I have been saddled with depression since I was a teenager. Since I am now in my fifties, I have had plenty of experience with it. Yes, of course, there were times when I did NOT feel depressed. Those were times when the happiness in my life was so overwhelming, it left no room for bad feelings. The giddy beginnings of happy love relationships would be such a time; the first few years of my babies' lives; many times in my marriage; and of course, many moments here and there.

My point is that depression always lurked in the back of my brain, and the minute I was not ecstatic about something or other, bang, it would turn on me and eviscerate me like a Pamplona bull. I imagine it is impossible to maintain ecstasy at all times, but of course, if you've figured it out and it's easier to reach than the yogi's nirvana, please let me know: I'd rather be sharing THAT trick than the series of mental crutches I have developed to keep myself semi-sane.

I never experienced therapy until I was in my early forties, and it saved my marriage and allowed me a much better quality of life. I was lucky enough to find an extraordinary therapist and she helped me beyond description, in the most loving and giving manner. It is worth looking for a good therapist. My gauge is that if the therapist does not offer some fresh insight in the first session, a way of looking at things you had never considered before or had long since forgotten, move on. Move on too if they encourage you down Pity Party Road. Compassion is fine, but you want to come out of there feeling somewhat empowered and able to deal with it yourself eventually.

At some point, my therapist suggested I might try drugs. I was on Prozac for a long time, then Effexor. What the drugs did was, as my therapist put it, "raise the floor" of my depression. I no longer sank as low as I used to. The Abyss of the Marianas was no longer my home address.

My sensitivity was also buffered. I no longer burst into sobs reading about child abuse in the paper or watching heart-breaking movies. I still cried, but it was more under control. For a while, I chose not to read the paper nor watch the news anymore. That helped.

Anyway, about twelve years into the medication, I found myself running out of prescriptions and running out of money. My current health insurance did not cover my condition. At about the same time, I had become acquainted with a philosophy of life that helped raise my mood very effectively, so I thought: what if I quit the drugs and try to make do with just this way of thinking? What if I filled my brain, "washed" my brain, in essence, with thoughts that were better than the darkness I allowed to invade it? What if I just did that for ten minutes every morning? Could I make it work?

For the answer, come back next week: I will give you a workable crutch each week. Some will work, some won't - either way, it beats doing nothing.:)

Meanwhile, hang in there and feel free to comment, ask questions etc...

Elle