The unknown book that was my reprieve- a personal review of "Hope for the Troubled"

To say that this book was meaningful to me is an understatement.  At the age of 18 I had concluded that my own life was hopeless.  Early one night, driving the used Plymouth my dad and I bought since he would not paint over his taxicab that was our family car -- so I could use it, I was on a road near my home in Washington D.C. I came to an open convenience store. and pulled over.  I noticed a book rack, and started to browse the paperback, as if its title, "Hope for the Troubled" was  a personal invitation.

"Troubled" didn't quite capture my feelings, as I had decided that night that my life was so hopeless that I visualized picking up speed along the dark twisting road, how with only a slight turn into a tree  I could end it all.  No one would have to even know it was suicide, just another reckless teenager whose life was snuffed out by carelessness. 

As I turned the pages of the paperback book, it was like a long letter from someone who was sharing her experiences with finding succor by the wise comfort of psychoanalysis.  Lucy Freeman was a writer, with no professional training in psychology,  which may account for her confidence and competence in explaining how much she benefited from the experience of opening up to someone who would mostly be a patient listener -- non judgemental and understanding.   After maybe an hour reading, since the woman at the counter was not bothering me, I sprung for the 35 cent price, and took the paperback home to finish reading.

After an extensive search, I now find only a single review of this book on the internet at this link
http://www.unz.com/print/SaturdayRev-1953aug15-00017/
And found nothing about the life of Lucy Freeman, who was born around a century ago and is probably gone.

Lucy Freeman, by this simple description of her own experience, including the least bit of background in the development of psychoanalysis, just may have allowed me to experience the last sixty years, which of course even after the blessing of reading her book, were far from untroubled.  Shortly afterwards,  after only a few months of college I  moved to N.Y., and eventually did go into psychoanalysis with the kind of caring erudite man that she had described.  Dr. Payne, complete with a Germanic accent like Freud's,  tried to make it work, but even the founder knew his treatment could not reach most people in despair.

I can't know that I actually would have driven that car to my death, but I am certain that I genuinely felt that way at the time.  My older sister having just finished college was on a six month tour of Europe,(it could be done cheaply when the dollar was strong in those post war years)  and unlike the future, otherwise known as "now," she was beyond the reach of a quick call on Skype.  She could have been there for me, providing the encouragement that would have allowed me to continue at George Washington University, probably ending up with a law degree, and of course becoming a person with no awareness of this individual now writing this, having gone through a very different life.

But I survived, and more found some pleasures in the midst of challenges that I struggled with, and still do.  Maybe that was Lucy's goal in writing that book, hoping that it would be a lifeline for some, even knowing it would be a very few.