By his mid-twenties, Solomon established himself as a multi-disciplinary wunderkind, earning international accolades for his work as a novelist, journalist and historian.

After the death of his mother, the then 31 year old Solomon descended into a major depression, rendering him unable to work or even care for himself. He was helped by a combination of medications and talk therapy.

This experience formed the bedrock for his National Book Award-winning Noonday Demon: An Atlas of Depression, a tour de force examining the disorder in personal, cultural, and scientific terms.

   Can you describe your experience with depression?

I remember hearing the word "breakdown" when I was a kid and wondering how it could happen, because mental states always seemed so gradual to me, shifting from one thing to another.

Then it turned out that the gradual can become sudden. When I wrote my book, I said it was like an iron structure that rusts for ten years and then one day it just collapses.

A breakdown involves getting to the point at which your mental state prevents you from doing the normal things of your everyday life. I remember from my own experience that I was completely ambushed by mine.

I had always thought of myself as fairly tough and fairly strong and fairly able to cope with anything. And then I had a series of personal losses. My mother died. A relationship that I was in came to end, and a variety of other things went awry. I managed to get through those crises more or less intact.

And then a couple of years later, I suddenly found myself feeling bored quite a lot of the time. The opposite of depression is not happiness, but vitality, and it was vitality that seemed to seep out of me.

I remember particularly that I would come home, and I would listen to the messages on my answering machine, and instead of being pleased to hear from my friends, I would feel tired, and think, that's an awful lot of people to have to call back.

I was publishing my first novel at the time, and it came out to rather nice reviews. I simply didn't care. All my life I dreamed of publishing a novel, and now here it was, and all I felt was nullity.

Then the sense of life being effortful kicked in. Everything began to seem like such an enormous overwhelming effort. I would think to myself, oh, I should have some lunch.

And then I would think, but I have to get the food out. And put it on a plate. And cut it up. And chew it. And swallow it.

And it began to seem like the stations of the cross. Then I would think, oh, I should have a shower, but I just couldn't organize myself enough for that.

One of the things that frequently gets lost in descriptions of depression is that the depressed person often knows that it is a ludicrous condition to feel so disabled by the ordinary business of quotidian life.

And so, while (the depression) was going on, I became annoyed at myself, because I knew that what I was experiencing was idiotic. It was nonetheless vivid and physical and acute, and I was helpless in its grip.

Then the anxiety set in. If someone told me I had to be depressed for the next month, I would say that as long as I knew it was temporary, I could do it.

But if someone told me I had to have acute anxiety for the next month, I would kill myself, because every second of it is intolerably awful.

It is the constant feeling of being terrified and not knowing what you're afraid of. [Anxiety] resembles the sensation you have if you slip or trip, that experience you have when the ground is rushing up at you before you land.

That feeling lasts about a second and-a-half. The anxiety phase of my first depression lasted six months. It was incredibly paralyzing.

At the time, I was in treatment with someone whom I fondly call the incompetent psychoanalyst, who kept telling me that it was very courageous of me to avoid medication and to try to work things through at a psychodynamic level.

I think psychodynamics are very powerful, and have gained great insight into my own depressive tendencies through continuing analytic work.

But at that time, I was headed into a serious breakdown, which could have been controlled.

Now had my breakdown been controlled sooner, I wouldn't have written my book, which would have been a shame for me professionally.

But in other ways, things could have gone a great deal better than they did. I got sicker and sicker until one day I woke up and I actually thought that I'd had a stroke.

I remember lying in bed and thinking that I'd never felt this bad in my life, and that I should call someone.

And I was lying in bed and looking at the telephone on my night stand. And I could not reach out and dial the telephone. So I lay there for four or five hours, just staring at the telephone.

Finally the telephone rang, and I managed to answer it. It was my father, and I said, "I'm in terrible trouble."

After that, I finally sought antidepressants and began the serious treatment of my illness. For me, it took years of experimenting to find the right medications, and some considerable time to find the right talk therapist.

     Can you describe what you do on a daily basis to stay healthy?

When I began researching depression, I was a real medical conservative. I thought it was all about the meds. But now I believe that there are multiple elements involved.

For me, the medications are essential; I've tried going off them over and over, and I feel fine for a little while, and then I begin to come unraveled again.

So I no longer make those rash experiments. I also see a therapist once a week for a 90-minute session, and I find that very stabilizing. Sometimes it feels like a little bit of a nuisance, but I know there is a trained professional keeping an eye on my mental health.

My therapist can give me advice or steer me in directions that help me avoid catastrophe.

I also try to lead a fairly well-regulated life. Sleep is my great indulgence, and I get eight hours every night.

Being chronically overtired raises stress levels in a bad way and is responsible for a lot of depressive breaks.

I am not by nature strongly drawn to exercise, but I make sure that I work out at least three times a week, because studies have shown that regular exercise can be as effective as medication in bringing people out of a depressive state and in keeping them out of it.

I also limit my alcohol intake (alcohol is a depressant). I avoid caffeine, and I am careful about diet.

Most of all, I try to keep my life in balance. I attempt to be among people who can countenance my occasional lapses.

The secure knowledge that they are there can prevent those very lapses from taking place.

And when I feel as though I'm getting super-stressed, I pull back. If I have another breakdown, it's not going to be useful to anyone.

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Andrew Solomon studied at Yale University, where he graduated magna cum laude in 1985, and then at Jesus College Cambridge, where he received the top first-class degree in English in his year, the only foreign student ever to be so-honored, as well as the University writing prize.

He is the author of several books, including The Noonday Demon: An Atlas of Depression, for which he won a Lambda Literary Award and a National Book Award in 2001, and was a finalist for a 2002 Pulitzer Prize.

He is a fellow of the New York Institute for the Humanities. He has lectured on depression around the world at various institutions, including Princeton, Yale, Stanford, Harvard, MIT, Cambridge, and the Library of Congress.

    > More articles by Andrew Solomon.

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