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- Ешь, молись, люби
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What
a
large
number
of
factors
constitute
a
single
human
being
!
How
very
many
layers
we
operate
on
,
and
how
very
many
influences
we
receive
from
our
minds
,
our
bodies
,
our
histories
,
our
families
,
our
cities
,
our
souls
and
our
lunches
!
I
came
to
feel
that
my
depression
was
probably
some
ever
-
shifting
assortment
of
all
those
factors
,
and
probably
also
included
some
stuff
I
couldn
’
t
name
or
claim
.
So
I
faced
the
fight
at
every
level
.
I
bought
all
those
embarrassingly
titled
self
-
help
books
(
always
being
certain
to
wrap
up
the
books
in
the
latest
issue
of
Hustler
,
so
that
strangers
wouldn
’
t
know
what
I
was
really
reading
)
.
I
commenced
to
getting
professional
help
with
a
therapist
who
was
as
kind
as
she
was
insightful
.
I
prayed
liked
a
novice
nun
.
I
stopped
eating
meat
(
for
a
short
time
,
anyway
)
after
someone
told
me
that
I
was
"
eating
the
fear
of
the
animal
at
the
moment
of
its
death
.
"
Some
spacey
new
age
massage
therapist
told
me
I
should
wear
orange
-
colored
panties
,
to
rebalance
my
sexual
chakras
,
and
,
brother
-
I
actually
did
it
.
I
drank
enough
of
that
damn
Saint
-
John
’
s
-
wort
tea
to
cheer
up
whole
a
Russian
gulag
,
to
no
noticeable
effect
.
I
exercised
.
I
exposed
myself
to
the
uplifting
arts
and
carefully
protected
myself
from
sad
movies
,
books
and
songs
(
if
anyone
even
mentioned
the
words
Leonard
and
Cohen
in
the
same
sentence
,
I
would
have
to
leave
the
room
)
.
I
tried
so
hard
to
fight
the
endless
sobbing
.
I
remember
asking
myself
one
night
,
while
I
was
curled
up
in
the
same
old
corner
of
my
same
old
couch
in
tears
yet
again
over
the
same
old
repetition
of
sorrowful
thoughts
,
"
Is
there
anything
about
this
scene
you
can
change
,
Liz
?
"
And
all
I
could
think
to
do
was
stand
up
,
while
still
sobbing
,
and
try
to
balance
on
one
foot
in
the
middle
of
my
living
room
.
Just
to
prove
that
-
while
I
couldn
’
t
stop
the
tears
or
change
my
dismal
interior
dialogue
-
I
was
not
yet
totally
out
of
control
:
at
least
I
could
cry
hysterically
while
balanced
on
one
foot
.
Hey
,
it
was
a
start
.
I
crossed
the
street
to
walk
in
the
sunshine
.
I
leaned
on
my
support
network
,
cherishing
my
family
and
cultivating
my
most
enlightening
friendships
.
And
when
those
officious
women
’
s
magazines
kept
telling
me
that
my
low
self
-
esteem
wasn
’
t
helping
depression
matters
at
all
,
I
got
myself
a
pretty
haircut
,
bought
some
fancy
makeup
and
a
nice
dress
.
(
When
a
friend
complimented
my
new
look
,
all
I
could
say
,
grimly
,
was
,
"
Operation
Self
-
Esteem
-
Day
Fucking
One
.
"
)
The
last
thing
I
tried
,
after
about
two
years
of
fighting
this
sorrow
,
was
medication
.
If
I
may
impose
my
opinions
here
,
I
think
it
should
always
be
the
last
thing
you
try
.
For
me
,
the
decision
to
go
the
route
of
"
Vitamin
P
"
happened
after
a
night
when
I
’
d
sat
on
the
floor
of
my
bedroom
for
many
hours
,
trying
very
hard
to
talk
myself
out
of
cutting
into
my
arm
with
a
kitchen
knife
.
I
won
the
argument
against
the
knife
that
night
,
but
barely
.
I
had
some
other
good
ideas
around
that
time
-
about
how
jumping
off
a
building
or
blowing
my
brains
out
with
a
gun
might
stop
the
suffering
.
But
something
about
spending
a
night
with
a
knife
in
my
hand
did
it
.
The
next
morning
I
called
my
friend
Susan
as
the
sun
came
up
,
begged
her
to
help
me
.
I
don
’
t
think
a
woman
in
the
whole
history
of
my
family
had
ever
done
that
before
,
had
ever
sat
down
in
the
middle
of
the
road
like
that
and
said
,
in
the
middle
of
her
life
,
"
I
cannot
walk
another
step
further
-
somebody
has
to
help
me
.
"
It
wouldn
’
t
have
served
those
women
to
have
stopped
walking
.
Nobody
would
have
,
or
could
have
,
helped
them
.
The
only
thing
that
would
’
ve
happened
was
that
they
and
their
families
would
have
starved
.
I
couldn
’
t
stop
thinking
about
those
women
.
And
I
will
never
forget
Susan
’
s
face
when
she
rushed
into
my
apartment
about
an
hour
after
my
emergency
phone
call
and
saw
me
in
a
heap
on
the
couch
.
The
image
of
my
pain
mirrored
back
at
me
through
her
visible
fear
for
my
life
is
still
one
of
the
scariest
memories
for
me
out
of
all
those
scary
years
.
I
huddled
in
a
ball
while
Susan
made
the
phone
calls
and
found
me
a
psychiatrist
who
would
give
me
a
consultation
that
very
day
,
to
discuss
the
possibility
of
prescribing
antidepressants
.
I
listened
to
Susan
’
s
one
-
sided
conversation
with
the
doctor
,
listened
to
her
say
,
"
I
’
m
afraid
my
friend
is
going
to
seriously
hurt
herself
.
"
I
was
afraid
,
too
.
When
I
went
to
see
the
psychiatrist
that
afternoon
,
he
asked
me
what
had
taken
me
so
long
to
get
help
-
as
if
I
hadn
’
t
been
trying
to
help
myself
already
for
so
long
.
I
told
him
my
objections
and
reservations
about
antidepressants
.
I
laid
copies
of
the
three
books
I
’
d
already
published
on
his
desk
,
and
I
said
,
"
I
’
m
a
writer
.
Please
don
’
t
do
anything
to
harm
my
brain
.
"
He
said
,
"
If
you
had
a
kidney
disease
,
you
wouldn
’
t
hesitate
to
take
medication
for
it
-
why
are
you
hesitating
with
this
?
"
But
,
see
,
that
only
shows
how
ignorant
he
was
about
my
family
;
a
Gilbert
might
very
well
not
medicate
a
kidney
disease
,
seeing
that
we
’
re
a
family
who
regard
any
sickness
as
a
sign
of
personal
,
ethical
,
moral
failure
.
