Out of the Blue: Six Non-Medication Ways to Relieve Depression (Norton Professional Books) by Bill O'Hanlon
Authors: Bill O'Hanlon
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upset. “Why would you do such a thing? You can’t kill yourself!”
I explained that I felt as if I had no skin—everything that touched me hurt: being around people, being alone. I was too sensitive for the world, I had decided. Plus, the future was more grim than the present, which was bad enough. All I wanted to do was to write poetry, not work, not be around people, and be out of pain.
She listened and then said, “Look, I think this is a mistake. I have a plan, and I want you to consider it.
“I have three elderly aunts in Nebraska. They have never married or had children. I am their favorite niece. They’ve told me that when they die, I inherit every-thing.
“They’ve invested in some farmland; the farmers have sold out and moved to town. On these farms, there’s usually an empty farmhouse. If you promise me you won’t kill yourself, I promise you that when one of those aunts dies, you can live rent free in one of those farmhouses the rest of your life. You won’t have to be around people, you won’t have to work, you can grow your own food and have enough to eat, and you can write poetry as much as you like.”
Well, that seemed like a possibility. I could escape or at least minimize the pain of living. I didn’t really want to die; I just wanted out of the intense pain I was in.
So I agreed. (Little did I know that those aunts would live many more years and that my friend would never have to deliver on her side of the bargain. By the time they died, I was long recovered from my depression and had found meaning and purpose and had even become less shy.)
Instantly I wasn’t suicidal. I had a future to live toward (more on that in Chapter 6). I was still depressed, but I wasn’t hopeless.
I became obsessed with learning how people found meaning and purpose in their lives, how they got along with others, how they overcame shyness, and so on. This obsession led me to the field of psychology and ultimately to the field of psychotherapy, in which I found a number of answers and paths to solution for many of these issues.
I became a psychotherapist. And a very optimistic one, I might add. Since I was such a basket case myself and eventually came to a happy life filled with love and purpose, it’s pretty hard for a very discouraged client to convince me that there’s no hope. Such optimism also led me to study with Milton Erickson, whom I’ve mentioned before. Erickson’s approach to change was infused with both optimism and Midwest pragmatism, so his unorthodox methods resonated with me, unlike the sometimes discouraging models and methods that pervade much of psychotherapy.
I also developed a deep empathy for those who were suffering, especially from disturbances of mind and emotion. The most challenging and “irritating” client doesn’t move me to frustration or judgment. I become very Buddha-like while doing therapy. This unshakeable kindness and compassion was borne from the intense suffering of my earlier depression.
So, as I said earlier, having been depressed led me directly to becoming a therapist. And to writing this book. And to being a kinder person.
The key phrase in that last sentence is “having been depressed.” This opportunity to mine depression for its value is only available after the fact.
So let’s examine the possibility of mining the value from depression.
First, think about this. Why would evolution (or God, if you don’t believe in evolution) have made depression so prevalent in human beings? Estimates are that a little less than 10 percent of us experience depression. Why would we be prone to such terrible suffering and paralysis? What possible survival value could depression have, and how does it help us as a species?
Well, psychologists have come up with some ideas about this.
1. Depression may help people become more realistic and give up positive illusions (Schwarz & Bless, 1991).
2. Depression may help people to be more effective problem solvers by
I explained that I felt as if I had no skin—everything that touched me hurt: being around people, being alone. I was too sensitive for the world, I had decided. Plus, the future was more grim than the present, which was bad enough. All I wanted to do was to write poetry, not work, not be around people, and be out of pain.
She listened and then said, “Look, I think this is a mistake. I have a plan, and I want you to consider it.
“I have three elderly aunts in Nebraska. They have never married or had children. I am their favorite niece. They’ve told me that when they die, I inherit every-thing.
“They’ve invested in some farmland; the farmers have sold out and moved to town. On these farms, there’s usually an empty farmhouse. If you promise me you won’t kill yourself, I promise you that when one of those aunts dies, you can live rent free in one of those farmhouses the rest of your life. You won’t have to be around people, you won’t have to work, you can grow your own food and have enough to eat, and you can write poetry as much as you like.”
Well, that seemed like a possibility. I could escape or at least minimize the pain of living. I didn’t really want to die; I just wanted out of the intense pain I was in.
So I agreed. (Little did I know that those aunts would live many more years and that my friend would never have to deliver on her side of the bargain. By the time they died, I was long recovered from my depression and had found meaning and purpose and had even become less shy.)
Instantly I wasn’t suicidal. I had a future to live toward (more on that in Chapter 6). I was still depressed, but I wasn’t hopeless.
I became obsessed with learning how people found meaning and purpose in their lives, how they got along with others, how they overcame shyness, and so on. This obsession led me to the field of psychology and ultimately to the field of psychotherapy, in which I found a number of answers and paths to solution for many of these issues.
I became a psychotherapist. And a very optimistic one, I might add. Since I was such a basket case myself and eventually came to a happy life filled with love and purpose, it’s pretty hard for a very discouraged client to convince me that there’s no hope. Such optimism also led me to study with Milton Erickson, whom I’ve mentioned before. Erickson’s approach to change was infused with both optimism and Midwest pragmatism, so his unorthodox methods resonated with me, unlike the sometimes discouraging models and methods that pervade much of psychotherapy.
I also developed a deep empathy for those who were suffering, especially from disturbances of mind and emotion. The most challenging and “irritating” client doesn’t move me to frustration or judgment. I become very Buddha-like while doing therapy. This unshakeable kindness and compassion was borne from the intense suffering of my earlier depression.
So, as I said earlier, having been depressed led me directly to becoming a therapist. And to writing this book. And to being a kinder person.
The key phrase in that last sentence is “having been depressed.” This opportunity to mine depression for its value is only available after the fact.
So let’s examine the possibility of mining the value from depression.
First, think about this. Why would evolution (or God, if you don’t believe in evolution) have made depression so prevalent in human beings? Estimates are that a little less than 10 percent of us experience depression. Why would we be prone to such terrible suffering and paralysis? What possible survival value could depression have, and how does it help us as a species?
Well, psychologists have come up with some ideas about this.
1. Depression may help people become more realistic and give up positive illusions (Schwarz & Bless, 1991).
2. Depression may help people to be more effective problem solvers by
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