'I was nearly twenty before I understood that there was a name for what sometimes happened to me. Later, I learned that it has gone by many names
- the black dog, the bell jar, the noonday demon, darkness visible, malignant sadness
- but in my teens I'd just assumed that my fierce highs & days of disproportionate, isolating despair were part of every teenager's repertoire
- how else would Morrissey have sold so many records? These pitches in mood were something I didn't speak about to anyone, because I was afraid of two things
- either that it was nothing serious, & I would be told to pull myself together, or that it was serious, & I would be told that, yes, I was a mental case.'
Stephanie Merritt has a career as a novelist & journalist, a beautiful son & a supportive family. Why then did she want to kill herself at the age of 29? Why could no one, neither the system of GPs & health professionals, nor her closest family & friends help her?
Reading like a hybrid of Elizabeth Wurtzel's Prozac Nation and Rachel Cusk's more sober A Life's Work, Stephanie's unflinchingly honest memoir explores areas of experience commonly associated with depression such as love, solitude & self-medication through the prism of her own experience.
Beautifully written & intensely honest this is an extraordinarily moving, life-affirming book about a debilitating illness that affects one in six people in the UK alone.