The suicide of Catherine Bailey, the - according to the British press - overworked mother and city lawyer, haunted me while I was on holiday. Depression can affect anyone but I guess many people were particularly shocked at the story, probably because they have an erroneous stereotype of a suicide as a society misfit without family and children. The fact that a young mother - with three children under the age of five - could throw herself off Richmond Bridge, seems particularly harrowing.

Severe depression can hit anyone, anytime. In my twenties I suffered periods of acute depression which no longer afflict me. I used to wake up with a senses of dread. It was as if just being alive sent me into panic. I would torment myself with a million futile questions. Why I am here? When will I die? Why did Hitler hate us so much? (No kidding) I’d worry about tiny things until I was a nervous wreck. Then I’d start worrying about the amount of worrying I was doing.

My father’s early death sent me into a morbid bout of introspection that lasted ages. Eventually I took myself off to therapy. Although it didn’t cure the bouts of depression I learned to understand myself better and deal with such moods when they arose. 

Many people have such feelings, albeit fleetingly, but few care to admit to them. You may even be surprised that I am prepared to mention these feelings in a column. And your surprise is precisely the problem. I suspect that Catherine Bailey would have been loath to admit such feelings. She was probably a perfectionist who set the highest standards for herself in her job as a litigation lawyer. She probably would have regarded an admission of depression as total failure. Being a fully fledged partner in a prestigious law firm - and my father was one - is a particularly gruelling and mentally exhausting job. Being the mother of three young children must be equally tiring. There comes a time when the juggler will drop a ball.

Yet none of this explains her suicide per se. Probably her reluctance to mention her depression was the key reason. The more successful the person, often the greater the reluctance to put up one’s hands and admit that they can’t cope with the pressures on them. The fear of losing can be the greatest of all. Hence wealth and achievement are certainly no safeguards. My own worst bouts of depression were never when I was at the bottom of the barrel but rather when I carried what I thought were great responsibilities. Once when I was unemployed, sitting alone in a poky flat in Tottenham, watching the floodlights in the far distance at White Hart Lane football stadium and hearing the roar of the home crowd when a goal was scored, I experienced a feeling of almost total calm and inner peace. I guess I knew I couldn’t fall much further.

But I venture to suggest - and here I’m mindful that nobody can truly presume to know somebody’s inner state - Catherine Bailey probably knew how much she had to lose. The moral of this tragic story? We mock much of American culture, in particular the tendency to hang out dirty laundry in public - but discussing problems with professionals can help. I suspect that Catherine Bailey couldn’t do that. I hope that one day all major employers will have some kind of mental health policy in place to ensure the wellbeing of their staff. And not a moment too soon. And perhaps the law firm that Bailey worked for should review its working practices.