If they truly do love me enough to keep on criticizing, then maybe I get to the point where I think, “Could they be right? Could there possibly be something wrong with the great Scott Peck?” And if I answer yes, then that’s depressing. But if I can hang in there with that depressing notion—that maybe there really is something wrong with me—and start to wonder what it might be, if I contemplate it and analyze it and isolate it, and identify it, then I can go about the process of killing it and purifying myself of it. Having done—fully completed—the work of depression, I will then emerge at the
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