Bruce Springsteen was on Desert Island Discs yesterday. I knew very little about him so found the interview interesting. He spent a lot of time chuckling and being self-deprecating, both attractive traits. He also spoke about bouts of depression he has suffered.
In the UK prescriptions for antidepressants have doubled in the last ten years and some ten percent of us have experienced this condition. It started with me when I was an adolescent and continued until I was in my fifties. Churchill called it a black dog, Springsteen said that it comes up and bites him in the arse and I got to know that animal pretty well too. About once a month I would feel depressed for about three consecutive days. I never took any medication but got over it by knowing that it was a temporary condition caused by some chemical imbalance that would correct itself. It probably would have helped if I’d popped a few Prozac but I could barely admit to myself that I had depression and certainly didn’t want to discuss it with a doctor. Basically most of the time I felt fine and when it struck put up with it. I reckon I was lucky and that it was pretty mild depression.
While I liked all the music Bruce Springsteen chose it would pall if I had to hear it every day on a desert island. I would prefer much more variety. He chose a biography of Woody Guthrie and, after not being allowed to take a chef, picked a guitar as his luxury.
Bruce has something in common with my friend and guest blogger, Ned York. They were both certain that Trump would lose.