues were solved but they were no longer pressing upon me, demanding I solve them or else. It was the strangest experience.
One more quote from Solomon, one that gets at the medical or biological indirectly and at depression’s relation to experience directly:
"Depression is not just a lot of pain; but too much pain can compost itself into depression. Grief is depression in proportion to circumstance; depression is grief out of proportion to circumstance. It is tumbleweed distress that thrives on thin air, growing despite its detachment from the nourishing earth. It can be described only in metaphor and allegory. Saint Anthony in the desert, asked how he could differentiate between angels who came to him humble and devils who came in rich disguise, said you could tell by how you felt after they had departed. When an angel left you, you felt strengthened by his presence; when a devil left, you felt horror. Grief is a humble angel who leaves you with strong, clear thoughts and a sense of your own depth. Depression is a demon who leaves you appalled." (16)
I do remember that conversation. I was actually thinking about it when I wrote my post. At the time, I was dealing with my own anxiety issue, although I can't remember if I talked about it directly.
What I meant about the drugs allowing us to be philosophical--in the middle of depression, I agree no one wants to philosophize about what depression means. It's too life-altering to allow for much beyond a survival response. But because meds can allow the depression to clear, we have the luxury to philosophize about what depression might mean for us as humans. For my grandmothers, who lived with untreated (or harshly treated) depression/ anxiety, the notion of philosophizing about depression would have been ridiculous. Their depression altered, if not ruined, their lives.
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