Over the last twenty years, I have struggled with depression. Some years are good. Some years are sad. Some years are gray and boring. Medication helps: it is the trampoline under my window… if I jump, the fall will be jolted, and peter out. There is always a question in my head when I wake up: will this be the day when I am unwilling to move, to get out of bed, to brush my hair or water my plants? Still, depression is a gift.
A couple of months ago, the “pill” celebrated it’s 100th birthday. There were congratulatory articles in the New York Times and other mainstream media: one article in the Times had hundreds of reader’s comments discussing the pill. I read through them, as I am wont to do, gradually more and more shocked by the overwhelming … Read more
He was a regular dude. White, heavy-set, young. He wore a baseball hat and a flannel shirt; his face was flushed from the alcohol that was clearly pouring through his system. It had been a splendid day. My friend Eduardo and I had flown in from California the day before for conference at the University … Read more