Rowe, Dorothy, Depression: The Way Out of Your Prison (Routledge, 2003)
Schaef, Anne Wilson, Escape from Intimacy (HarperSanFrancisco, 1990)
Seligman, Martin E., Authentic Happiness (Nicholas Brealey, 2003)
Servan-Schreiber, David, Healing without Freud or Prozac: Natural Approaches to Curing Stress, Anxiety and Depression without Drugs and without Psychoanalysis (Rodale International Ltd, 2004)
Solomon, Andrew, The Noonday Demon: An Anatomy of Depression (Chatto & Windus, 2001)
Styron, William, Darkness Visible (Vintage, 2001)
Weintraub, Amy, Yoga for Depression (Broadway Books, 2003)
Wolpert, Lewis, Malignant Sadness: The Anatomy of Depression (Faber & Faber, 1999)
Wright, Robert, The Moral Animal (Abacus, 2004)
Thank You
This book should be dedicated to all my friends, not just two, but the list would be too long. Thank you all for your love. It is returned, in full. Thank you for being there and for believing in me when I could not do it for myself. It was that, most of all, which pulled me through.
In no particular order, I should like to thank the following for their love and kindness during those dark days. Jasper Conran, Jules and Thomas Hughes Hallett, Maggie Mullen, Emma Turner, Lesley White and Jim Gee, Betty Jackson and David Cohen, Lulu Guinness, Maureen Doherty, Caroline Broadbent, Alastair Blair, Delia and John Rothnie-Jones, Charles Elton, Lucy Heller, Claire Lloyd, Matthew Lauder, Gideon Kopell, Julie Lynn Evans, Aly Brown, Emma Duncan, Nicholas Myers, Mary Sackville-West and Rosie Boycott.
Thank you to my family, who suffered and worried a great deal. Thanks, too, to my brothers, for reading the manuscript of this book, and for suggestions.
My thanks to all at Bloomsbury, but in particular to Alexandra Pringle and Rosemary Davidson, for their faith in me and in this book. Thank you, too, to my editor, Michael Fishwick, for making this book better, for taking endless cigarette breaks with me, and for being as crazy about gardening as I am. When talk of depression became too much, we started on the roses. And to Trâm-Anh Doan, for her tireless patience in seeing the book through.
Thank you to my agent, Pat Kavanagh, for her kindness and support and those odd, whimsical postcards that appear from time to time, which always cheer me up. Most of all, thanks for twenty years of friendship. My European agents at ILA, Sam Edenborough and Nikki Kennedy, were unfailing in their patience and kindness when I could not write and wonderfully encouraging and enthusiastic when this book was finally finished. Thanks, too, to my US agent, Zoe Pagnamenta, for her support and for working so hard on my behalf.
Thank you to Corinna Honan, my editor at the Daily Telegraph, who encouraged me to write, even when I couldn’t. And who paid me to write, when I could.
With thanks to my psychiatrist for his unfailing optimism and frankness, and for encouraging me to write this book. When I was fretting that I was no expert, he reassured me that there was no better qualification than experience. My therapist, Elizabeth Hearn, taught me about trust, love and acceptance, and her continuing friendship means a great deal to me.
My yoga teacher, Catherine James, was a constant source of strength and hope, encouraging me to believe that anything is possible, even being able to stand on my head: ‘There is no such word as can’t.’
Thank you to my acupuncturist, Robert Ogilvie, for his compassion and belief in me, and for finally vanquishing the throat monster.
Jonathan Hinde taught me how to keep my mind still and not to attach to my darkest fears. I might have given up were I not so wholly comforted by the sight of a meditation teacher in a suit, tie and bare feet.
My ex-husband, Jonathan Powell, showed me that friendship and affection are not limited by or to marriage. Thank you for that, and for never failing to make me laugh.
Thank you to my husband, Tom Wnek, for complete and enduring love. Until I met you, I did not know such happiness was possible.
Most of all, thank you to my daughter, Molly, whose luminous presence kept me going through the long, dark nights. You are the most constant and the loveliest light. I love you, Moll.
Shoot the Damn Dog: A Memoir of Depression Page 32
