Posts Tagged 'history'



Postnatal Depression: Dangerous?

DoodleMany women go through a few weeks of “baby blues” during the months after childbirth. Estimates vary from 40% to even 70% of all mothers having had such a temporary emotional setback. Usually a combination of very different causes can contribute to this: specific physical after-birth problems such as incontinency or sore nipples, the daily burdens of new responsibility, doubts if you’re an adequate mother, lack of sleep due to the baby’s crying, hormonal changes, sometimes a certain disappointment because actual motherhood turns out to be different from idealized motherhood, and so on.

    For some, these fairly natural “baby blues” can worsen and instead of fading away again, will grow into a more persistent postnatal depression. Depending from how exactly you define “postnatal depression”, according to modern research roughly 10% to 15% of all mothers develop a more or less serious depression in the year after giving birth. One of the many things that play a role here, is that a case of simple “baby blues” can get worse by itself: this can happen if you start worrying about it, feeling guilty for not being as completely happy as a good mother is supposed to be.

Motherhood    Postnatal depression was already known thousands of years ago; we can clearly recognize it in some old Greek and Roman stories. Since the 19th century, it has gradually got more attention. Today, there are many websites offering background information on causes, symptoms and therapies. So I will not try to do here what many others have already done better. Just find yourself an informative website, preferably one by a trustworthy non-profit organization. Try for example the Postnatal Depression pages of the British National Health Service.

    As you may know I’m not particularly fond of simple online depression tests. I think they are too superficial and often misleading. The standard short 10-question test for postnatal depression is the 1987 Edinburgh Postnatal Depression Scale.

    If you really want to, you can do this EPDS test online (select your answers and click “add up score” for a result). Just remember that the outcome, whatever it is, is not a hard fact but only a very rough indication.

    If for whatever reason you think you have postnatal depression, you should seek professional help. Without proper attention and treatment, a postnatal depression can take a long time. It will mean a difficult time anyway. But with the right treatment, you will get over it. And although it can be a terrible and maybe even terrifying experience, it is not necessarily dangerous.

Postnatal Psychosis

Friedrich Benjamin OsianderIn a few exceptional cases, about 0.1% (so only one in a thousand), something can happen that is worse than postnatal depression, and in fact is something different: postnatal psychosis (also known as “puerperal psychosis”). The first one who really systematically discerned this, was the German gynecologist/obstetrician Friedrich Benjamin Osiander. In 1797, he gave an extensive description and analysis of postnatal psychosis in his book Neue Denkwürdigkeiten für Aerzte und Geburtshelfer (“New Memorable Facts for Doctors and Obstetricians”).

    Postnatal psychosis can make you not just very depressed, but also very agitated, and often you lose any clear judgment of your own situation. You can get distorted or delusional ideas, start to act in strange or desperate ways. In the most extreme cases you can become a danger to both yourself and your child.

    But something like this will happen only to a tiny minority, and within that little group, the group where such a danger really becomes acute, is even smaller. Perhaps, to put things into perspective, will it help to visualize things here a little? In the diagram below, the group with postnatal psychosis is in fact so small that to show it in proportion, we should have made it completely invisible.

Postnatal Depression DiagramStill, in the few cases where it comes to postnatal psychosis, this can end in catastrophe. Some of these cases are so tragic that they get much publicity – and this publicity can make us think such tragedies happen more often than they actually do.

    Two examples of high-publicity cases: the one of Melanie Blocker-Stokes, who after she had given birth to a healthy daughter developed delusions, began to behave strangely, and a few months later killed herself. And the much-discussed tragedy of Andrea Yates, who in a postnatal psychosis killed all her five children by drowning them in a bathtub.

Paper gown

Although postnatal psychosis does not happen very often, research indicates that the people who already have a past of depression (especially bipolar disorder) are relatively more vulnerable.

Susan Smith    This may (or may not) be illustrated by another high-publicity case. In 1994, Susan Smith drowned her two children (a 3- and a 1-year old) by letting her car, with the children in it, roll into a lake. Just like later with Andrea Yates, there was heated discussion about whether Smith should be seen as a perpetrator, or as a victim.

    Because for nine days after her children’s disappearance she’d kept pretending that they had been kidnapped, and because she was in love with a man who didn’t want children, some saw her simply as a devious, scheming, heartless murderess.

    On the other hand, others pointed out how very likely it was she had been suffering (and acting) from postnatal psychosis, also in view of her past: her father had committed suicide when she was 6, her stepfather had sexually abused her, and she herself had already made two suicide attempts, at age 13 and 18.

    In the end Smith was convicted to life in prison. But still the tragic story of her and her children kept appealing to many, even got something like an emblematic dimension. Do you know the 2008 album Lantana by the wonderful folk singer (country-ish folk singer) Caroline Herring? Her song Paper Gown is directly inspired by this tragedy. In fact, in this song, Herring is trying to give a voice to Susan Smith.

    See the official Caroline Herring website for more of her music (she’s really worth a click). – UPDATE: I just found out her site has now gone offline for a redesign, temporarily redirecting to her Facebook page. So maybe you’ll have to try that instead.
    Anyway, here she is with Paper Gown, singing about how Susan Smith came to kill her children:

Caroline Herring


(click the “Play” button – if it does not work, install Flash)

    

    Meanwhile, do you notice how even I could not resist focusing here on this extreme, dramatic, terrible, but relatively rare aspect of postnatal psychosis? While in fact I was planning to focus on the much less rare, but also less spectacular, more drab aspect of postnatal depression?

    Common postnatal depression is also a terrible ordeal, sure, but usually it will not lead to suicide or killing your children. With some help and support from others, you will be able to overcome it. So let’s conclude with a few basic tips.

Tips:

1. Having the “baby blues”: in the first months after childbirth this is fairly normal, and certainly nothing to feel guilty about. Instead of blaming yourself for not living up to expectations, try to pinpoint what specific causes are making you sad or unhappy at times. Talk openly about this with others.

2. If you continue to feel really very unhappy and inadequate for at least several weeks on end, then you should begin to ask yourself if you’re developing a postnatal depression. Ask for advice; do not hesitate to seek professional help. Maybe you need some kind of temporary therapy. Perhaps even, for a while, a little medication: not all antidepressants are incompatible with breastfeeding.

3. If you have had serious depressions in the past, in the form of bipolar disorder or otherwise, then you may run a slightly higher risk than others to develop postnatal psychosis. Even though the risk will still be very small, in this particular case you should ask the people around you expressly and beforehand to keep a close eye on you: just as an extra safety measure.


• footnote 1: For a little more background info, see this Psychology Today article: Moms Who Kill, by Mark Levy (2002).

Ueber den Selbstmord (1813)• footnote 2: Though largely forgotten now, Friedrich Benjamin Osiander (1759-1822) was an interesting man, and not just because of his pioneering role in the recognition of postnatal psychosis.
    As a professor he wrote many books; another one of them (1813) was Über den Selbstmord, seine Ursachen, Arten, medicinisch-gerichtliche Untersuchung, und die Mittel gegen denselben. Eine Schrift sowohl für Polizey- und Justitz-Beamte, als für gebildete Aerzte und Wundärzte, für Psychologen und Volkslehrer.
    My translation of the title: About Suicide, its Causes, Kinds, Medical-Juridical Investigation, and Means of Prevention. A Book for Police- and Court Officials, trained Doctors and First-Aid Medics, Psychologists and Teachers.
    This 1813 book by Osiander is the only one of his works that is online at Google Books: if you can handle German text in the old-fashioned Fraktur script, it makes a fascinating (but occasionally also very moralistic) read.

• footnote 3: Fathers having postnatal depression? Yes it happens, and while not exactly the same, this is beginning to be recognized a little better. But I didn’t want to make this post more complicated than it already is. So, some other time.


Beating Depression: Florence Nightingale

Doodle

Florence NightingaleYou probably know Florence Nightingale as the “The Lady With The Lamp”: the almost mythical, near-saintly nurse who in the 1850s saved many wounded soldiers by setting up the first modern hospital for them. In many ways, she laid the foundations for professional nursing.

    She also was a great mathematician (the first one to use pie chart statistics in her reports) and a prolific writer (not just about nursing).

    And she was, for most of her long life, suffering from depressions.

    This last aspect is often omitted from the rosy-colored stories about her. But maybe we can learn something from it. I’ve already given a few sad historical examples here of people who lost their battle against depression. So this time, I wanted an historical example of someone who won that battle – and I think Florence Nightingale will do fine.

    It is interesting to compare her with artist and model Elizabeth Siddal, who figured here a few weeks ago. Both were born in the 1820s, but their lives were very different. Siddal started from a lower-class background; Nightingale came from a rich upper-class family. Siddal had a poetic, glamorous presence; Nightingale was goal-oriented and practical. Siddal had tumultuous love affairs and a romantic marriage; Nightingale rejected marriage proposals, staying single all her life. Siddal died young and tragically from an overdose; Nightingale died peacefully in 1910 at the age of 90.

    But there are parallels, too. Most important, both refused to accept the dull standard role models that were the norm for women in the Victorian period. They both tried hard to find their own way in society, to break the restrictive rules of convention, to create a more original and more meaningful position for themselves. And in that, they were successful: in the 1850s, each became a celebrity in her own right.

    Also in both cases, their celebrity status itself was instantly romanticized by admirers. After The Times newspaper was the first to describe her habit of making nightly rounds in the hospital “with a little lamp in her hand”, American poet Henry Wadsworth Longfellow introduced the phrase “The Lady with the Lamp” in his 1857 poem Santa Filomena. A typical romanticized rendering of the Nightingale story is the 1857 painting “The Mission of Mercy: Florence Nightingale receiving the wounded at Scutari” by Jerry Barrett. Here, Nightingale’s face is the one that lights up among all the others:

Florence Nightingale Receiving the Wounded at Scutari, by Jerry Barrett

If you want a complete overview of Nightingale’s life and work, the Wikipedia page about her is a good starting point. The only thing I want to highlight here, is how she managed to save herself from the claws of depression.

    In her twenties, Nightingale became depressed; this was probably worsened by the fact that her family was strongly opposed to her taking up the active role in nursing that she already aspired to as a way out of the rigid, meaningless social role that people expected from upper-class women. She had a few positive experiences (especially when visiting the German Lutheran hospital community at Kaiserswerth, that became an example to her) but also deep depressions.

    In May 1850, having read some of the very somber poems by William Cowper, she wrote in her diary that she could identify with his “deep despondency”; and at Christmas Eve she wrote: “In my thirty first year, I can see nothing desirable but death… I cannot understand it. I am ashamed to understand it.” She also wrote “My present life is suicide” and “Oh weary days – oh evenings that seem never to end – for how many years I have watched that drawing room clock… it is not the misery, the unhappiness that I feel is so insupportable, but I feel this habit, this disease gaining ground upon me and no hope, no help. This is the sting of death. Why do I wish to leave this world? God knows I do not suspect a heaven beyond – but that He will set me down in St. Giles, at a Kaiserswerth, there to find my work.”

Cover of a modern edition of Nightingale's Suggestions For Thought    In the next two years, she managed to turn herself around. She returned to Kaiserswerth and from there wrote in a touchingly reassuring letter to her mother that she felt no longer suicidal: “I find the deepest interest in everything here and am so well in body and mind… I really should be sorry now to leave life. I know you will be glad to hear, dearest mother, this.”

    She also began sorting out her thoughts by writing an over 800 pages-long and somewhat rambling collection of essays for herself, later partially published for a wider public as Suggestions for Thought to Searchers after Religious Truth. Maybe just because of the title, some people have later interpreted her turnaround as a kind of religious conversion. I think that is wrong.

More probably, two other things saved her.

    Among historians, there is a theory that in the 19th century, people found suicide even more disturbing than murder. An act of murder, in a way, still fitted in the over all Victorian view of human nature, while suicide was conflicting with it in many more troubling ways. For example, suicide was felt to be a worse crime (and formally it was a crime at that time) because unlike with a murder, a suicide also meant that the perpetrator cowardly escaped from final judgment by others. Nightingale may have shared such deeply-rooted conservative moral views, and perhaps this can have helped her to resist her suicidal feelings.

    But most important is that she actually did muster the courage and energy to take up the work that she felt she needed so much. In describing this, Nightingale used a starvation metaphor. She told how she had been starving by lack of a real meaning-of-life, and how she finally discovered that this meaningful nursing work was in fact the only possible kind of food that would save her from this deadly starvation. Once she realized that to her this was the only way to stay alive, it gave her the power to carry on. She no longer asked for God to “set her down in St. Giles”; she did it herself. This also became her message to other Victorian women in her Suggestions for Thought: try doing the same!

Florence Nightingale, portrayed by William Blake RichmondAll this, and the tremendous successes that followed, did not mean that for the rest of her life she was entirely free of depressions.

    Thirty years later, in 1881, she confessed in a letter to her friend Mary Clarke: “I cannot remember the time when I have not longed for death. After Sidney Herbert’s death and Clough’s death in 1861, 20 years ago, for years and years I used to watch for death as no sick man ever watched for the morning. It is strange that now bereft of all, I crave for it less.”

    It was her work, the sense of being useful to others, that kept her going.

 

– The Florence Nightingale story has evolved into a common myth; about the positive function of such myths, see here.

    The Nightingale myth has left countless traces in modern culture: including music. Perhaps the best known song about her is Lady with the Lamp by the late Grateful Dead guitarist/singer Jerry Garcia:

Jerry Garcia


(click the “Play” button – if it does not work, install Flash)


 tip: I’m afraid that this time I cannot help sounding a little like a Victorian moralist myself. But why should we deny there can be some helpful truth in such now-conventional moral ideas? So here it is:
    If your depression is so bad that your life seems totally meaningless, try to make your life meaningful to a few other people. By doing so, you will make it more meaningful to yourself again, too. This is what Florence Nightingale did (on a larger scale). For her, it worked.

• footnote 1: The 1857 Jerry Barrett painting “The Mission of Mercy: Florence Nightingale receiving the wounded at Scutari” is in the National Portrait Gallery, London. The man you see looking in through the window above Nightingale is the painter himself.

• footnote 2: An edited selection from Nightingale’s Suggestions for Thought – including the key essay Cassandra about how women ought to give meaning to their own life – can be found at Amazon.


50 Years Ago

DoodlePlease don’t worry. This is not going to be some kind of dumb rant against pills or the pharmaceutical industry. I just want to show you how what was considered normal in psychiatric health care 50 years ago, is seen a very different light by us today.

Pentobarbital For Dogs    And by implication, how what we now think is normal, may be considered weird 50 years from now.

    50 years ago, a popular tranquilizer was the drug Nembutal. It is based on pentobarbital, which as a barbiturate is rather dangerous. It’s not only addictive, easily creating drug-dependency. An actual overdose will simply be lethal. It has long remained in use as a strong tranquilizer, for example to reduce anxiety. But in modern psychiatry it has largely been replaced by other, hopefully less dangerous drugs. It is now mainly being used by veterinarians: for euthanizing animals.

    In the USA, it has recently also been used as a simple way to carry out executions, replacing more complex mixtures of lethal drugs. In March 2011, Ohio prison inmate Johnnie Baston was the first to be executed by a single-drug dose of pentobarbital (see this Washington Post article). In July 2011, when already 18 people had been executed in this way, the Danish pentobarbital producer Lundbeck announced that it would no longer accept the use of its drug for execution purposes (see this Guardian article).

    Flashback to 50 years ago. Here is an old advertisement that shows how back then, this same drug was promoted (and used) for psychiatric treatment of children:

Pentobarbital For Children

For us today, this advertisement looks just weird. Not just because it presents the use of Nembutal to tranquilize children as something normal. It also looks weird by itself.

    It shows a friendly slogan “when gentleness is important”. But this strangely conflicts with the crude, caricatural, in modern eyes almost disrespectful and disturbing way the child is depicted in the image. The kid looks like a little Frankenstein, a little monster. One look at him and we’re supposed to understand immediately why, yes of course, this boy does need a gentle Nembutal treatment, real quick, before he (fill in your darkest Dracula fantasies here).

I’ll happily leave all other interpretations of this weird advertisement to you.

    Now, instead of flashing back 50 years, flash forward, to 50 years from now. To 2062. How will people then look back to today’s practices of easily diagnosing unruly, not-concentrated children as “ADHD” and sedating them with medication, instead of taking adequate educational steps?

FrankensteinFrankly – Frankensteinly – I think those people in the future will find this way of treating children just as unbelievable and weird, as we find this old Nembutal advertisement.

    We can repeat this same time-travel thought experiment for many other primitive practices within psychiatry, such as the still far too easy and liberal use of electroshocks. What will people in 2062 think of the fact that I, a depression patient, got electroshocks even after I got a heart failure during one of those treatments?

    There are many more examples of still-existing psychiatric primitiveness: again, I’ll leave this little bit of thinking to you.

    The point is: if we can clearly guess how 50 years from now people will find us weird, then why should we wait those 50 more years before making some simple, obvious improvements in psychiatry? Let’s be a little more critical about what we’re doing today! Let’s work a little harder! Let that future begin now!


• note: OK. I admit, maybe this whole demonstration here was a little on the demagogic side. But in essence, I don’t think it’s untrue.
    Maybe I’m just too impatient? And now I come to think of that, would this impatience be one more cause of depression?


Dead Beauty: Elizabeth Siddal

DoodleNo doubt you’ve noticed that it happens quite often that a celebrity dies prematurely from a drugs overdose (or, like Whitney Houston, from some accident that wouldn’t have happened without taking drugs).

Diane Arbus    Of course the same thing can happen to ordinary people too: but they don’t make the headlines. A celeb’s death just gets much more attention.

    At Wikipedia, you can skim a huge, really impressive list of well-known people who died from a drug overdose. A random example from the list is the famous photographer Diane Arbus, who suffered from depression all her life, and died in 1971 from an overdose of barbiturates combined with slitting her wrists. Like several of the others, this was an obvious case of suicide.

    But if you go through that long Wikipedia list, it will soon strike you that many of those overdose-related deaths are in a kind of gray area: for many of them, it will remain unclear forever if this was an accidental or an intentional (suicidal) death. Personally I think in some cases, the deceased’s family may have preferred to label it as an unfortunate accident, rather than as a possible suicide.

    This kind of unclear overdose-related death is something of all times: it’s nothing new. History tends to repeat itself.

Self-Portrait Elizabeth SiddalOne of the best known and still intriguing deaths-by-overdose from history is the one of Elizabeth Siddal, in 1862, in Victorian England. Even today, her life and her death still get a lot of attention. Even today, she still has devoted fans. There are books and websites about her; I especially recommend Stephanie Pina’s excellent blog LizzieSiddal.com.

    Elizabeth Siddal was a poet and painter, but as demonstrated by this somewhat crude self-portrait, not a unique artist herself. Above all, her contemporaries considered her a great, dramatically expressive, perfect beauty. Her looks made her into what we today would call a supermodel. She inspired poetry by others, and for all the important painters in England at that time, she was the single most popular model. She was depicted in both realistic and idealized ways, in many remarkable paintings. Probably the best known one is Millais’ 1852 Ophelia (more about that in a minute).

    It’s a pity that because photography was still in its infancy then, besides all those paintings we have only two photos of her:

Two Photos Of Elizabeth Siddal

    I will not give her complete biography here, even though it reads like a romantic tale (born from humble origins, discovered by a painter while working in a shop, career taking off and posing for many, stormy love affair with one of them, coping with weak health, intriguing death).

    In Shakespeare’s 1603-1623 play Hamlet, the king’s daughter Ophelia falls in love with Hamlet but is rejected by him. After her father’s death, Ophelia appears to go mad. Eventually she dies by mysteriously drowning in a stream. According to her mother this was an accident (Ophelia falling from a tree she’d climbed) but other characters in the play discuss whether or not it could have been suicide.

    In 1851-1852, John Everett Millais painted this mysterious Shakespearian death, with Elizabeth Siddal modeling as Ophelia. During the process Siddal became ill because she had to lie posing for hours in a bathtub, while the water was getting cold.

Ophelia by Millais

Ten years later, Siddal would die herself in a way just as mysterious as Ophelia. In 1860 she had finally married her long-time lover, the painter Dante Gabriel Rossetti. But she had for quite some time been a laudanum addict.

    Laudanum was a strong and very popular medication in Victorian times: a predecessor of morphine or heroin. It was an opium product that was dissolved in alcohol (because opiates do not dissolve well in water). It was used as a cure in many situations: as a potent pain killer, as a tranquilizer, as sleep medication. The alcohol component made the opium effect even stronger, and laudanum was very addictive. Many people in the 1860s, among them Mary Todd, US President Lincoln’s wife, were habitual users.

Siddal Portrayed by Rossetti    Siddal had become very depressed after having given birth to a stillborn daughter, and in 1862 (at age 32) an overdose of laudanum was fatal to her.

    Rossetti, her husband, was heartbroken and the family firmly upheld that it was an accident. But there also were unconfirmed rumors of a suicide note having been found. I guess the truth will never be known.

    The story does not end here. At the burial, Rossetti had in a dramatic gesture put the only copy of some of his poems in the coffin with her. Seven years later, in a typical Victorian morbid twist, he decided he wanted them back and had her exhumed. Witnesses reported that Siddal’s body still looked remarkably intact, her beautiful red hair grown out and filling the coffin. Frankly, this makes me think of the tales about the miraculously preserved corpses of some Catholic saints

    Now what made the story of Elizabeth Siddal’s life and death so popular and appealing, what keeps it going even on several internet sites today, 150 years later? The romanticism of it all? Her beauty? The mystery? The sad end?

    All of those I guess: coming together in a sense of ultimate tragedy coupled to glamor. The exhumation story poignantly illustrates how people wanted to view not just her life, but even her death as glamorous: how they wanted to keep her in mind as someone who would never lose her glamor, not even after death.

Siddal Sketched by MillaisBut – suicide or not – can depression and death ever be a matter of glamor? I cannot help thinking that the actual tragedy is that, in her own sadness, to herself, Elizabeth Siddal already must have lost her glamor before that cold February day when this overdose took her life. Depression is ugly; and so is death.

    I think the real lesson here is not that beauty is immortal (although here, in a way, it has been made immortal) but that happiness is frail. Even if you happen to be a celebrity.

 

– As the only possible conclusion, here is White Fire Sky: Craig McDearmid and Victoria Siddoway, singer-songwriters from Newcastle, who recently wrote a beautiful song about the enduring legend of Elizabeth Siddal. If you like it, please go for more to their White Fire Sky page at the Reverbnation music site.

Click the “Play” button to hear them with The Ballad of Lizzie and Rossetti:


(if the player does not work, install Flash)


 tip: Considering suicide? Then also consider this. You are not a celebrity: apart from hurting your family and friends, your death will not impress anyone. So why bother?

• note: The 1852 painting Ophelia by John Everett Millais is in the Tate Gallery, London.


A Lesson From The Past

Yesterday the Shorpy historical photo blog had a very interesting picture of a 1924 “Mental Hygiene” exhibition. Below is a small copy. To view it in huge format (so you can read everything on the wall) see the original photo at Shorpy.

The fascinating thing about this photo is it shows an early stage of what I like to call “illnification”: the gradual process of how, over the last 150 years, everyday mental problems became more and more formally classified and treated as illness. This includes depression.

    Of course depression has always interested doctors – in fact, since the earliest times. In the 1st century AD, the prominent Greek physician Rufus of Ephesus already studied depression; he thought it was caused by “black bile”. Do you want to know what in his view was the best remedy? Sex! He said that having sexual intercourse settles and calms the passions, and thus would counteract depression. Apparently, he did not yet recognize that severe depression can make it difficult to have satisfying sex.

    Interestingly, Rufus also thought that depression had something to do with intellectual genius (a notion that was later revived by 18th-century Romanticists). Now maybe that’s a comfort to some of us! A commented edition of Rufus’ 2000-years-old treatise can still be ordered from Google Books, Amazon, or directly from the publisher here.

Antique Valerian BottleBut I digress. The real process of “illnifying” depression began much later, in the second half of the 19th century. It has accelerated significantly since about 1900. Gradually, pharmacists, psychiatrists and hospitals discovered that there was big business in treating common mental health problems – including depression.

    The 1924 Shorpy photo illustrates this in a striking way. It shows advertisements of four psychiatric clinics offering a first examination for free (or 50 cents). Sheets inform the public how to recognize the symptoms of mental problems: “Nervous Mannerisms are Mental Danger Signals – SEE THE DOCTOR”. They list danger signals in children: “Inactivity, Morbidness, Unsociability, Fits of ‘Blues’, Excitability, Extreme Timidity ARE UNCHILDLIKE BEHAVIOR – Should Be Attended To”.

Prominently on the 1924 exhibition wall is this quote:

We see a time – When the strange child, the worried mother, the confused and depressed workman will appeal to the hospitals for relief – as they now run to them for diabetes, appendicitis, or typhoid fever”.

Here you have it: illnification, 1924-style. Largely, the time they saw coming, has indeed come.

    Partly thanks to the commercial motives behind this illnification process, today we have professional attention, medication, therapies and insights that didn’t exist 100 years ago. When something is seriously wrong psychically, today we are indeed more inclined to “appeal to the hospitals for relief”. By itself, surely this is not a bad thing.

    But often it looks like this process is still going on, continuously pushing further the boundaries between what are fairly common mood or behavior problems at one side, and what is labeled “illness” or “disorder” on the other side. A prime example is of course ADHD in children: diagnosed with “Attention Deficit Hyperactivity Disorder” today, forty years ago most of the same children would have been simply called “unruly”. Instead of giving them pills, parents would just have waited for them to grow up a little.

    The same kind of border-shifting illnification is still going on with mild forms of depression, too. People who forty years ago might have labeled themselves simply as “sad” or “somber”, may today tend more to seek professional help or medication because they now view themselves as suffering from Depression Disorder.

Be Perfect!    The question that arises here is, haven’t we pushed the borders far enough by now? Aren’t we beginning to overdo it?

    Basically, the problem here seems to be that we’ve gotten used to setting our goals a little too high. We all want (hope, maybe even expect) to be perfect. From that perspective, there must be something wrong with everyone who’s not perfect – they ought to be helped and cured. But consequently, because no one is really perfect, because no one of us is happy all the time, we might end up classifying nearly everyone as suffering from some kind of illness or disorder.

    This would be pointless and in a few cases (where this classification might have the effect of a self-fulfilling prophecy) it might even be counterproductive. So the question remains: where and how do we draw the border line between common mood problems and depression?

    The approach of those 1924 mental health people may have been better than ours. They did not yet strive for perfection. The message on their exhibition was focused on recognizing indications of something abnormal in mood or behavior. Back then, the boundary between just being distressed or suffering from depression still was defined by a simple common-sense notion of what was fairly normal on the one hand, and what was definitely not normal on the other hand.

Worrying BabyMaybe that’s where we should draw the border line between illness and non-illness again. And, resisting commercial impulses, stop further illnification.

    There may be a personal lesson in this: nobody can be all right all the time. Many of us can hardly expect to go through life without incidental episodes of depression. In many cases, this is not abnormal. It’s just a fact of life. If we won’t run immediately to the doctor for every slight bout of headache, then why should we run immediately to the psychiatrist for every slight bout of depression?


 tip: If you wonder if something is really wrong with you, first ask yourself: isn’t it fairly normal what I am going through?
    If what happens to you will also happen frequently to other people around you, then maybe the answer is: yes. Maybe in that case you’re not seriously ill, but just reacting in a natural way.
    Of course I do not mean to suggest here that you shouldn’t look for professional help when you really need it.


 

The Landmark Effect

Doodle Mood Meter

Our daily environment is full of places and objects that can evoke ghosts. Not real ghosts of course, but more a kind of vivid reminders of the past.

Lincoln's Log Cabin (before restoration)Many of us have at one time or another visited some historical landmark with the intention of meeting such ghosts. Such as a carefully restored old Illinois log cabin that wouldn’t tell you much, unless you know that once this was Abraham Lincoln’s home. That knowledge does the trick. People don’t go there to see a log cabin: they go there to meet Lincoln. To get in touch with a ghost. Having been in Illinois only once – just passing through – I must say I’m a little sorry that I never visited this landmark myself. Lincoln is one of the people on my “List Of Really Fascinating Long Dead People I Would Have Loved To Meet”.

    Landmarks from our personal history can play a role in depression. But before I get to that, I want to show you one of my favorite historical ones.

    A few years ago I moved to a place in the eastern Netherlands, near the German border. Not far from my home is a small unimposing hill that has been formally designated a historical landmark. It has become a hot spot for tourists and hikers, complete with a pancake restaurant in an old farmhouse below at its foot.

Duivelsberg    Since ancient times, it is known as the “Duivelsberg” – meaning “Devil’s Mountain”, even though it’s nothing but a knoll. From September 1944 to March 1945, this hill was a strategic point in the frozen front line between Allied and German forces. Marked as Hill 75.9 on Allied army maps, the Duivelsberg changed hands several times before the Allies finally managed to break through. Eight miles to the south is an army cemetery where over 2,500 Canadian soldiers now lie forever. *

    Due to its position overlooking the nearby plains, this same Duivelsberg was already important in the Middle Ages. Around 1100, right here was the location where a knight known as Count Balderich built a motte, a small fortified castle. Nothing is left of the building itself, but faint traces of the surrounding earthworks have been preserved along the slopes of the hill.

    Go back another 1000 years, and here was the Roman defense line along the road from Xanten to Noviomagus (the city of Nijmegen today). Nearby was the main camp of the Roman Tenth Legion. Many Roman artifacts, from milestones and remnants of buildings to coins and clasps, have been found in this region.

    If you know all this, you can hardly see the Duivelsberg as a dull, uninteresting little hill anymore. Here and in the woods that surround it, the “ghosts” of grim Nazi and Allied soldiers, of proud medieval knights and their footmen, and of marching Roman legionnaires all force themselves upon you. Overall, the landscape has not fundamentally changed: you walk right where they went long ago. From the hilltop, you get the very same panoramic view once guarded by them.

Ghostly FightersOur personal life is also full of such “historical landmarks”. And just like with official landmarks such as Lincoln’s log cabin or my Duivelsberg, it is our knowledge (in this case, our own memory) that gives these personal landmarks their special, ghosts-evoking power.

Coffee MugExample: any old, nondescript, chipped coffee mug can work as one of your personal history landmarks if it happens to have been the favorite mug of your mother, or of a long-lost lover. For you, when you chance upon that mug in a corner of your cupboard, it can have the power to suddenly conjure up a face, a smell, a voice, a conversation, a row.

    The older you get (the more landmarks you’ve left behind you) the more frequent and loud such “ghostly” experiences can become. This is natural. Nothing to worry about.

    But with depression, sometimes it feels like almost everything has become some kind of historical landmark. A pair of scissors on the table, a song you hear on the radio, a parked old car looking just like your first one, a book you pull from the shelf, the half-forgotten taste of homemade pea soup, your dusty old Atari computer in the attic, a wandering dog that for a second looks eerily known, a couch cushion, a redundant ashtray in a drawer, a photo – even an actual person, some distant old friend you happen to meet in the street, can involuntarily evoke the Landmark Effect.

    When this happens too often to you, it can become difficult to reasonably contain all those “ghosts”: they can begin to disturb you, haunt you, overwhelm you.

Object Reviving Trauma    This becomes even more problematic if your depression has some of it roots in traumatic experiences from the past. Then, just seeing some common object may keep reviving for you, in that ghostly landmark way, memories of those traumatic experiences. Along with all the associated negative feelings of panic, fear and what not.

    It has been suggested that this is exactly why ECT (electroshock therapy) may work for some seriously depressed people: that by simply wiping out memories of traumatic events, ECT in some cases blocks the mechanism that otherwise would keep reviving those traumas. From my own brushes with ECT I do indeed know for sure that electroshocks can partly wipe one’s memories. But I’m not at all sure if we really should call this a beneficial effect. To me, this looks more like trying to clean your dishes by shattering them with a hammer.

    Still, if the Landmark Effect – traumatic or not – keeps disturbing you, if it keeps happening to you several times a day, if all these unexpected encounters with ghosts-from-the-past only worsen your depression, then something is wrong. You are probably living too much in the past. Literally, too: there may be just too much personal Landmarks present in your current environment.

    Now if I don’t want to encounter the saddening ghosts of killed Canadian soldiers, the solution is obvious: I simply should not go for a walk at the Duivelsberg!

    So the temporary solution I want to propose here is equally simple. Avoidance. I know that many psychologists will say that in the long run avoidance is not a real solution, and basically they’re right of course. But as an improvised short-term strategy, it may work well.

In StorageIdentify as much of those personal landmarks as you can, things like that coffee mug, that photo album, that old favorite music CD, whatever. If possible, if this is about small objects, then stuff them into a box (I mean this literally) and temporarily stow it away. Try to remove them from sight for a while. Archive the most poignant reminders of your own past. Reduce the possibility of stumbling upon such Landmarks again and again.

    To put this in a more general way: try to change your daily environment in such a way that it will less easily confront you with the Landmark Effect. What you need is a little bit more of a clean-slate feeling. Something like a new beginning that reduces the danger of continuously being encumbered by the past. An environment that makes it a little more easy to forget those ghosts you don’t want to be reminded of all the time.

Repainting    From my own experience I do know that something trivial like rearranging the furniture in your living room and redecorating the walls can sometimes really help to fight depression. Repaint that Landmark in a fresh new color, and it may become much less haunting to you.

    Actions like this can perhaps give you just the little push you need to free yourself from living too much in your past: to start living a little more in a new present again. It can help to temporarily forget things a little, to refocus.

    And in doing so, it can also help to gradually create the mental space and distance you need for a more permanent solution: to actually begin tackling your “ghosts” in a more detached, clinical, analytical, rational way – either all by yourself, or with the help of a therapist.

    Once you have managed to do that, you can probably safely reopen that box. If all has gone well, you’ll find that there are now less ghosts that disturb you: just a bunch of old memories. Memories that, whether they are happy or sad or even traumatic, you can now encounter and handle a little more easily.


 tip: Sometimes, trying to skip haunting memories can be a useful temporary strategy to keep your depression within bounds.
    If so, then it can help to stay away from actual “landmarks” for a while: to avoid objects and places that keep evoking ghostly emotions in your mind.
    Trying to effect a few concrete changes in your daily environment can often immediately make a very positive difference. This in turn may help you to begin assessing your “ghosts” in a less emotionally disturbing, more productive way.

* footnote: Actually not all of the 2,590 graves at this Groesbeek Canadian War Cemetery are related to the region around the Duivelsberg.
    There are also many soldiers here who in the last months of the war fell in the German Rhineland. They were buried at this Dutch location because at the time, the army did not want to bury them in German soil.


 


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Today In History:

Friedrich SerturnerJune 19, 1783 –
Birth date of German pharmacist Friedrich Sertürner, who in 1803 (formally a year before his French competitor Armand Séguin) discovered a way to isolate the alkaloid (the active component) from the opium plant.
   He named the resulting substance “Morphium” after Morpheus, the ancient Greek god of sleep and dreams. In due course it became known as morphine. Later (around 1900) the German firm Bayer would develop a stronger semi-synthetic variety: heroin.
   Morphine soon became popular as a pain killer, for example when practicing surgery on wounded soldiers – who then found out it was highly addictive.
   While working as a pharmacist in Hameln from 1822 until his death in 1841, Sertürner suffered much from depression, which he tried to overcome by using morphine. So he ended up addicted to the drug he had invented himself.

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