In 1982 I was living just off the Luxembourg Gardens in a beautiful apartment, and I was well and truly depressed. Nothing helped because there were three or four things that were compounding the wrongness of things—the increasingly short and overcast days, the wrong life partner, and not doing the creative work I needed to be doing. ( I had also recently had an operation).

They all contributed to not being able to fend off a black mood. It just wouldn’t lift. All those things had to be dealt with, but once they were depression is no longer an issue.

It’s not really possible to outrun or hide from a depression. The roots have to become conscious.