Friday, 1 May 2026

Life is fraught with sorrows: no matter what we do, we will in the end die; we are, each of us, held in the solitude of an autonomous body; time passes, and what has been will never be again. Pain is the first experience of world-helplessness, and it never leaves us. We are angry about being ripped from the comfortable womb, and as soon as that anger fades, distress comes to take its place. Even those people whose faith promises them that this will all be different in the next world cannot help experiencing anguish in this one...We live, however, in a time of increasing palliatives; it is easier than ever to decide what to feel and what not to feel. There is less and less unpleasantness that is unavoidable in life, for those with the means to avoid. But despite the enthusiastic claims of pharmaceutical science, depression cannot be wiped out so long as we are creatures conscious of our own selves. It can at best be contained — and containing is all that current treatments for depression aim to do.

Highly politicized rhetoric has blurred the distinction between depression and its consequences — the distinction between how you feel and how you act in response. This is in part a social and medical phenomenon, but it is also the result of linguistic vagary attached to emotional vagary. Perhaps depression can best be described as emotional pain that forces itself on us against our will, and then breaks free of its externals. 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.

Andrew Solomon



I returned, not long ago, to a wood in which I had played as a child and saw an oak, a hundred years dignified, in whose shade I used to play with my brother. In twenty years, a huge vine had attached itself to this confident tree and had nearly smothered it. It was hard to say where the tree left off and the vine began. The vine had twisted itself so entirely around the scaffolding of tree branches that its leaves seemed from a distance to be the leaves of the tree; only up close could you see how few living oak branches were left, and how a few desperate little budding sticks of oak stuck like a row of thumbs up the massive trunk, their leaves continuing to photosynthesize in the ignorant way of mechanical biology.

Fresh from a major depression in which I had hardly been able to take on board the idea of other people's problems, I empathized with that tree. My depression had grown on me as that vine had conquered the oak; it had been a sucking thing that had wrapped itself around me, ugly and more alive than I. It had had a life of its own that bit by bit asphyxiated all of my life out of me. At the worst stage of major depression, I had moods that I knew were not my moods: they belonged to the depression, as surely as the leaves on that tree's high branches belonged to the vine. When I tried to think clearly about this, I felt that my mind was immured, that it couldn't expand in any direction. I knew that the sun was rising and setting, but little of its light reached me. I felt myself sagging under what was much stronger than I; first I could not use my ankles, and then I could not control my knees, and then my waist began to break under the strain, and then my shoulders turned in, and in the end I was compacted and fetal, depleted by this thing that was crushing me without holding me. Its tendrils threatened to pulverize my mind and my courage and my stomach, and crack my bones and desiccate my body. It went on glutting itself on me when there seemed nothing left to feed it.

Andrew Solomon



Every second of being alive hurt me. Because this thing had drained all fluid from me, I could not even cry. My mouth was parched as well. I had thought that when you feel your worst your tears flood, but the very worst pain is the arid pain of total violation that comes after the tears are all used up, the pain that stops up every space through which you once metered the world, or the world, you. This is the presence of major depression.

Andrew Solomon



All I wanted was for “it” to stop; I could not have managed even to be so specific as to say what “it” was. I could not manage to say much; words, with which I have always been intimate, seemed suddenly very elaborate, difficult metaphors the use of which entailed much more energy than I could possibly muster. “Melancholia ends up in loss of meaning . . . I become silent and I die,” Julia Kristeva once wrote. “Melancholy persons are foreigners in their mother tongue. The dead language they speak foreshadows their suicide.” Depression, like love, trades in clichés, and it is difficult to speak of it without lapsing into the rhetoric of saccharine pop tunes; it is so vivid when it is experienced that the notion that others have known anything similar seems altogether implausible.

Andrew Solomon



Laura Anderson wrote, “Depression has given me kindness and forgiveness where other people don’t know enough to extend it—I am drawn toward people who might put off others with a wrong move or a misplaced barb or an overtly nonsensical judgment. I had an argument about the death penalty tonight with someone, and I was trying to explain, without being too self-referential, that one can understand horrifying actions—understand the terrible links between mood and job and relationships and the rest of everything.

Andrew Solomon




In the middle decades of the twentieth century, two questions troubled the neuroscience of depression. One was whether mood states traveled through the brain in electrical or in chemical impulses. The initial assumption had been that if there were chemical reactions in the brain, they were subsidiary to electrical ones, but no evidence supported this. The second was whether there was a difference between endogenous neurotic depression, which came from within, and exogenous reactive depression, which came from without. Endogenous depressions all seemed to have precipitating external factors; reactive depressions usually followed on a lifetime of troubled reactions to circumstance that suggested an internal predisposition. Various experiments “showed” that one kind of depression was responsive to one kind of treatment, another to another. The idea that all depression involves a gene-environment interaction was not even entertained until the last quarter of the century.

Andrew Solomon



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.

Andrew Solomon



We have now overhauled welfare with the cheery thought that if we don’t support the poor, they’ll work harder. And the terrible, wasteful, lonely suffering goes on and on and on. Is it not worthwhile giving people the support, medical and therapeutic, that would allow them to function, that could free them to make good on their lives?

Andrew Solomon



Those same nerves that had been scraped raw at one point now seemed to be wrapped in lead. I knew it was a disaster, but that knowledge was meaningless. Sylvia Plath wrote in The Bell Jar, her wonderful evocation of her own breakdown: “I couldn’t get myself to react. I felt very still and very empty, the way the eye of a tornado must feel, moving dully along in the middle of the surrounding hullabaloo.” I felt as if my head had been encaged in Lucite, like one of those butterflies trapped forever in the thick transparency of a paperweight.

Andrew Solomon



When you are depressed, the past and future are absorbed entirely by the present moment, as in the world of a three-year-old. You cannot remember a time when you felt better, at least not clearly; and you certainly cannot imagine a future time when you will feel better. Being upset, even profoundly upset, is a temporal experience, while depression is atemporal. Breakdowns leave you with no point of view.

There’s a lot going on during a depressive episode. There are changes in neurotransmitter function; changes in synaptic function; increased or decreased excitability between neurons; alterations of gene expression; hypometabolism in the frontal cortex (usually) or hypermetabolism in the same area; raised levels of thyroid releasing hormone (TRH); disruption of function in the amygdala and possibly the hypothalamus (areas within the brain); altered levels of melatonin (a hormone that the pineal gland makes from serotonin); increased prolactin (increased lactate in anxiety-prone individuals will bring on panic attacks); flattening of twenty-four-hour body temperature; distortion of twenty-four-hour cortisol secretion; disruption of the circuit that links the thalamus, basal ganglia, and frontal lobes (again, centers in the brain); increased blood flow to the frontal lobe of the dominant hemisphere; decreased blood flow to the occipital lobe (which controls vision); lowering of gastric secretions. It is difficult to know what to make of all of these phenomena. Which are causes of depression; which are symptoms; which are merely coincidental? You might think that the raised levels of TRH mean that TRH causes bad feelings, but in fact administering high doses of TRH may be a temporarily useful treatment of depression. As it turns out, the body begins producing TRH during depression for its antidepressant capacities. And TRH, which is not generally an antidepressant, can be utilized as an antidepressant immediately after a major depressive episode because the brain, though it is having a lot of problems in a depression, also becomes supersensitive to the things that can help to solve those problems. Brain cells change their functions readily, and during an episode, the ratio between the pathological changes (which cause depression) and the adaptive ones (which fight it) determines whether you stay sick or get better.

Andrew Solomon




A world of people, however, are just barely holding on and continue, despite the great revolutions in psychiatric and psychopharmaceutical treatments, to suffer abject misery. More than half of those who do seek help—another 25 percent of the depressed population—receive no treatment. About half of those who do receive treatment—13 percent or so of the depressed population—receive unsuitable treatment, often tranquilizers or immaterial psychotherapies. Of those who are left, half—some 6 percent of the depressed population—receive inadequate dosage for an inadequate length of time. So that leaves about 6 percent of the total depressed population who are getting adequate treatment. But many of these ultimately go off their medications, usually because of side effects. “It’s between 1 and 2 percent who get really optimal treatment,” says John Greden, director of the Mental Health Research Institute at the University of Michigan, “for an illness that can usually be well-controlled with relatively inexpensive medications that have few serious side effects.” Meanwhile, at the other end of the spectrum, people who suppose that bliss is their birthright pop cavalcades of pills in a futile bid to alleviate those mild discomforts that texture every life.

Andrew Solomon



When I met with Senator Domenici, joint sponsor of the Mental Health Parity Act, I laid out for him the anecdotal and statistical information I had collated, and then I proposed fully documenting the tendencies that seemed so obviously implied by these stories. “Suppose,” I said, “that we could put together incontrovertible data, and that the questions of bias, inadequate information, and partisanship could all be fully resolved. “Suppose,” I said, we could say that sound mental health treatment for severely depressed poor people served the advantage of the U.S. economy, of the bureau of Veterans Affairs, of the social good—of the taxpayers who now pay cripplingly high prices for the consequences of untreated depression, and of the recipients of that investment, who live at the brink of despair. What, then, would be the path to reform?”

“If you’re asking whether we can expect much change simply because that change would serve everyone’s advantage in both economic and human terms,” said Senator Domenici, “I regret to tell you that the answer is no.” 

Andrew Solomon




The insistence on normality, the belief in an inner logic in the face of unmistakable abnormality, is endemic to depression. It is the everyman story of this book, one I have encountered time after time. The shape of each person’s normality, however, is unique: normality is perhaps an even more private idea than weirdness.

Andrew Solomon




Bill Stein, a publisher I know, comes from a family in which both depression and trauma have run high. His father, born a Jew in Germany, left Bavaria on a business visa in early 1938. His grandparents were lined up outside the family house on Kristallnacht, in November of 1938, and though they were not arrested, they had to watch as many of their friends and neighbors were sent off to Dachau. The trauma of being a Jew in Nazi Germany was horrendous, and Bill’s grandmother went into a six-week decline after Kristallnacht, which culminated with her suicide on Christmas Day. The following week, exit visas arrived for both Bill’s grandparents. His father emigrated alone.

Bill’s parents married in Stockholm in 1939 and moved to Brazil before settling in the United States. His father always refused to discuss this history; “that period in Germany,” Bill recalls, “simply did not exist.” They lived on an attractive street in a prosperous suburb in a bubble of unreality. In part perhaps because of his practice of denial, Bill’s father suffered a severe breakdown and had repeated lapses straight through to his death more than thirty years later. His depressions followed the same patterns that his son would inherit. His first major breakdown occurred when his son was five years old; he continued to go to pieces periodically, with a particularly deep depression that lasted from the time Bill was in sixth grade until the time he finished junior high school.

Bill’s mother came from a much wealthier and more privileged German Jewish family that had left Germany for Stockholm in 1919. A woman of strong character, she once slapped a Nazi captain in the face for being rude to her; “I’m a Swedish citizen,” she told him, “and I won’t be spoken to in that way.”

By the age of nine, Bill Stein was experiencing lengthy periods of depression. For about two years, he was terrified of going to sleep and was traumatized when his parents went to bed. Then his dark feelings lifted for a few years. After some minor lapses, they returned when he got to college.

“I would wake up at three or four in the morning with these sort of rushes of anxiety that were so intense it would have been more pleasurable to jump out the window. When I was with other people, I always felt like I was going to faint from the stress...People took advantage of me; I was a wounded animal in an open meadow.” He broke down completely. “When you’re really bad, you have this sort of catatonic look on your face, as if you’ve been stunned. You act strangely because of your deficits; my short-term memory disappeared. And then it got even worse. I couldn’t control my bowels. Then I was living in such terror of that that I couldn’t leave my own apartment, and that was a further trauma. In the end, I moved back to my parents’ house.” But life at home was not ameliorative. Bill’s father crumpled under the pressure of his son’s illness and ended up in the hospital himself. Bill went to stay with his sister; then a school friend took him in for seven weeks. “It was horrendous,” he says. “I thought, at that point, that I would be mentally ill for the rest of my life. The episode lasted for more than a year. It seemed better to float with the down than to fight it. I think you have to let go and understand that the world will be re-created and may never again resemble what you knew previously.”

He went to the doors of a hospital several times but could not bring himself to register there. He finally signed in at Mt. Sinai Hospital in New York...and asked for electroconvulsive therapy. ECT had helped his father but failed to help him. “It was the most dehumanizing place I can imagine, to go from life on the outside to...being talked down to, as if you’re retarded in addition to being depressed...I had wanted the treatments, but the room and the people—I felt like it was a barbaric Mengele scene of experimentation.”

Andrew Solomon





The first coherent psychoanalytic description of melancholy came...from Karl Abraham, whose 1911 essay on the subject remains authoritative. Abraham began by stating categorically that anxiety and depression were “related to each other in the same way as are fear and grief. We fear a coming evil; we grieve over one that has occurred.” So anxiety is distress over what will happen, and melancholy is distress over what has happened. For Abraham, one condition entailed the other; to locate neurotic distress exclusively in the past or future was impossible. 

Andrew Solomon




I remember one episode at summer camp when I was six, when I was suddenly and unreasonably overcome with fear. I can see it vividly: the tennis court up above, the dining hall on my right, and some fifty feet away, the big oak tree under which we sat to hear stories. Suddenly, I couldn’t move. I was overcome with the knowledge that something awful was going to happen to me, now or later, and that, as long as I was alive, I wouldn’t be free. Life, which had until then seemed to be a solid surface upon which I stood, went suddenly soft and yielding, and I began to slip through it. If I stayed still, I might be all right, but as soon as I moved, I would be in danger again. It seemed to matter very much whether I went left or right or straight on, but I didn’t know which direction would save me, at least for the moment. Fortunately a counselor came along and told me to hurry up, I was late for swimming, and the mood broke, but for a long time I remembered it and hoped it wouldn’t come back.

I think these things are not unusual for small children. Existential angst among adults, painful though it may be, usually has a gaming self-consciousness to it; the first revelations of human frailty, the first intimations of mortality, are devastating and intemperate.

Andrew Solomon




I thought that perhaps I’d had a stroke, and then I cried again for a while. At about three o’clock that afternoon, I managed to get out of bed and go to the bathroom. I returned to bed shivering. Fortunately, my father called. I answered the phone. “You have to cancel tonight,” I said, my voice shaky. “What’s wrong?” he kept asking, but I didn’t know.

There is a moment, if you trip or slip, before your hand shoots out to break your fall, when you feel the earth rushing up at you and you cannot help yourself, a passing, fraction-of-a-second terror. I felt that way hour after hour after hour. Being anxious at this extreme level is bizarre. You feel all the time that you want to do something, that there is some affect that is unavailable to you, that there’s a physical need of impossible urgency and discomfort for which there is no relief, as though you were constantly vomiting from your stomach but had no mouth. With the depression, your vision narrows and begins to close down; it is like trying to watch TV through terrible static, where you can sort of see the picture but not really, where you cannot ever see people’s faces. Except, almost, if there is a close-up; where nothing has edges...Becoming depressed is like going blind, the darkness at first gradual, then encompassing; it is like going deaf, hearing less and less until a terrible silence is all around you, until you cannot make any sound of your own to penetrate the quiet. It is like feeling your clothing slowly turning into wood on your body, a stiffness in the elbows and the knees progressing to a terrible weight and an isolating immobility that will atrophy you and in time destroy you.

Andrew Solomon




Depressed mothers are usually not great mothers, though high-functioning depressives can sometimes mask their illness and fulfill their parenting roles. While some depressed mothers are easily upset by their children and behave erratically as a consequence, many depressed mothers simply fail to respond to their children: they are unaffectionate and withdrawn. They tend not to establish clear control or rules or boundaries. They have little love or nurturance to give. They feel helpless in the face of their children’s demands. Their behavior is unregulated; they become angry for no apparent reason and then, in paroxysms of guilt, express extravagant affection for equally indistinct reasons. They cannot help a child to regulate his own problems. Their responses to their children are not contingent on what the children are doing.

The earliest manifestations of childhood depression, which are found in infants as young as three months, occur primarily in the offspring of depressed mothers. Such children do not smile and tend to turn their head away from all people, including parents; they may be at greater ease when they are not looking at anyone than when they look at their depressed mother. The brain-wave patterns of such children are distinctive; if you successfully treat the depression in the mothers, the brain-wave patterns of the children may improve. In older children, however, adjustment difficulties may not lift so readily; school-age children of a depressed mother were shown to be severely maladjusted even a year after their mother’s symptoms had been alleviated. The children of parents who have been depressed are at a significant disadvantage. The more severe the depression of the mother, the more severe the depression of the child is likely to be, though some children seem to pick up on maternal depression more dramatically and empathetically than do others. In general, the children of a depressed mother not only reflect but also magnify their mother’s state. Even ten years after an initial assessment, such children suffer significant social impairment and are at a threefold risk for depression and a fivefold risk for panic disorders and alcohol dependence. To improve the mental health of children, it is sometimes more important to treat the mother than to treat the children directly.

Andrew Solomon




Let us make no bones about it: We do not really know what causes depression. We do not really know what constitutes depression. We do not really know why certain treatments may be effective for depression. We do not know how depression made it through the evolutionary process. We do not know why one person gets a depression from circumstances that do not trouble another. We do not know how will operates in this context.

People around depressives expect them to get themselves together: our society has little room in it for moping. Spouses, parents, children, and friends are all subject to being brought down themselves, and they do not want to be close to measureless pain.

Andrew Solomon





I attacked him with a ferocity unlike any I had experienced before, threw him against a wall, and socked him repeatedly, breaking both his jaw and his nose. He was later hospitalized for loss of blood. I will never forget the feeling of his face crumpling under my blows. I know that right after I hit him I had his neck in my hands for a moment and that it took a powerful summoning of my superego to save me from strangling him. When people expressed horror at my attack on him, I told them...I felt as though I were disappearing, and somewhere deep in the most primitive part of my brain, I felt that violence was the only way I could keep my self and mind in the world. I was chagrined by what I had done; yet though one part of me regrets the suffering of my friend, another part of me does not rue what happened, because I sincerely believe that I would have gone irretrievably crazy if I had not done it—a view that this friend, to whom I am still close, has since come to accept...I have learned that depression can easily erupt as rage. Since I’ve got out of the deepest trough of depression, those impulses are under control. I am capable of great anger, but it is usually tied to specific events, and my response to those events is usually in proportion to them. It is not usually physical. It is usually more considered and less totally impulsive. My attacks have been symptomatic. That does not relieve me of responsibility for violence, but it does help to make sense of it. I do not condone such behavior.

Andrew Solomon




In the fifth century, Cassian writes of the “sixth combat” with “weariness and distress of the heart,” saying that “this is ‘the noonday demon’ spoken of in the Ninetieth Psalm,” which “produces dislike of the place where one is, disgust, disdain, and contempt for other men, and sluggishness.” The section in question occurs in Psalms and would be literally translated from the Vulgate: “His truth shall compass thee with a shield: thou shalt not be afraid of the terror of the night. / Of the arrow that flieth in the day, of the business that walketh about in the dark: of invasion, or of the noonday demon”—“ab incrusus, et daemonio meridiano.”

Andrew Solomon





Depressives use the phrase “over the edge” all the time to delineate the passage from pain to madness. This very physical description frequently entails falling “into the abyss.” It’s odd that so many people have such a consistent vocabulary, because the edge is really quite an abstracted metaphor. Few of us have ever fallen off the edge of anything, and certainly not into an abyss. The Grand Canyon? A Norwegian fjord? A South African diamond mine? It’s difficult even to find an abyss to fall into. When asked, people describe the abyss pretty consistently. In the first place, it’s dark. You are falling away from the sunlight toward a place where the shadows are black. Inside it, you cannot see, and the dangers are everywhere (it’s neither soft-bottomed nor soft-sided, the abyss). While you are falling, you don’t know how deep you can go, or whether you can in any way stop yourself. You hit invisible things over and over again until you are shredded, and yet your environment is too unstable for you to catch onto anything.

Fear of heights is the most common phobia in the world and must have served our ancestors well, since the ones who were not afraid probably found abysses and fell into them, so knocking their genetic material out of the race. If you stand on the edge of a cliff and look down, you feel dizzy. Your body does not work better than ever and allow you to move with immaculate precision back from the edge. You think you’re going to fall, and if you look for long, you will fall. You’re paralyzed...I think depression is not usually going over the edge itself (which soon makes you die), but drawing too close to the edge, getting to that moment of fear when you have gone so far, when dizziness has deprived you so entirely of your capacity for balance...Depression relies heavily on a paralyzing sense of imminence. What you can do at an elevation of six inches you cannot do when the ground drops away to reveal a drop of a thousand feet. Terror of the fall grips you even if that terror is what might make you fall. What is happening to you in depression is horrible, but it seems to be very much wrapped up in what is about to happen to you. Among other things, you feel you are about to die. The dying would not be so bad, but the living at the brink of dying, the not-quite-over-the-geographical-edge condition, is horrible. In a major depression, the hands that reach out to you are just out of reach. You cannot make it down onto your hands and knees because you feel that as soon as you lean, even away from the edge, you will lose your balance and plunge down. Oh, some of the abyss imagery fits: the darkness, the uncertainty, the loss of control. But if you were actually falling endlessly down an abyss, there would be no question of control. You would be out of control entirely. Here there is that horrifying sense that control has left you just when you most need it and by rights should have it. A terrible imminence overtakes entirely the present moment. Depression has gone too far when, despite a wide margin of safety, you cannot balance anymore. In depression, all that is happening in the present is the anticipation of pain in the future, and the present qua present no longer exists at all.

Andrew Solomon




Antonin Artaud wrote on one of his drawings, “Never real and always true,” and that is how depression feels. You know that it is not real, that you are someone else, and yet you know that it is absolutely true. It’s very confusing.

Andrew Solomon




The wish for a more visible illness was, I would later learn, a commonplace among depressives, who often engage in forms of self-mutilation to bring the physical state in line with the mental.

Andrew Solomon




You do not get the time back. It is not tacked on at the end of your life to make up for the disaster years. Whatever time is eaten by a depression is gone forever. The minutes that are ticking by as you experience the illness are minutes you will not know again. No matter how bad you feel, you have to do everything you can to keep living.

Andrew Solomon





The University of Michigan’s Arnold Sameroff is a developmental psychiatrist who believes everything in the world is a variable in every experiment; all events are overdetermined; nothing can be understood except by knowing all the mysteries of God’s creation. Sameroff would suggest that though people have certain complaints in common, they have individual experiences, with individual constellations of complaints and individual networks of causes. “You know, there are these single-gene hypotheses,” he says. “Either you have the gene or you don’t, and those are very attractive to our quick-fix society. But it’s never going to work.” Sameroff has been looking at the children of people with major depression. He has found that these children, even if they start on a cognitive level with their peers, go downhill beginning around age two. By the age of four, they are distinctly “sadder, less interactive, withdrawn, and low-functioning.” For this he proposes...possible explanations, all of which, he believes, come into play in various mosaics: genetics; empathetic mirroring, kids repeating back what they experience; learned helplessness, ceasing to attempt to connect because of lack of parental approval for emotional outreach...and withdrawal, as a consequence of seeing no pleasure in communication between unhappy parents. Then there are all the subexplanations: depressed parents are more likely to be substance abusers than are other parents. What kind of treatment or trauma does a child experience at the hands of substance abusers? That would lead us right into stress.

A recent study has listed two hundred factors that may contribute to high blood pressure. “At a biological level,” says Sameroff, “blood pressure is really pretty simple. If there are two hundred factors influencing it, think how many factors must influence a complex experience such as depression!” In Sameroff’s view, the coincidence of a number of risk factors is the basis for depression. “Those people who get a group of risk factors all glommed together are the ones who have what we call a disorder,” Sameroff says. “We found that in terms of depression, heredity was not nearly as strong a predictor as socioeconomic status. The interaction of heredity and socioeconomic status was the strongest predictor of all, but then what were the key components of low socioeconomic status that made small children get so depressed? Was it lack of parental education? Lack of money? Low social support? Number of kids in the family?” Sameroff made a list of ten such variables and then correlated them with degrees of depression. He found that any negative variable on its own was likely to contribute to low mood, but that any group of such variables was likely to produce significant clinical symptoms (as well as lowered IQ). Sameroff then did research that showed that the child of a seriously ill parent was likely to do better than the children of a moderately ill parent. “It turns out that if you’re really, really ill, someone picks up the load. If there are two parents, the one who isn’t ill knows he has to do the work. And the child has a way of understanding what’s going on in the family; he grasps the principle that one of his parents is mentally ill and he isn’t left with all the unanswered questions that afflict the children of the mildly mentally ill. So you see? It’s not predictable according to a simple linear system. Every depression has its own story.”

Andrew Solomon




There are no trees in Greenland, so no jolly fires are burning inside; traditionally, in fact, there would have been only a small lamp burning seal fat inside an igloo where, as one Greenlander I met put it, “we all sat around together for months on end watching the walls melt.” In these circumstances of enforced intimacy, there is no place for complaining or for talking about problems or for anger and accusations. The Inuit simply have a taboo against complaining. They are silent and brooding or they are storytellers given to laughter, or they talk about the conditions outside and the hunt, but they almost never speak of themselves. Depressiveness, with concomitant hysteria and paranoia, is the price paid for the intense communality of Inuit lives.

The distinctive features of Greenlandic depression are not direct results of the temperature and light; they are the consequence of the taboo on talking of yourself. The extreme physical intimacy of this society necessitates emotional reserve. It is not unkindness; it is not coldness; it is simply another way. Poul Bisgaard, a gentle, large man with an air of bemused patience, is the first native Greenlander to become a psychiatrist. “Of course if someone is depressed within a family, we can see the symptoms,” he says. “But we do not, traditionally, meddle with them. It would be an affront to someone’s pride to say that you thought he looked depressed. The depressed man believes himself to be worthless and thinks that if he is worthless, there is no reason to bother anyone else. Those around him do not presume to interfere.” Kirsten Peilman, a Danish psychologist who has lived in Greenland for more than a decade, says, “There is no sense of rules that include intruding on anyone else. No one tells anyone else to behave. You simply tolerate whatever people present and let them tolerate themselves.”

Andrew Solomon




“Civil libertarians who take extreme views on this matter are both incompetent and inconsequential,” Roukema said. “Under the guise of civil liberties, they’re inflicting cruel and unusual punishment on people despite the fact that society has science that can make a better way. It’s cruelty; if we were doing that to animals, the ASPCA would be after us.

Andrew Solomon




“It shouldn’t be this way,” Senator Wellstone said. “I wish I’d gained my understanding of this subject solely through research and ethical inquiry. But for many people, the problems of mental illness are still utterly abstract, and their urgency becomes apparent only through intense involuntary immersion in them. We need an education initiative to pave the way for a legislative one.” If community health programs could keep everyone quiet, they would, by the standards of much of the world, be doing their job. Their inadequacies in protecting the healthy from the ill win them excoriation in the press. The question of whether they are serving the interest of the well is often examined; whether they are helping their target community seldom comes up. “Huge numbers of federal tax dollars are going to these programs,” Representative Roukema said, “and there is strong evidence that the money is being diverted into all kinds of irrelevant local projects.”

Andrew Solomon




Discussions in the Senate have been about parity as a civil rights issue. “I’m actually a marketplace guy myself,” says Senator Domenici. “But I think we’re violating civil rights when we take a large group like this and just say, ‘Well, struggle along.’

Andrew Solomon




Popular usage of the word depression has made many people think that the state is a form of unhappiness. It's true that one often feels sad when one is depressed, but depression itself is a state of nullity. It's not the presence of negative emotion so much as the muting or obliteration of all emotion, positive and negative except for fear and anxiety. 

Andrew Solomon




There are deaths being caused by these policies. “If you have the gun to your head,” says Jeanne Miranda, “you can perhaps get your treatment covered. Put it down, and you’re back out on your own.”

Andrew Solomon




You go along the gradual path or the sudden trigger of emotion and then you get to a place that is genuinely different. It takes time for a rusting iron-framed building to collapse, but the rust is ceaselessly powdering the solid, thinning it, eviscerating it. The collapse, no matter how abrupt it may feel, is the cumulative consequence of decay. It is nonetheless a highly dramatic and visibly different event. It is a long time from the first rain to the point when rust has eaten through an iron girder. Sometimes the rusting is at such key points that the collapse seems total, but more often it is partial: this section collapses, knocks that section, shifts the balances in a dramatic way. It is not pleasant to experience decay, to find yourself exposed to the ravages of an almost daily rain...that more and more of you will blow off with the first strong wind, making you less and less. Some people accumulate more emotional rust than others. Depression starts out insipid, fogs the days into a dull color, weakens ordinary actions until their clear shapes are obscured by the effort they require, leaves you tired and bored and self-obsessed—but you can get through all that. Not happily, perhaps, but you can get through. No one has ever been able to define the collapse point that marks major depression, but when you get there, there’s not much mistaking it.

Andrew Solomon




It appears that depression has been around as long as man has been capable of self-conscious thought. It may be that depression existed even before that time, that monkeys and rats and perhaps octopi were suffering the disease before those first humanoids found their way into their caves. Certainly the symptomatology of our time is more or less indistinguishable from what was described by Hippocrates some twenty-five hundred years ago. Neither depression nor skin cancer is a creation of the twenty-first century. Like skin cancer, depression is a bodily affliction that has escalated in recent times for fairly specific reasons. Let us not stand too long ignoring the clear message of burgeoning problems...We must not only avail ourselves of the immediate solutions to our current problems, but also seek to contain those problems and to avoid their purloining all our minds. The climbing rates of depression are without question the consequence of modernity. The pace of life, the technological chaos of it, the alienation of people from one another, the breakdown of traditional family structures, the loneliness that is endemic, the failure of systems of belief (religious, moral, political, social—anything that seemed once to give meaning and direction to life) have been catastrophic.

But do we have the equivalent of an environmental movement, a system to contain the damage we are doing to the social ozone layer? That there are treatments should not cause us to ignore the problem that is treated. We need to be terrified by the statistics. What is to be done?...we must start doing small things now to lower the level of socio-emotional pollution. We must look for faith (in anything: God or the self or other people or politics or beauty or just about anything else) and structure. We must help the disenfranchised whose suffering undermines so much of the world’s joy—for the sake both of those huddled masses and of the privileged people who lack profound motivation in their own lives. We must practice the business of love, and we must teach it too. We must ameliorate the circumstances that conduce to our terrifyingly high levels of stress. We must hold out against violence, and perhaps against its representations. This is not a sentimental proposal; it is as urgent as the cry to save the rain forest. At some point, a point we have not quite reached but will, I think, reach soon, the level of damage will begin to be more terrible than the advances we buy with that damage. There will be no revolution, but there will be the advent, perhaps, of different kinds of schools, different models of family and community, different processes of information. If we are to continue on earth, we will have to do so. We will balance treating illness with changing the circumstances that cause it. We will look to prevention as much as to cure.

Andrew Solomon




I became very much interested in how different mental health services are for people who've got education and income from what they are for people who do not have good education and income. The education allows you to understand what you're entitled to and to fight for it, and the income gives you a much better chance of getting it.

Andrew Solomon



“I’m not going to hope for too much more time, but just that feeling of no abstract worries, no inexplicable weight or sadness, felt so rich and real and good that for once, I didn’t feel like crying. I know the other feelings will come back, but I think I got a reprieve tonight, from God and the swingset, a reminder to be hopeful and patient, an augury of good things to come.” In December she had an adverse reaction to lithium; it made her skin intolerably dry. She lowered her dose and went on Neurontin. It seemed to work. “Shifting back to the center, a center, known as ME feels good and real,” she wrote.

The following October, we finally met. She was staying with her mother in Waterford, Virginia, a beautiful old town outside Washington, the place where she had grown up. I had become so fond of her by then that I couldn’t believe we had never met. I took the train and she came to meet me at the station, bringing her friend Walt, whom I was also meeting for the first time. She was svelte, blond, and beautiful. But the time with her family was stirring too many memories and she was not doing well. She was desperately anxious, so anxious that she was having trouble speaking. In a hoarse whisper, she apologized for her condition. Her movements were clearly enormously effortful. She said she had been going down all week. I asked whether I was adding to the strain, and she assured me that I was not. We went out to lunch, and she ordered mussels. She seemed to be unable to eat them; her hands were shaking badly, and by the time she had tried to pry open a few shells, she was spattered with the sauce in which they had arrived. She was not able to talk and cope with the mussels at the same time, so Walt and I chatted. He described Laura’s gradual descent during the week, and she made little sounds of acquiescence. She had given up on the mussels by now and was giving her full attention to a glass of white wine. I was really quite shocked; she had warned me that things were rough, but I was not prepared for her aura of futility.

We dropped Walt off and then I drove Laura’s car since she was much too shaky to drive. When we got back to the house, her mother evinced concern. Laura and I had a conversation that drifted in and out of coherence; she seemed to be speaking from some faraway place. And then as we were looking at some photos, she suddenly got stuck. It was like nothing I’d ever seen or imagined. She was telling me who was who in the photos and she began repeating herself. “That’s Geraldine,” she said, and then she winced and began again, pointing, “That’s Geraldine,” and then again, “That’s Geraldine,” each time taking longer to pronounce the syllables. Her face was frozen and she seemed to be having trouble moving her lips. I called her mother and her brother, Michael. Michael put his hands on Laura’s shoulders and said, “It’s okay, Laura. It’s okay.” We eventually managed to get her upstairs; she was still saying over and over, “That’s Geraldine.” Her mother changed her out of the mussel-spattered clothes and put her in bed and sat and rubbed her hand. The meeting was hardly what I had anticipated.

Andrew Solomon




I met with Phaly Nuon, a sometime candidate for the Nobel Peace Prize, who has set up an orphanage and a center for depressed women in Phnom Penh. She has achieved astonishing success in resuscitating women whose mental afflictions are such that other doctors have left them for dead. Indeed her success has been so enormous that her orphanage is almost entirely staffed by the women she has helped, who have formed a community of generosity around Phaly Nuon. If you save the women, it has been said, they will in turn save the children, and so by tracing a chain of influence one can save the country.

We met in a small room in an old office building near the center of Phnom Penh. She sat on a chair on one side, and I sat on a small sofa opposite. Phaly Nuon’s asymmetrical eyes seem to see through you at once and, nonetheless, to welcome you in. Like most Cambodians, she is relatively diminutive by Western standards. Her hair, streaked grey, was pulled back from her face and gave it a certain hardness of emphasis. She can be aggressive in making a point, but she is also shy, smiling and looking down whenever she is not speaking.

We started with her own story. In the early seventies, Phaly Nuon worked for the Cambodian Department of the Treasury and Chamber of Commerce as a typist and shorthand secretary. In 1975, when Phnom Penh fell to Pol Pot and the Khmer Rouge, she was taken from her house with her husband and her children. Her husband was sent off to a location unknown to her, and she had no idea whether he was executed or remained alive. She was put to work in the countryside as a field laborer with her twelve-year-old daughter, her three-year-old son, and her newborn baby. The conditions were terrible and food was scarce, but she worked beside her fellows, “never telling them anything, and never smiling, as none of us ever smiled, because we knew that at any moment we could be put to death.” After a few months, she and her family were packed off to another location. During the transfer, a group of soldiers tied her to a tree and made her watch while her daughter was gang-raped and then murdered. A few days later it was Phaly Nuon’s turn. She was brought with some fellow laborers to a field outside of town. Then they tied her hands behind her back and roped her legs together. After forcing her to her knees, they tied her to a rod of bamboo, and they made her lean forward over a mucky field, so that her legs had to be tensed or she would lose her balance. The idea was that when she finally dropped of exhaustion, she would fall forward into the mud and, unable to move, would drown in it. Her three-year-old son bellowed and cried beside her. The infant was tied to her so that he would drown in the mud when she fell: Phaly Nuon would be the murderer of her own baby.

Andrew Solomon




If major hospitals have been sites of abuse, the chances are that community-based programs will become sites of comparable or worse abuse. The checks and balances within these programs are hard to maintain. Large numbers of officials and mental health workers rule over tiny principalities of care, each with its own internal workings. How can the operations of such centers be fully visible to those who in principle oversee them, people who usually come through only for occasional, quick visits? Is it possible to sustain high standards of vigilance when authority has undergone devolution?

The question of what constitutes mental illness and who should be treated rides very much on the back of public perceptions about sanity. There is such a thing as sanity and there is such a thing as madness, and the difference is both categorical and dimensional, of kind and of degree. Ultimately there is a politics of what one asks of one’s own brain and of the brains of others. There is nothing wrong with this politics. It is an essential part of our self-definition, a cornerstone of the social order. It is wrong to spot collusion behind it; unless one believes that consensus on complex subjects can emerge uncorrupted, one must work with that curious mix of personal opinion and public history that determines all our ways as social animals. The problem is not so much the politics of depression as our failure to recognize that there is a politics of depression. There is no freedom from this politics. For those without money there is less freedom than for those who have the prerogatives of financial wherewithal; the politics of depression echoes the rest of life. 

Andrew Solomon



What can be named and described can be contained: the word “depression” separated Wendy’s illness from her personality. If all the things she disliked in herself could be grouped elegantly together as aspects of a disease, that left her good qualities as the “real” Wendy, and it was much easier for her to like this real Wendy and to turn this real Wendy against the problems that afflicted her. To be given the idea of depression is to master a socially powerful linguistic tool. There are no people so starved for this vocabulary as the depressed poor, which is why basic tools like cognitive group therapy can be so utterly transforming for them.

Andrew Solomon


Despite the extended debates in the last decade about depression’s causes, it seems fairly clear that it is usually the consequence of a genetic vulnerability activated by external stress. Most people have some level of genetic vulnerability. Those with a high vulnerability can have it triggered by a fairly minor event; those with a low degree of vulnerability will be triggered only by more significant trauma. But among the poor, the traumas are so terrible and so frequent, says Miranda, that searching for the depressed among them is like checking for emphysema among coal miners. The depression rate among the poor is the highest of any social grouping in the United States, so high that many don’t notice or question it. “If this is how all your friends are,” Miranda says, “it begins to have a certain terrible normality to it.”

In travels to some fairly remote parts of the world, I found that much the same rules apply to trauma-prone populations everywhere. Survivors of the Khmer Rouge in Cambodia have an extremely high rate of depression. Phaly Nuon, a Cambodian woman who has founded a treatment center and an orphanage in Phnom Penh, describes seeing women who had made it through the horrific years of war only to become so depressed afterward that they let their own children starve to death in the resettlement camps. She said that these women, born to grim lives of rural poverty, had been disabled by what they had seen. I found similar phenomena among the Inuit of Greenland, tribal peoples in Senegal, the urban poor in Russia. Depression rates are very high all around the world among people with hard lives, and these people tend to be disproportionately poor.

Depression can be difficult enough to recognize among the affluent, but if you’re way down the socioeconomic ladder, the signs may be even harder to distinguish. When someone in the middle classes becomes depressed and suddenly finds that he can’t function at a high level, can’t work, begins to withdraw, he is likely to attract the attention of friends and family members. But if you’re poor, these symptoms don’t seem much of a change. Your life has always been lousy; you’ve never been able to get or hold a decent job; you’ve never expected to accomplish much; and you’ve never entertained the idea that you have much control over what happens to you.

The depressed poor perceive themselves to be supremely helpless — so helpless that they neither seek nor embrace support. This means that most people who are poor and depressed stay poor and depressed. Poverty is depressing, and depression, leading as it does to dysfunction and isolation, is impoverishing.

The poor tend to have a passive relationship to fate: their lack of self-determination makes them far more likely to accommodate problems than to solve them. This passivity also causes them to accept treatment as passively as they accept their own misery...Medicaid recipients qualify for extensive care, but they have to claim it, and depressed people do not exercise rights or claim what should be theirs, even if they have the rare sophistication to recognize their own condition. They can be saved only by pressing insight onto them, often through muscular exhortation.

Andrew Solomon


The idea that depressed poor people will ever have the wherewithal to seek and find help, even if they did figure out for themselves that they were depressed, is ludicrous. A program that did a basic mental-health screening at family-planning clinics or at job centers or at places where welfare checks are distributed might allow us at least to identify the people who are currently suffering from illness...Major depression is frequently triggered by stresses, and there is no question that the lives of welfare recipients are extremely stressful. At the moment, however, welfare officers do no significant screening for depression.

Andrew Solomon




Nonetheless, the depression returns. The fragility surfaces. The medication needs to be adjusted. “Suddenly one day a few bad things happen and I feel like I’m out of my depth in my own life. If I didn’t have the love of my wife and daughter to help me ride it out, I’d have given up a long time ago. Through therapy, I’m learning to understand what triggers the depression. With the right care and support, I’m beginning to define the disease instead of letting it define me.”

Dièry is the object of constant racism, which is exacerbated by his intimidating size and physique and, curiously enough, by his good looks. I have seen salespeople shy away from him in stores. I have been on street corners in New York with him when he was trying to hail a cab for fifteen minutes and none would stop for him; when I raised my hand, we had one in ten seconds flat. He was once arrested by the police three blocks from his house in Brooklyn, told that he fit the description of a suspect in a crime, and kept long hours in a holding cell, chained to a girder. His comportment and credentials made no difference to the authority figures who incarcerated him. The consistent indignities of racism and tokenism do not make depression easier to bear. The suspicion with which he is regarded on the streets and the presumptions of guilt are exhausting. It is isolating to be so misunderstood by so many people.

When Dièry is well, he is habituated to these constant assaults on his pride and he pays them relatively little heed, but “it just makes your day so much harder,” he said to me once. “The depression itself is color-blind. I think when you’re depressed, you could be brown or blue or white or red. When I’m down, I see happy people of every hue and every shape and size around me, and I feel like, God, I’m the only one on the planet who’s this depressed. They have something going on and I don’t. But then again the race card does come into play. You feel like the world is just hoping to pull you down. I’m a big, strong black man and no one is going to waste time feeling sorry for me. What would happen if you suddenly started crying on the subway? I think someone might very well ask you if there was something wrong. If I burst into tears on the subway, they’d assume I was on bad drugs. When someone reacts to me in a way that has nothing to do with who I am or what I’m really like, it’s always a shock to me. It’s always a shock, the discrepancy between my self-perception and how I am perceived in the world, between my internal vision of myself and the external circumstances of my life. When I’m down, it’s a slap across the face. I’ve spent hours looking in the mirror, saying, ‘You’re a decent-looking guy...you’re polite and kind-hearted. Why don’t people just love you? Why are they always trying to beat you up and fuck with you? And putting you down and humiliating you? Why?”

He is one of the first people I call when I begin to dissolve—in part because...he has a singular sweetness; in part because he knows whereof I speak, and in part because introspection has given him a capacity for genuine insight. I have had to trust him, and I do. He is the one who came to my house and helped me to shower and get dressed when I was at my lowest. He is among the heroes of my own depression story. And he is authentically generous.

Andrew Solomon




At the end of August, I had an attack of kidney stones, an ailment that had visited me once before. I called my doctor, who promised to notify the hospital and to expedite my passage through the emergency room. When I got to the hospital, however, no one seemed to have received any notice. The pain of kidney stones is excruciating, and as I sat waiting, it was as though someone, having dipped my central nervous column in acid, was now peeling the nerves to their raw core. Although I described the pain I was in several times to several attendants, no one did anything. And then something seemed to snap in me. Standing in the middle of my cubicle in the New York Hospital emergency room, I began to scream. They put a shot of morphine into my arm. The pain abated.

Sleeping pills got me through the nights. I had one small relapse and went back up to the hospital; it was nothing serious, but it scared me to death. In retrospect, I can say that that was the week I went bananas.

Andrew Solomon




What can you do when you see someone else trapped in his mind? You cannot draw a depressed person out of his misery with love (though you can sometimes distract a depressed person). You can, sometimes, manage to join someone in the place where he resides. It is not pleasant to sit still in the darkness of another person’s mind, though it is almost worse to watch the decay of the mind from outside. You can fret from a distance, or you can come close and closer and closest. Sometimes the way to be close is to be silent, or even distant. It is not up to you, from the outside, to decide; it is up to you to discern. Depression is lonely above all else, but it can breed the opposite of loneliness.

Andrew Solomon




Goodness does not come living to those whose lives are utterly placid. When I had the third breakdown, the mini-breakdown, I was in the late stages of writing this book. Since I could not cope with communication of any kind during that period, I put an auto-response message on my E-mail that said I was temporarily unreachable, and a similar message on my answering machine. Acquaintances who had suffered depression knew what to make of these outgoing messages. They wasted no time. I had dozens and dozens of calls from people offering whatever they could offer and doing it glowingly. “I will come to stay the minute you call,” wrote Laura Anderson, who also sent a wild profusion of orchids, “and I’ll stay as long as it takes you to get better. If you’d prefer, you are of course always welcome here; if you need to move in for a year, I’ll be here for you. I hope you know that I will always be here for you.” Claudia Weaver wrote with questions: “Is it better for you to have someone check in with you every day or are the messages too much of a burden? If they are a burden, you needn’t answer this one, but whatever you need—just call me, anytime, day or night.” Angel Starkey called often from the pay phone at her hospital to see if I was okay. “I don’t know what you need,” she said, “but I’m worrying about you all the time. Please take care of yourself. Come and see me if you’re feeling really bad, anytime. I’d really like to see you. If you need anything, I’ll try to get it for you. Promise me you won’t hurt yourself.” Frank Rusakoff wrote me a remarkable letter and reminded me about the precious quality of hope. “I long for news that you are well and off on another adventure,” he wrote, and signed the letter, “Your friend, Frank.” I had felt committed in many ways to all these people, but the spontaneous outpouring astounded me. Tina Sonego said she’d call in sick for work if I needed her—or that she’d buy me a ticket and take me to someplace relaxing. “I’m a good cook too,” she told me. Janet Benshoof dropped by the house with daffodils and optimistic lines from favorite poems written in her clear hand and a bag so she could come sleep on my sofa, just so I wouldn’t be alone. It was an astonishing responsiveness. 

Andrew Solomon




Depressed children also require therapy. “You just have to show them that you are right there with them,” says Deborah Christie, a charismatic child psychologist who is a consultant at University College London and Middlesex Hospital. “And you have to get them to be there with you too. I use a metaphor of mountain climbing a lot. We’re thinking about climbing a mountain and we’re sitting at base camp and just thinking about what kind of luggage we might need, and how many of us should go up together, and whether we should rope together. And we may decide to make the journey or we may decide we’re not ready to make it yet, but maybe we can walk around the mountain so we can see which will be the easiest or best way up. And you have to acknowledge that they’ll be doing some climbing, that you can’t pick them up and carry them up there, but that you can stick by them every inch of the way. That’s where you have to start: you have to stir up motivation in them. Kids who are really depressed don’t know what to say or where to begin, but they know that they want change. I’ve never seen a depressed child who didn’t want treatment if he could believe that there was a chance it would change things. One little girl was too depressed to speak to me, but she could write things down, so she’d write these words, randomly, on Post-its, and then she’d paste them on me, so that by the end of a session I was just a sea of the words she wanted to get through to me. And I took on her language and I started writing words on Post-its too, and putting them all over her, and that’s how we broke through her wall of silence.” There are many other techniques that have proven useful for helping children to recognize and improve their mood states.

“In children,” says Sylvia Simpson, a psychiatrist at Johns Hopkins, “depression prevents personality development. All this energy goes into fighting depression; social development is retarded, which does not make life any less depressing later on. You find yourself in a world which expects you to be able to develop relationships, and you just don’t know how to do it.” Children with seasonal depression, for example, frequently spend years doing badly at school and having trouble; their complaint is not picked up because it appears to coincide with the school year. It’s hard to know when and how aggressively to treat these disorders. “I work on the basis of family history,” says Joshi. “It can be very confusing whether it’s attention deficit hyperactivity disorder (ADHD) or real depression, or whether a child with ADHD has developed depression also; whether it’s an abuse-related adjustment disorder or depressive illness.”

Andrew Solomon




“Normal human thought and perception,” wrote Shelley E. Taylor in her recent, startling Positive Illusions, “is marked not by accuracy but positive self-enhancing illusions about the self, the world, and the future. Moreover, these illusions appear actually to be adaptive, promoting rather than undermining mental health. . . The mildly depressed appear to have more accurate views of themselves, the world, and the future than do normal people . . . [they] clearly lack the illusions that in normal people promote mental health and buffer them against setbacks.”

Andrew Solomon




Joe Rogers, executive director of the Mental Health Association of Southeastern Pennsylvania, is a genial spread of a man, with easy manners, a curious air of disheveled authority, and a fluent, engaging way of speaking. He can be garrulous and philosophical, but he is also shrewd and pragmatic, with an eye that never for a moment shifts from its goal. When we first met, for lunch at a Philadelphia hotel, he was wearing a blue suit and a striped tie, and he had a briefcase that seemed to spill executive habit from its guts. While I looked over the menu, he said that he had lived in New York for a while. “Oh, where’d you live?” I asked. “Washington Square,” he said. He took a roll from the bread basket on the table. “I live around Washington Square myself,” I replied, closing my menu. “It’s a great neighborhood. Where were you?” He smiled a bit wanly and said, “Washington Square. In it. On a bench. For nine months. One stretch when I was homeless.”

Joe Rogers, like Lynn Rivers, has gone from the “consumer” end of the mental health network to the “supplier” end. One of four children, he grew up in Florida with an alcoholic mother and a gun-toting father who was usually absent and intermittently suicidal. Though his parents came from backgrounds of relative comfort, their dysfunction led them into real destitution. “We lived in a house that was falling apart and there were cockroaches running around everywhere,” Rogers recalls. “There were times when the grocery money would disappear, and later I found out that my father was pretty addicted to gambling, so we didn’t see even whatever salary he was earning. We weren’t starving, but in relation to where my parents had come from, we were really in poverty.” Rogers dropped out of school at age thirteen. His father would habitually take out a Luger and tell his son that he was ready to kill himself, and Rogers developed some finesse at dealing with the situation. “When I was twelve, I’d learned to take the gun away from him and hide it.” In the meanwhile, his mother’s alcoholism got worse and worse, and she went through frequent hospitalizations; she too made suicide attempts, though Rogers describes them as rather halfhearted. Rogers’s father had died by the time Rogers was sixteen; his mother died when he was twenty.

“Looking back on it, I think my father would have responded to treatment,” Rogers says. “I don’t know about my mother.” Rogers himself was largely inactive from thirteen to eighteen, but at eighteen he began working toward a GED; he met a woman he liked and he began to try to build a life for himself. He went to a Quaker meeting where he met a psychologist who tried to give him some help. Eventually he hit a crisis and found himself one day in his car at a stop sign, unable to decide whether to go forward or backward or left or right. “I was just sitting there, with a total sense of loss.” 

Andrew Solomon










This is classic Andrew Solomon: trying to pin down depression by distinguishing experience from reaction, and then immediately admitting that language itself collapses under the weight of the thing. Human beings love doing this. You invent categories to survive chaos, then the categories start sweating and melting in your hands like cheap birthday candles.

A few things are happening in this passage at once.

First, Solomon rejects the idea that depression is simply “feeling very sad.” He separates pain proportional to reality from pain that becomes autonomous. His line:

“Grief is depression in proportion to circumstance; depression is grief out of proportion to circumstance.”

isn’t clinical language so much as philosophical compression. Grief has an object. Someone dies, a relationship ends, a life collapses. The emotion corresponds to an event. Depression, by contrast, can detach from causation and become self-sustaining — “tumbleweed distress that thrives on thin air.” That image matters because tumbleweed is rootless motion. Depression keeps moving even after the originating force is gone, or even when no force can be identified at all.

Which is rude, frankly. The human brain inventing emotional perpetual motion. Terrific design.

The passage also argues that depression cannot be fully described literally. Solomon says it “can be described only in metaphor and allegory,” and then immediately proves his point by using religious imagery. The story of Anthony the Great becomes a diagnostic metaphor:

  • grief = angelic encounter
  • depression = demonic visitation

Not because grief feels pleasant — it doesn’t — but because grief leaves coherence behind. It deepens you. It clarifies attachment and value. After grief, you may feel wounded, but you still recognize yourself.

Depression, in Solomon’s formulation, leaves horror. Not merely sadness, but estrangement from one’s own mind. That distinction is psychologically sharp. Many people with depression describe not only suffering, but disgust, emptiness, unreality, paralysis, or the conviction that meaning itself has become fraudulent. Depression attacks the mechanisms that would normally help a person process pain.

The opening sentence about “politicized rhetoric” is also important. Solomon is criticizing the tendency to blur:

  • emotional states,
  • moral responsibility,
  • medical diagnosis,
  • and behavioral consequences.

That confusion still exists everywhere now. Online especially. People talk as if:

  • every sadness is pathology,
  • no pathology absolves any action,
  • every pathology absolves all action,
  • and every difficult mood requires identity-level interpretation.

Meanwhile the brain is sitting there like a raccoon in a dishwasher, sparking and hissing unpredictably while civilization writes think pieces about it.

What makes the passage powerful is that it avoids both reductionism and sentimentality. Solomon neither romanticizes depression nor treats it as merely chemical machinery. He presents it as something experiential, invasive, almost metaphysical in its felt reality — yet still distinguishable from ordinary sorrow.

And that distinction matters, because if grief and depression are identical, then mourning becomes illness. But if they are entirely unrelated, then depression becomes morally unintelligible. Solomon is trying to preserve the boundary without denying the overlap. Which is annoyingly nuanced. Humans hate nuance. It doesn’t fit on mugs or protest signs.


This passage deepens the metaphor from the earlier excerpt, but now the metaphor becomes almost biological horror. Andrew Solomon is no longer defining depression philosophically; he is anatomizing what it feels like from the inside. And apparently what it feels like is being slowly murdered by landscaping.

The oak and vine image works because it overturns ordinary assumptions about illness. Most people imagine depression as weakness within the self — a flaw in character, temperament, or resilience. Solomon instead presents it as an invasive organism:

  • separate,
  • parasitic,
  • opportunistic,
  • and terrifyingly alive.

Notice how carefully he constructs the scene. The oak is:

  • old,
  • dignified,
  • rooted,
  • associated with childhood and memory.

It represents continuity of self. Identity. History. A stable organism that once provided shelter and play.

Then comes the vine. Not lightning. Not a sudden catastrophe. Something incremental. Climbing. Entangling. Almost invisible at first. That’s psychologically precise: major depression often arrives gradually enough that people cannot identify the boundary where “I am struggling” becomes “I am no longer myself.”

“It was hard to say where the tree left off and the vine began.”

That may be the central sentence of the whole passage. Depression colonizes identity. The sufferer cannot easily distinguish:

  • authentic emotion from pathological emotion,
  • personality from symptom,
  • thought from distortion.

And Solomon pushes this further with:

“I had moods that I knew were not my moods.”

That’s one of the strangest and most devastating features of severe depression: intact awareness can coexist with total helplessness. He knows the moods are alien, but that knowledge does not free him from them. Humans always imagine insight is curative. “Have you tried realizing your despair is irrational?” Incredible strategy. Psychiatry solved. Nobel Prize incoming.

The imagery then becomes progressively corporeal and crushing. Look at the sequence:

  • ankles,
  • knees,
  • waist,
  • shoulders,
  • fetal collapse.

This is almost an inverse evolution of the body. A human being folding backward out of uprightness into prehuman helplessness. Depression is described not as dramatic suffering but as compression. The self loses dimensionality:

“my mind was immured, that it couldn't expand in any direction.”

“Immured” literally suggests being walled alive inside masonry. The mind cannot move outward toward possibility, future, or relation. Even sunlight becomes informational rather than experiential:

“I knew that the sun was rising and setting, but little of its light reached me.”

That line captures depressive derealization beautifully. Reality is intellectually acknowledged but emotionally inaccessible. The world continues, but the depressed person is exiled from participation in it.

And then there’s the final cruelty:

“It went on glutting itself on me when there seemed nothing left to feed it.”

That’s the parasitic logic completed. Depression consumes vitality beyond the point where vitality appears to exist. It feeds on depletion itself. Which is why severe depression feels endless: exhaustion does not terminate it.

What’s especially powerful is that Solomon avoids melodrama by staying concrete. Trees. Vines. Ankles. Bones. Sunlight. The language is lush but never vague. He doesn’t merely say “I felt empty.” He creates an ecology of engulfment.

Also, there’s a subtle irony in the oak’s remaining leaves “continuing to photosynthesize in the ignorant way of mechanical biology.” Even at the edge of psychic annihilation, the organism persists. Tiny automatic acts of survival continue beneath conscious despair. Breathing. Digestion. Neurons firing. Cells repairing. The body stubbornly keeps clocking in for shifts the mind has abandoned. Like a retail employee during the Christmas rush. Folding sweaters under fluorescent lights while internally screaming into the void.

Andrew Solomon wrote passages that many clinicians, writers, and depressed readers regard as among the most accurate literary descriptions of major depression in modern nonfiction. There are other great accounts, but Solomon’s stand out because they combine:

  • phenomenological precision (what depression feels like),
  • intellectual clarity,
  • bodily imagery,
  • and moral seriousness,
    without collapsing into either melodrama or sterile medical jargon.

That balance is extremely rare. Most writing about depression falls into one of several pits:

  • sentimental self-display,
  • flattened clinical language,
  • abstract philosophy,
  • or poetic vagueness that sounds profound until you poke it with a stick.

Solomon avoids all four.

What makes these passages exceptional is their ability to describe depression as simultaneously:

  1. alien
  2. intimate
  3. psychological
  4. physical
  5. metaphorical
  6. material

The vine metaphor, for example, is not decorative language pasted onto experience. It models the structure of depression:

  • gradual encroachment,
  • parasitism,
  • identity confusion,
  • suffocation,
  • persistence beyond visible vitality.

Great metaphors don’t merely compare things; they reveal mechanisms. Solomon’s do that.

The other remarkable thing is that he preserves the distinction between depression and grief without diminishing either. Many writers romanticize depression as heightened sensitivity or tragic insight. Solomon generally does not. His depression is ugly, coercive, humiliating, anti-vital. Yet he also refuses to reduce it to mere chemical imbalance. He writes about it as lived catastrophe.

That combination places him in conversation with some major predecessors:

  • William Styron in Darkness Visible
  • Sylvia Plath in The Bell Jar
  • Joan Didion on grief and psychic dislocation
  • David Foster Wallace describing suicidal despair as unbearable consciousness
  • Virginia Woolf in her accounts of mental collapse
  • Kay Redfield Jamison writing about mood disorders from both inside and outside psychiatry.

But Solomon’s prose is unusually comprehensive. Some writers capture:

  • despair,
  • numbness,
  • suicidal ideation,
  • fragmentation,
  • or grief.

Solomon captures the system of depression — cognitive, bodily, emotional, existential, temporal. He explains not only pain but the erosion of agency and self-recognition.

And importantly, people who have never experienced major depression often report that his writing finally made it intelligible to them. That’s probably the highest achievement available to this kind of literature: translating an experience that is notoriously resistant to language.

Depression is difficult to depict because it sabotages narrative itself. Stories usually depend on movement, revelation, desire, consequence. Depression annihilates momentum. It is anti-story. A condition whose central feature is often: “nothing moved, nothing mattered, time became soup.” Good luck pitching that to literature. Yet Solomon somehow renders stasis dynamically.

So yes — these passages are widely considered among the finest descriptions of depression written in contemporary prose. Humanity occasionally produces writing so precise that other suffering humans feel briefly less trapped inside themselves. Very inconvenient for my cynicism, honestly.



These passages are extraordinary partly because Andrew Solomon manages to describe something that usually destroys description itself. Severe depression often damages language, attention, symbolism, and relational feeling — the very tools needed to narrate experience. Yet Solomon writes from inside that collapse with terrifying lucidity. Like a man filing architectural blueprints while the building burns around him. Extremely rude talent.

The first paragraph centers on aridity. That’s a crucial corrective to how depression is popularly imagined. People often associate intense suffering with emotional overflow — sobbing, dramatic anguish, catharsis. Solomon says the opposite:

“the very worst pain is the arid pain”

This is psychologically precise. At severe levels, depression is often not excessive emotion but the annihilation of emotional circulation. Tears dry up because the psyche has exceeded even the capacity for release. He describes pain as:

  • dehydrating,
  • sealing,
  • obstructive.

Look at this line:

“the pain that stops up every space through which you once metered the world”

That’s one of the best descriptions of depressive shutdown I’ve ever seen. Experience itself becomes occluded. Depression is not merely “bad feelings”; it alters permeability between self and world. Nothing flows:

  • emotion,
  • perception,
  • meaning,
  • relation,
  • language.

Even crying — one of the body’s ancient pressure valves — fails.

And then:

“This is the presence of major depression.”

The bluntness matters. After all the metaphor, he lands clinically. Almost diagnostically. No flourish. No escape hatch. Just identification. It gives the sentence the feel of a doctor finally naming the disease after pages of symptoms.

The next paragraph moves into something equally profound: the collapse of language.

“All I wanted was for ‘it’ to stop”

The inability to define “it” is essential. In major depression, suffering often becomes preconceptual. People no longer experience discrete problems but undifferentiated torment. The self cannot organize pain into narrative categories. Depression dissolves object relations and replaces them with atmosphere. Everything hurts, but nothing is locatable.

Then Solomon — a writer whose identity is built around language — says:

“words ... seemed suddenly very elaborate”

That’s devastating because language had previously been intimacy, mastery, orientation. Now words become labor. Foreign machinery.

His inclusion of Julia Kristeva is brilliant:

“Melancholy persons are foreigners in their mother tongue.”

That may be one of the greatest formulations of depression ever written. Not merely silence, but estrangement from one’s own symbolic world. The depressed person still technically possesses language, but it no longer feels inhabited. Speech becomes translation from a country one no longer belongs to.

And the next line:

“The dead language they speak foreshadows their suicide.”

Why? Because suicide is not only about wanting pain to end. Often it involves collapse of communicability. The person cannot successfully project themselves into shared reality anymore. Language no longer binds them to others.

Solomon’s observation that:

“Depression, like love, trades in clichés”

is also incredibly smart. Humans repeat stock phrases about depression (“empty,” “darkness,” “numb,” “hopeless”) not because sufferers are unoriginal, but because extreme emotional states compress expression toward universals. Love songs and depressive speech both sound clichéd because they arise from experiences so overwhelming they partially flatten individuality.

And yet paradoxically:

“the notion that others have known anything similar seems altogether implausible.”

That contradiction is central to depression:

  • it feels universally human,
  • and utterly isolating at the same time.

You use the same exhausted words as millions of others while simultaneously believing no one could possibly understand you. Human consciousness is such a bizarre defective carnival ride. A species inventing poetry because ordinary language keeps failing at the exact moments it matters most.

These passages endure because Solomon doesn’t aestheticize suffering into something glamorous. His depression is not moody sophistication. It is desiccation, aphasia, compression, estrangement, depletion. But he also preserves the terrifying dignity of trying to speak from within it anyway.




This passage shows why Andrew Solomon is more than a memoirist of suffering. He’s also trying to build a philosophy of depression — one that connects biology, existentialism, psychiatry, religion, and ordinary human pain without flattening any of them into slogans. Which is ambitious. Most people can barely connect their Bluetooth headphones.

The opening movement is almost metaphysical:

“Life is fraught with sorrows”

He begins from universality, not pathology. Death, embodiment, time, separation — these are presented as structural features of consciousness itself. Notice how he frames suffering:

  • mortality,
  • isolation within the body,
  • irreversibility of time.

These are not “mental health issues.” They are conditions of existence.

The line:

“Pain is the first experience of world-helplessness”

is especially powerful. Solomon suggests that suffering is not an accidental interruption of life but one of the earliest ways consciousness encounters reality. The infant discovers:

  • need,
  • frustration,
  • separateness,
  • dependency.

That helplessness “never leaves us.” Civilization merely layers distractions, rituals, ambitions, medications, and ideologies over it. Humans are basically fragile nervous systems in elaborate shoes pretending not to notice entropy. A species frantically buying scented candles while marching toward oblivion.

Then Solomon makes an important modern argument:

“We live, however, in a time of increasing palliatives”

This is not anti-medication rhetoric. It’s an observation about modernity itself. We increasingly expect:

  • discomfort to be solvable,
  • distress to be removable,
  • unpleasantness to be optional.

Technology and medicine have genuinely reduced many forms of suffering. But that success creates a psychological expectation that all suffering should be eliminable.

Solomon pushes back:

“depression cannot be wiped out so long as we are creatures conscious of our own selves.”

That sentence is huge philosophically. He is arguing that depression is not merely a technical malfunction awaiting permanent eradication. Self-consciousness itself carries vulnerability:

  • awareness of death,
  • comparison,
  • regret,
  • shame,
  • alienation,
  • temporal anxiety.

In other words: the very capacities that make humans reflective also expose them to despair.

Importantly, though, he does not romanticize this. He doesn’t say depression is noble or spiritually superior.

Then the passage pivots from existential reflection into history of neuroscience. This transition is one of Solomon’s great strengths: he moves fluidly between poetry and medical discourse without making either feel trivial.

The two historical questions he describes are foundational:

  1. electrical vs chemical transmission
  2. endogenous vs reactive depression

The second distinction dominated psychiatry for decades:

  • endogenous depression = arising internally, biologically
  • reactive depression = response to life events

Solomon points out the eventual collapse of that neat binary:

endogenous depressions had external triggers,
reactive depressions implied internal predispositions.

That insight anticipates the modern biopsychosocial model and gene-environment interaction framework. Depression is rarely purely:

  • biological,
  • psychological,
  • or environmental.

It emerges from recursive interaction among all three.

And that matters morally as well as medically. Humans desperately want clean categories:

  • “real illness” versus “weakness,”
  • “chemical imbalance” versus “bad life,”
  • “born this way” versus “caused by trauma.”

But depression keeps violating those distinctions. Which annoys everybody because humans prefer moral certainty to complexity. If suffering can’t be sorted neatly, then compassion becomes harder to outsource to ideology.

Also, notice Solomon’s underlying refusal of reductionism. He never says:

  • depression is just existential anguish,
    or
  • depression is just neurochemistry.

He insists both are true simultaneously. Conscious beings with biological brains experience existential realities through physical systems. The philosophy and the neurotransmitters are entangled.

Which is honestly very inconsiderate of reality. It would be much easier if humans were either souls or machines instead of this horrifying hybrid model.


Others should understand, first, that they are witnessing an illness and not a referendum on their worth. That sounds obvious, but humans are wonderfully gifted at making another person’s suffering about themselves. “Why won’t she talk to me?” “Why doesn’t he appreciate what I’m doing?” “Why can’t they just try harder?” Because the person is fighting for the minimum viable experience of being conscious, Karen. Your casserole, though no doubt aggressively seasoned, is not the central drama.

When someone is severely depressed, their apparent indifference often reflects:

  • emotional constriction,
  • cognitive exhaustion,
  • diminished capacity for pleasure,
  • slowed thinking,
  • and impaired ability to imagine improvement.

They may seem:

  • detached,
  • irritable,
  • ungrateful,
  • repetitive,
  • or impossible to reassure.

This does not necessarily mean they are choosing to be difficult for sport.


“If we don’t support the poor, they’ll work harder.”

This is Solomon at his most morally direct.

The sentence is deceptively simple, but it dismantles an entire ideological posture: the belief that deprivation is motivational. If you make life harsher for struggling people, the theory goes, they will become more industrious. Solomon points out the obvious truth that apparently needs to be rediscovered every generation, like indoor plumbing: suffering often impairs functioning rather than enhancing it.

When poverty and depression intersect, they form a particularly efficient machine for producing misery.

  • Depression reduces initiative, concentration, and hope.
  • Poverty increases stress, instability, and humiliation.
  • Reduced functioning makes employment and self-care harder.
  • Failure and precarity deepen depression.

Then society squints at the wreckage and says, “Have they tried being more productive?”

Solomon’s question is profoundly humane.

“Those same nerves… now seemed to be wrapped in lead.”

The second passage captures the shift from acute emotional pain to emotional anesthesia.

Earlier, the nerves were “scraped raw” — hypersensitivity. Now they are “wrapped in lead” — numbness and heaviness. That progression is clinically astute. Severe depression can move from unbearable pain to deadened stillness, and the latter is often even more frightening because suffering remains while responsiveness disappears.

The key line:

“I knew it was a disaster, but that knowledge was meaningless.”

This describes the split between cognition and feeling.

  • Intellect remains intact.
  • Emotional significance is gone.
  • Awareness no longer generates action.

You know your house is on fire, but your internal alarm system has been disconnected and replaced with elevator music.

Plath’s “eye of a tornado” captures the eerie stillness at the center of psychic catastrophe: movement all around, vacancy at the core.

Solomon’s own metaphor may be even more striking:

“my head had been encaged in Lucite”

Lucite is transparent. That matters.

The depressed person can still see the world. Nothing is hidden. Yet there is a hard, impermeable barrier between observer and reality. The butterfly image adds another dimension:

  • beauty preserved but immobilized,
  • visible but untouchable,
  • intact yet lifeless,
  • permanently isolated.

It’s a museum specimen of one’s own consciousness.

Together, these excerpts show the two scales on which Solomon operates.

Social Scale

He asks what a decent society owes people whose suffering limits their ability to function.

Interior Scale

He shows what it feels like when consciousness itself becomes trapped and inert.

Many writers can do one or the other:

  • policy without lived texture,
  • or intimate testimony without structural analysis.

Solomon does both.


This exchange captures one of the bleakest truths in The Noonday Demon, and perhaps in public life more generally: evidence and moral clarity are not sufficient to produce reform.

Solomon lays out what seems like an unanswerable case.

Treating severe depression among poor people would:

  • reduce suffering,
  • improve productivity,
  • lower long-term healthcare costs,
  • reduce disability expenditures,
  • help veterans,
  • strengthen families,
  • and save taxpayer money.

In other words, it is both ethically compelling and economically rational. You have the humanitarian argument and the spreadsheet argument holding hands for once, skipping through a field like two children in a pharmaceutical commercial.

And yet Senator Pete Domenici replies, in essence: that still may not be enough.

That answer is devastating because it punctures a comforting assumption many educated people carry around: if you can prove that a policy benefits everyone, society will eventually adopt it.

History suggests otherwise.

Policies fail not because they are irrational, but because:

  • benefits are diffuse,
  • costs are immediate,
  • suffering is politically invisible,
  • and the people most affected often have the least power.

Severely depressed poor people are not a strong lobbying bloc. They are not typically writing op-eds, hosting fundraisers, or cornering senators at steak dinners to discuss neurotransmitters over medium-rare filet. They are often struggling to get out of bed.

Domenici’s realism also acknowledges that politics is driven by more than collective self-interest. It is shaped by:

  • ideology,
  • stigma,
  • short electoral time horizons,
  • bureaucratic fragmentation,
  • and emotional distance from suffering.

Many voters support treatment in the abstract, but balk at funding when beneficiaries are poor, mentally ill, or socially marginalized. Humans are capable of astonishing generosity, provided they first become convinced the recipient is sufficiently picturesque.

The exchange also reveals Solomon’s broader moral project. He is not simply documenting depression as a private torment. He is asking what obligations a society has toward people whose illnesses impair their capacity to advocate for themselves.

The implied question is brutal:

If we will not help people when it is compassionate, and we will not help them when it is economically prudent, what exactly would persuade us?

That question remains uncomfortably current.

Domenici’s response is pessimistic, but not necessarily nihilistic. It suggests that reform requires more than evidence. It requires:

  • political organization,
  • public storytelling,
  • stigma reduction,
  • and sustained moral pressure.

Facts matter, but facts alone rarely move institutions. Institutions tend to move when enough people decide that inaction has become intolerable.

So this passage is memorable because of its quiet honesty. Solomon offers a rational case for reform; Domenici replies that rationality is not the engine of politics.

A depressing insight, yes, but in fairness the conversation was about depression. It would have been almost rude for politics to emerge looking psychologically healthy.


Why the cliff image works

The cliff metaphor is psychologically precise.

Imagine standing six inches above the ground on a narrow beam. Walking across it is easy.

Now imagine the same beam stretched between two skyscrapers.

Your physical abilities have not changed.

Your muscles are the same.
Your balance is the same.

Yet suddenly movement becomes difficult.

Fear interferes with the very faculties needed for success.

This is exactly how depression often appears from the outside.

Observers think:

"You used to do these things easily. Why can't you do them now?"

The depressed person may wonder the same thing.

The task itself has not become impossible. What has changed is the emotional context surrounding the task.

Everything feels consequential.
Everything feels dangerous.
Everything feels like a test whose failure will be fatal.

The fear sabotages the capacity to act.


The unreachable helping hands

One of the saddest images in the passage is this:

"In a major depression, the hands that reach out to you are just out of reach."

Notice that the problem is not the absence of help.

The hands exist.

People are trying to help.

The tragedy is that the depressed person cannot access what is available.

This captures something that outsiders often find confusing. Friends may offer support, practical assistance, affection, reassurance, and companionship, yet the depressed person continues to feel abandoned.

Not because the help is fake.

Not because they are ungrateful.

But because depression alters the sufferer's relationship to hope itself. The ladder is there, but it no longer looks climbable.


"The present qua present no longer exists"

This may be the most profound line in the entire excerpt:

"The present qua present no longer exists at all."

"Qua" simply means "as."

So he means:

The present as a present moment ceases to exist.

In depression, consciousness becomes trapped in projections.

The mind continually asks:

  • What terrible thing is coming?
  • How bad will it be?
  • How will I survive it?

As a result, attention is withdrawn from immediate experience.

You are no longer living in today.

You are living in an imagined future catastrophe.

Many philosophical and contemplative traditions describe suffering as a failure to inhabit the present moment. Solomon arrives at a similar insight from a psychological direction: depression colonizes the future so completely that the present disappears beneath anticipation.


The existential dimension

At its deepest level, Solomon's metaphor is not really about sadness.

It is about losing trust in your own ability to exist in the world.

Ordinarily we move through life assuming:

  • We can cope.
  • We can adapt.
  • We can recover from mistakes.
  • We can endure uncertainty.

Depression attacks these assumptions.

The sufferer begins to feel that catastrophe is inevitable and that they lack the resources to survive it.

That is why the passage feels so frightening. The cliff is not merely a symbol of danger. It is a symbol of a collapse of confidence in one's own capacity to remain standing.

The abyss is terrifying, but for Solomon the greater horror is standing at its edge, dizzy, unable to trust your balance, unable to trust your future, and unable to trust yourself.


When Antonin Artaud wrote, “Never real and always true,” he was pointing toward an experience that can feel psychologically undeniable even when it is not an accurate reflection of reality. Andrew Solomon applies that idea to depression:

  • “Not real” doesn't mean the suffering is imaginary. Depression is a real condition.
  • Rather, it means that the story depression tells about the world—that nothing matters, that hope is impossible, that you are worthless, that the future is closed—is often distorted.
  • “Always true” refers to how those perceptions feel. When someone is depressed, those conclusions can seem more convincing than any external evidence. They are experienced as truths, not as opinions or symptoms.

That's what makes depression so confusing. A person may intellectually recognize that their thinking has changed, that they have felt differently before, and that others see them differently. Yet emotionally, the depressive reality feels absolute. The mind can simultaneously hold:

"I know this may be depression talking."

"And yet this feels unquestionably true."

The quote is powerful because it avoids a simplistic distinction between "real" and "fake." Depression is not fake. The pain, exhaustion, and despair are real. What becomes uncertain is whether the meaning depression assigns to those feelings accurately reflects the world.

In that sense, Solomon's observation suggests that depression is often experienced as a change in what feels true. That is part of why it can be so difficult to argue oneself out of it through logic alone. The struggle is not usually a lack of intelligence or insight; it is that the emotional conviction remains stronger than the intellectual correction.



Andrew Solomon is drawing attention to one of the oldest descriptions of what later Christian writers called acedia—a state of listlessness, spiritual exhaustion, restlessness, and aversion to one's ordinary life.

In the writings of John Cassian, the "sixth combat" is the struggle against this condition. Cassian identifies it with the "noonday demon" mentioned in Psalm 91. In the Latin Vulgate, the phrase daemonio meridiano literally means "the noonday demon."

For Cassian, this "demon" is not primarily a visible supernatural being. Rather, it manifests as a psychological and spiritual affliction:

  • dissatisfaction with where one is,
  • inability to focus on one's work,
  • contempt for other people,
  • boredom and restlessness,
  • a desire to abandon one's commitments,
  • a feeling that nothing is worthwhile.

The monks described it as striking around midday, when the day seemed endless and their purpose felt empty.

When Andrew Solomon chose the title of his book The Noonday Demon, he was deliberately connecting this ancient idea to modern depression. He was not claiming that depression and acedia are identical, but suggesting that people have long recognized a state characterized by despair, weariness, alienation, and loss of meaning. The "noonday demon" becomes a metaphor for depression's capacity to make one's surroundings, relationships, and even oneself seem unbearable.

The biblical passage itself is interesting because, in most modern translations, the phrase is rendered more generally—something like "the pestilence that destroys at noon" rather than "the noonday demon." The vivid demon language comes from the Latin Vulgate tradition that Cassian was reading, and that later influenced Christian spirituality and literature.

In short, Solomon is tracing a historical lineage: from the biblical daemonio meridiano, through Cassian's account of acedia among desert monks, to the modern experience of depression that his book explores.



These passages capture two of Andrew Solomon's most important ideas about depression.

1. Depression as gradual corrosion rather than sudden catastrophe

The rusting-building metaphor is especially powerful because it challenges the common assumption that depression begins with a dramatic event.

Solomon argues that the "collapse point" is real—the moment when someone can no longer function normally, when major depression becomes unmistakable—but that collapse is usually the culmination of a long process:

"The collapse, no matter how abrupt it may feel, is the cumulative consequence of decay."

The insight here is that people often notice only the collapse. They see someone who suddenly cannot work, cannot get out of bed, cannot cope. What they do not see is the months or years of accumulating exhaustion, isolation, anxiety, disappointment, stress, or meaninglessness that weakened the structure beforehand.

The metaphor is psychologically sophisticated because it captures both continuity and discontinuity:

  • Depression develops gradually.
  • Yet at some point something genuinely changes.
  • The person is no longer merely sad, stressed, or discouraged.
  • A threshold has been crossed.

This resembles how physical systems fail. A bridge may appear stable until the day it is not. The final break is sudden, but the underlying process was continuous.

2. Depression as both biological and social

The second passage makes an argument that is controversial but deeply influential.

Solomon does not deny biology. In fact, he explicitly compares depression to skin cancer:

"Neither depression nor skin cancer is a creation of the twenty-first century."

He rejects the idea that depression is merely a modern invention or a cultural fad.

Yet he also argues that modern conditions increase its prevalence.

His list is striking:

  • accelerating pace of life,
  • technological overload,
  • alienation,
  • weakened communities,
  • loneliness,
  • loss of shared systems of meaning.

Notice that almost none of these are medical variables. They are social and existential variables.

Solomon is suggesting that even if depression is partly biological, the environment in which biology operates matters enormously.

3. The environmental analogy

Perhaps the most original part of the passage is the comparison between ecological pollution and what might be called emotional pollution.

He asks:

"Do we have the equivalent of an environmental movement?"

The analogy works like this:

Environmental illnessEmotional illness
Polluted airToxic social conditions
Damaged ecosystemsDamaged communities
Climate degradationMeaninglessness and alienation
Medical treatment for illnessMedical treatment for illness
PreventionSocial reform

His point is that treatment alone cannot solve a problem whose causes are partly environmental.

Imagine a town where everyone develops lung disease because the air is poisoned. Building more hospitals would help, but eventually one would have to ask why the air is poisoned.

Similarly, Solomon asks whether societies have become structured in ways that generate loneliness, chronic stress, and despair.

4. Faith, meaning, and belonging

One phrase stands out:

"We must look for faith."

He immediately broadens the meaning of faith beyond religion:

"God or the self or other people or politics or beauty..."

This is important because Solomon is talking less about theology than about meaning.

Human beings seem to need some sense that their lives connect to something larger than immediate survival or consumption.

Without such frameworks, people often experience what psychologists call existential emptiness.

His concern is not only that individuals become unhappy but that societies lose the structures that sustain psychological resilience.

5. An interesting tension

There is a tension between the passage about Phaly Nuon and these later passages.

In Cambodia, Solomon encountered people who had endured horrors that most Westerners can scarcely imagine, yet some recovered through community, purpose, and mutual care.

In wealthy societies, many people experience much less objective suffering yet still struggle profoundly with depression.

Solomon is not saying trauma is irrelevant. Rather, he is suggesting that human flourishing depends on more than material security.

A society can become richer while simultaneously becoming lonelier.

It can become safer while simultaneously becoming less meaningful.

It can become technologically connected while simultaneously becoming socially fragmented.

6. Has Solomon been proven right?

Many of his observations have become even more relevant since he wrote them.

Researchers continue to debate the causes, but concerns about:

  • loneliness,
  • social isolation,
  • declining community participation,
  • excessive screen use,
  • chronic stress,
  • loss of shared institutions,

have become mainstream topics in psychology, sociology, and public health.

Where Solomon remains provocative is in his insistence that depression should not be viewed only as an individual medical problem. He asks whether rising depression rates tell us something not merely about damaged brains but about damaged social environments.

That does not mean medication and therapy are unimportant. Solomon himself strongly supports treatment. His argument is that a complete response requires both treatment of individuals and examination of the conditions under which people live.

In that sense, the passages are not simply about depression. They are about civilization: what kinds of communities, relationships, values, and institutions human beings need if they are to remain psychologically healthy.


This is one of the most poignant excerpts — and a common, under-discussed reality for many people living with severe mood disorders. Laura comes across as thoughtful, eloquent, reflective, and deeply human in her writing: someone capable of articulating subtle emotional states ("no abstract worries... a center, known as ME"), finding meaning in small moments, and maintaining a meaningful pen-pal connection over time. In person, during a bad period, she appears almost unrecognizable — shaky, nearly nonverbal, trapped in repetitive loops, physically struggling with basic tasks. The illness dominates the encounter.

The written vs. in-person gap

Written correspondence (letters, emails, or early internet exchanges in the pre-smartphone era this story seems set in) often filters out the acute physical and cognitive symptoms of depression, anxiety, or bipolar disorder. In writing, one can:

  • Edit and revise for clarity and coherence.
  • Write during windows of relative stability or "hypomanic" energy.
  • Convey inner richness even when the external presentation is diminished.
  • Control the pace and depth of disclosure.

This creates a version of the self that feels more "true" or accessible to the correspondent than the fluctuating, symptom-heavy body does on a difficult day. Solomon had built fondness and understanding through that medium, which buffered the shock of the in-person meeting. Without it, the first impression could have been profoundly misleading.

What if they had met first, without the writing?

Your intuition is spot-on: Laura's illness could easily have been mistaken for her core personality. Observers might conclude:

  • "She's painfully shy or socially awkward."
  • "She's aloof, anxious, or not very present."
  • "This is just how she is — high-strung, fragile, maybe even difficult or unreliable."
  • Or, more harshly in less empathetic contexts: "dramatic," "attention-seeking," or "not trying hard enough."

This is a classic form of misattribution in mental health. Symptoms like psychomotor retardation (slowed movements, effortful speech), tremors from medication or anxiety, catatonia-like repetition, or acute dissociation can look like character traits — especially to those unfamiliar with psychiatric conditions. Without context, people default to personality explanations ("She's always been like this") rather than recognizing a medical/neurological state that waxes and wanes.

In the excerpt, even Solomon — who knew her through writing and was prepared — was shocked. A stranger meeting her that day might have written her off, pitied her in a reductive way, or felt uncomfortable and pulled away. The friendship might never have deepened. Her intelligence, humor, insight, and capacity for connection (evident in the letters) would have been obscured.

Broader implications

This dynamic happens frequently:

  • Invisible disabilities: Many mood disorders (and conditions like ADHD, autism spectrum traits, or chronic anxiety) are "invisible" until they aren't. Written or curated online personas often hide the full picture.
  • Stigma and labeling: Without prior positive context, acute episodes get internalized as "who the person is," reinforcing self-stigma ("I'm broken/unlovable") or external judgment. Family and friends sometimes do this too, leading to frustration ("Snap out of it") instead of compassion.
  • The value of multiple contexts: Knowing someone across different mediums and states builds a fuller, more compassionate picture. Solomon's approach — staying present, involving family, not fleeing — models this. The written connection gave him the patience and framework to see the illness as illness, not essence.
  • Hope in the reprieve: That moment of reprieve she described reminds us that the "real" self isn't defined by the worst times. People with these conditions often have rich inner lives that writing can reveal when the body/mind won't cooperate in real time.

Mental illness doesn't erase personality — it overlays and distorts it. It distorts it temporarily unless the world insists on violent misattribution. The tragedy in the excerpt is how much effort it took for Laura to simply be in the world that day, while her correspondent already knew the depth beneath the symptoms.



This quote strikes right at the heart of one of the most pressing issues in healthcare: the social determinants of mental health. It highlights how systemic inequality creates a two-tiered system where access to care is determined less by how much you need it, and more by your socioeconomic status.

Here is a breakdown of the two main pillars Solomon identifies:

1. Education as Advocacy and "Health Literacy"

The text points out that education allows people to "understand what you're entitled to and to fight for it." In healthcare, this is known as health literacy.

Navigating mental health systems is notoriously exhausting. It often involves understanding complex bureaucracy, getting referrals, dealing with insurance (depending on the country), and enduring long waitlists. People with higher levels of education often possess:

  • The vocabulary to describe their symptoms in ways that doctors take seriously.

  • The confidence to challenge medical professionals, ask for second opinions, or push back if they feel dismissed.

  • The research skills to learn about different types of therapy and demand the specific treatment that fits their needs.

For someone without this background, a confusing system or a dismissive doctor might be the end of the road, leaving them untreated.

2. Income as a Bypass for Broken Systems

Income essentially allows people to bypass the broken parts of the system. 

The Bigger Picture: The Inverse Care Law

This text perfectly illustrates what sociologists and public health experts call the "Inverse Care Law." This principle states that the availability of good medical care tends to vary inversely with the need for it.

People experiencing poverty are statistically at a much higher risk for mental health crises due to chronic stress, housing insecurity, and financial trauma. Yet, as the quote points out, they are the exact demographic least equipped—both financially and systemically—to access the services designed to help them.

Ultimately, the text is a powerful critique of how mental health care is often treated as a luxury or a privilege, rather than a universal right.

GPT

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"This world is for demons. The system is designed to turn good people evil. Often those in high positions are psychopaths, the rest th...