Buchwald on Styron

When Bill Styron went into his depression, he called me. It wasn't that I was his best friend. It was just that I was coming out of a depression of my own and he wanted to talk with someone who had recently been down there.

I was happy to get his call, because if someone was asking me for help it meant that I was much better off than I thought I was.

As a fellow victim, I knew that a telephone call from someone who is suffering from depression must be treated with respect. This is particularly true if that person calls to announce that he or she is contemplating bodily harm. Bill announced his intention to hurt himself not because he wanted to do it but because he wanted someone to talk him out of it. I had used the same game plan time and time again during my depression.

When I received the call from Bill that day, he assured me there was no hope and he was going to take his life. I told him, in a drill sergeant's voice, "Bill, that is unacceptable." Apparently it was the right thing to say. To this day Bill remembers "unacceptable" as the word that stopped him in his tracks.

The depressed person spends a good portion of his day crying out for help. As Bill's depression adviser I was able to pass on knowledge that other people had given me. For example, when things are bad you must offer the depressed person altematives to his plans for self-destruction. One suggestion that seemed to work for Bill was that he take long walks with another person. (It is not a good idea to urge someone in a depressed mood to go out for a walk alone.) Walking is an activity that produces different thoughts from the ones you get staring at the ceiling. I remember one night, when things were really cold and bleak, I ordered Bill to put on his coat, take his wife, Rose, and his dog, and get the hell out of the house. It gave him a diversion which was absolutely essential at that moment.

At some point, a person involved with a sick relative or friend thinks he or she is getting nowhere. It is no time for the helpmate to get discouraged. Communication is a most important link between light and darkness, and must be maintained. A strong case for living has to be made over and over again—death cannot even be discussed as an option.

Styron dealt with his depression in two ways: he was a victim and at the same time he was an observer. He read articles on it and pumped anyone who he heard was an expert. He told me that the only worthwhile contribution I made to his cure was when I assured him that anyone with a depression comes out of it—and comes out of it a better person. Bill didn't trust many people, but he was willing to accept a little of what I said about depression because I had confessed to him that I still wasn't over mine. I spoke with authority even though I had none. But caring for Bill was very therapeutic for me, because the worse he got, the healthier I felt.

Bill has been able to describe the hell one goes through better than anyone I know. Because his account of the journey into (and out of) the black pit was recognizable to so many depressed people, he has become a role model for an entire legion of the damned. His articles and now his book Darkness Visible (Random House) have made a wonderful contribution to those who are afflicted. He came not out of the closet but rather up through the cellar to tell people they were not alone.

One of the most important things a depressed person needs is a support system. My advice to those who wish to help their loved ones is to listen to them. Do not put them down when they are not making the type of sense you would like them to.

Refrain from telling anyone in a depression to straighten up and fly right. If he could, he wouldn't need you in the first place.

Repeat over and over again, no matter how tiresome it sounds, that everyone eventually recovers from a depression.

Above all, remind a depressed person that there are therapists who can treat the disease, and many drugs to alleviate the pain. Just in the last ten years, the strides in treating depression have been remarkable. (Bill and I part company on how much doctors and medicine can help someone. I am a believer—he isn't as convinced.)

Bill Styron and I often talk about our depressions like two aging ex-Marines, which we are. One day, after we were both on the road to recovery, Bill claimed he had had a much more severe depression than I did. He snarled, "It was a 9.5 on the Richter scale." I shot back that his depression wats no more serious than a rainy day at Disneyland.

We had climbed one more step out of the pit. We both could laugh again.

ART BUCHWALD