I have accumulated - as bystander of more than three decades now - a semblance of understanding of Depression. As the outsider at any rate: the perspective, outside not in, isn't enough to warrant anything like the same point of view. I absolutely know that inside it is much colder and darker and more isolating than it is on the outside. But as witness I have amassed some sense of the condition. Some slippery comprehension. Some compassion. Some, sometimes, courage.
And the experience - especially when compounded with my own, as a mother, who trips carefully along a similar path to the one my mom has taken though I aspire - with obvious and exaggerated caution - to sidestep the milestone that floored her - has prompted words and thoughts and an opinion. That perspective again: but remember, it's mine, as an outsider. I do not, never will, assume to know what it feels like on the inside. And I hope to God I never know for sure.
And so I collated those thoughts, experiences, opinions as a book and approached several publishers.
Some - on receipt of my manuscript - were very kind; There is a wonderful openness and honesty to the writing. Some less so: Many thanks for sending this memoir to us. I enjoyed reading it and admired its honesty and the memorable voice. I agree that the memoir of living with somebody with depression would be a very important book to publish, and the feminist or female aspect of this book is particularly attractive. I am sorry but I did not fall in love with it. I felt that the structure was a bit too schematic with good times and depressive times alternating each other and, for me, the contrast between the two was too great and somehow didn't ring true to me.