I have a life-long history of depression and anxiety. My childhood pictures and relatives’ memories of my Massachusetts upbringing all attest to this fact. In adolescence the process ofbecoming ill seemed to quicken. In my last year of high school, when I was suicidal and incapable of doing anything, my school arranged for therapy at a local family service agency. I continued with this therapy through college. When I transferred to a state university, it became, in my mind, necessary to act on some career strategy, so I was constantly but unsuccessfully changing majors. I broke down just before my 22nd birthday. I developed a very distinct mask and was examined by a psychiatrist. He told me it was appropriate that I go to a private hospital. When I mentioned that I had neglected to pay my nominal student insurance fee and my father had dropped my coverage, he decided I could be treated as an outpatient at my local community mental health center.