The Happiness Cure

The Happiness Cure Plot Summary

Introduction

You will probably feel down from time to time. Perhaps you suffer from mild anxiety, or occasionally find yourself struck by utter, debilitating panic. This seems strange considering the marvel we carry between our ears. Your ever-changing brain consists of 86 billion cells with at least 100 trillion connections, creating intricate networks that govern all bodily functions while processing an endless stream of sensory information. Your brain can store the equivalent of 11,000 libraries packed with books and retrieve relevant memories instantly, even decades later. So why can't this sophisticated organ make us feel fantastic all the time? Why do we often feel unhappy despite living in an age of unprecedented abundance? Today, one in eight American adults takes antidepressants, and the World Health Organization estimates that 284 million people worldwide have anxiety disorders, while 280 million suffer from depression. This book explores the paradox of why we feel so bad when we have it so good by examining our emotional life from a neurobiological perspective. We'll look at what happens in our brains during common mental health problems and why these responses might actually be signs of healthy functioning rather than malfunction. By understanding the evolutionary purpose behind our emotions, we gain insight into what we need to prioritize for wellbeing and develop greater self-compassion.

Chapter 1: Evolutionary Survivors: How Our Brains Evolved for Danger

Let's wind the clock back 250,000 years to East Africa. Here lives a woman we'll call Eve, who looks just like us but lives with about a hundred other people gathering plants and hunting animals. Eve has had seven children, but four have died: one during birth, one from infection, another from a fall, and a teenage son from conflict. The three surviving children reached adulthood and have eight children of their own, four of whom will survive to have their own children. Repeat this pattern over 10,000 generations and you find Eve's descendants - you and me. We are the offspring of those who didn't die in childbirth, whose infections healed, who avoided bleeding out from wounds, starvation, murder, or predator attacks. You and I are the latest links in an unbroken chain of survivors. None of your ancestors could have died before reproducing, and this has profound consequences. Those ancestors who reacted keenly to dangers and were particularly wary about rustling in bushes had better odds of survival. Because you descend from these survivors, you have inherited their heightened alertness to danger. This evolutionary history also affects our psychological traits. Our ancestors who possessed mental qualities that helped them survive had a greater chance of passing on those qualities. However, while we might expect this unbroken chain of survivors to make us superhuman, evolution doesn't select for happiness or wellbeing - only survival and reproduction. For Eve's children, there was no intrinsic value to being happy, kind, or well-adjusted; only staying alive and reproducing mattered. Our bodies evolved for survival, not health. Our brains evolved for survival, not wellbeing. Although we no longer live as hunter-gatherers, our bodies and brains still operate as if we do. Evolution moves so slowly that our neurobiology hasn't changed substantially in the past 10,000 or even 20,000 years. While your social media profile may list you as a teacher, developer, or doctor, biologically speaking you remain a hunter-gatherer. This mismatch between our ancient brains and modern environment lies at the heart of many of our emotional struggles. Throughout our evolutionary history, life was often brutally difficult, with average life expectancy around 30 years and constant threats from starvation, predators, infection, and violence. The single most important insight about our species is how little we've actually changed. Our recorded history consists of people like us - hunter-gatherers living in bodies and with brains optimized for a world of constant danger, not the safety and abundance most of us enjoy today. Understanding this mismatch helps explain why feeling perpetually happy is neither natural nor realistic for our survival-oriented brains.

Chapter 2: Emotions as Survival Tools: The Purpose of Feelings

Imagine rushing home from work on a rainy November evening, your mind preoccupied with your lengthy to-do list. As you cross the street, something makes you jump backward just as a bus roars past. Standing frozen at the curb, you realize you've narrowly escaped death. Something took control and snapped you out of your thoughts. This invisible helper is your amygdala, an almond-sized structure deep within your temporal lobes that continuously scans your surroundings for danger. The amygdala processes sensory information before it reaches your conscious awareness. When you walk into danger, it can react before the rest of your brain fully registers what's happening - those precious tenths of a second can mean the difference between life and death. When the amygdala hits the alarm, you move reflexively and stress hormones flood your system. This initial response is called an emotional reaction, while the subjective experience of fear you feel afterward is a feeling. The emotion and motion come first, then the feeling follows. Feelings don't simply wash over us in response to external events; they are created by the brain, which combines what's happening around us with what's happening inside us. Deep inside your temporal lobe lies the insula, which takes in information from your body such as heart rate, blood pressure, and breathing rate, as well as external sensory input. The insula is where our outer and inner worlds converge to create feelings. In essence, feelings have just one purpose: to affect our behavior in ways that promote survival and reproduction. Every second, your brain processes an overwhelming amount of information - your eyes alone deliver at least 10 million bits of information per second. Similar volumes flow from your other senses and internal organs. While your brain processes this efficiently, your conscious attention can only focus on one thing at a time. The brain does most of its work without your awareness and gives you a summary in the form of a feeling. Like a CEO who asks for a half-page summary rather than 15 binders of detailed reports, our feelings are concise summaries designed to guide our behavior. Consider a simple decision like whether to eat a banana on your kitchen counter. Your brain evaluates the energy and nutritional value of the banana, your body's current nutrient reserves, and whether a banana is what your body needs. Rather than consciously calculating all these factors, your brain does this automatically and delivers the answer as a feeling: hunger or fullness. For our ancestors, similar decisions carried much higher stakes. If Eve was deciding whether to climb a banana tree, she had to weigh the potential reward against risks like falls or predators. Her brain calculated these factors and delivered a decision as a feeling of bravery or fear. This evolutionary perspective helps explain why we can't feel great all the time. If Eve felt satisfied for months after one successful food-gathering effort, she would have no motivation to seek more food and would soon starve. Feelings of well-being must be fleeting to serve their motivational purpose. Most of us recognize this pattern - we believe a promotion, new car, or perfect bathroom renovation will make us happy, but the satisfaction quickly fades and is replaced by desire for something else. Expecting to always feel great is as unrealistic as expecting one banana to keep you full for life. We simply aren't built that way.

Chapter 3: Anxiety and Panic: Brain's Smoke Detector at Work

You have definitely experienced anxiety before. It's as natural a part of our biology as hunger and fatigue. Anxiety is an intense sense of discomfort - the sense that something is wrong. As one wise patient described it, anxiety feels like "wanting to crawl out of your own skin." We experience anxiety to different extents and in different forms, from constant low-level unease to sudden, intense panic attacks that may be linked to specific triggers like public speaking or centered on catastrophic scenarios like plane crashes or children being kidnapped. Anxiety can be described as "preemptive stress." If your boss yells at you, you feel stressed. But if you think, "What if my boss yells at me?" that's anxiety. The bodily reactions are essentially the same, but stress is triggered by an actual threat, while anxiety is triggered by the thought of a potential threat. In practice, anxiety is the brain's way of telling us something might be wrong, thereby activating the stress system. This "something" can be both vague and unrealistic - the brain seems programmed to tell us something is wrong even when it isn't. Consider panic attacks - the most intense form of anxiety. Roughly one in four people will experience a panic attack at some point. These attacks involve an extremely acute sense of discomfort often accompanied by a racing heart, shortness of breath, and a debilitating perceived loss of control. Many first-time sufferers go to the hospital convinced they're having a heart attack. The attack typically originates in the amygdala, which flags a possible hazard and triggers the fight-or-flight response. The body reacts by increasing pulse and breathing rate. The brain then misinterprets these physical signals as proof of danger and intensifies the response, creating a vicious cycle spiraling toward full-blown panic. This hyperactive alarm system isn't a glitch but an adaptation. The amygdala works by what neuroscientists call "the smoke detector principle." Just as we accept a smoke detector occasionally going off for burnt toast as long as it reliably warns us of actual fires, the brain's alarm system is calibrated to err on the side of caution. American psychiatrist Randolph Nesse explains this with a simple example: If you hear rustling in bushes on the savanna, it's probably just wind, but there's a small chance it's a lion. Running away unnecessarily costs about 100 calories, while failing to flee from an actual lion costs you your life (or about 100,000 calories from the lion's perspective). By this crude calorie logic, the brain should activate the stress system 1,000 times more often than actually needed. Our ancestors who saw dangers everywhere and constantly planned for disasters had a greater chance of survival than those who relaxed carelessly. This tendency to perceive threats and plan for disasters is what we now call anxiety, and the body's forceful activation of the stress system is what we call panic attacks. From an evolutionary perspective, each individual anxiety attack doesn't need to fulfill a function - that just a fraction of all panic attacks at some point saved lives was enough for natural selection to favor this trait. But if hyper-vigilance helped survival, why aren't we all constantly panicking? Because in nature everything involves trade-offs. Had our ancestors perceived everything as life-threatening, they would never have summoned the courage to find food or mates. Favorable qualities almost always come at a cost. In evolutionary terms, we're calibrated to experience more anxiety than strictly necessary for modern life, but not so much that we become completely paralyzed by fear. Understanding anxiety from this evolutionary perspective can be tremendously helpful. Many anxiety sufferers are convinced something is fundamentally wrong with them, but seeing anxiety as a sign that the brain is working as designed can provide relief. Anxiety isn't dangerous, even though it's extremely painful. The evolutionary perspective helps us understand why anxiety steamrolls logical counter-arguments - if we could shake it off with platitudes like "Think positive!" it wouldn't have existed in the first place. Anyone expecting to lead a life completely free of anxiety will be disappointed; most humans simply aren't built that way.

Chapter 4: Depression as Defense: The Inflammation Connection

Depression affects one in four women and one in seven men at some point in their lives. The World Health Organization estimates that over 280 million people worldwide have depression, making it the third greatest cause of ill health globally. Although we use a single term, "depression" comprises a spectrum of experiences. The common denominators are feelings of sadness and loss of interest in previously enjoyable activities. Everything feels meaningless - parties, holidays, hearing from friends. And these feelings persist for weeks or months, not just a day or two. The opposite of depression isn't so much happiness as vitality; depression feels like standing still, in a kind of "energy-saving mode." It's a common misconception that depressions are caused by deficiencies in neurotransmitters like serotonin, dopamine, and noradrenaline. While these substances play important roles, the brain isn't simply a poorly balanced soup with only three ingredients. Depression can involve multiple brain regions and systems, all with the same end result. What's particularly interesting is that the most common trigger for depression is sustained stress - especially stress that lasts for months or years and over which we feel we have no control. Many patients report falling into deep depression after periods of intense stress, often when the stressful situation has just resolved. This pattern puzzled me as a doctor - shouldn't a healthy brain rise to challenges and grow stronger from stress, like muscles from workouts? I've come to realize that we often view depression in terms of our relationships with others, but from the brain's perspective, we should also view it in relation to bacteria and viruses. This might sound speculative, but it's based on groundbreaking medical research. Growing evidence suggests that our capacity for depression may be a deep-rooted defense mechanism that historically protected us from infections. Throughout most of human history, roughly half the population died before adulthood, mostly from infections. As recently as the early twentieth century, the most common causes of death were infectious diseases like pneumonia, tuberculosis, and gastrointestinal infections. Between 1870 and 1970, smallpox alone took 500 million lives. Because infectious diseases claimed so many young lives, we developed particularly strong defense mechanisms against them. American psychiatrist Charles Raison believes that throughout most of human history, stress has been a reliable signal to the body of increased infection risk. The immune system consumes 15-20 percent of the body's energy, making it too energy-intensive to operate at full capacity all the time. Stress signals the body to shift the immune system into higher gear. When we experience stress, the body interprets this as a signal of heightened infection risk, as that's precisely what stress meant for most of our evolutionary history. The body therefore increases immune activity in response to stress. This mechanism applies not just to our ancestors but to us today - we too are adapted for life as hunter-gatherers. Medical researchers once believed the brain and immune system were entirely separate, but discoveries in the early 2000s proved this false. Cytokines - proteins that signal infection in the body - can enter the brain, meaning the brain can detect inflammation throughout the body. When injected with cytokines, both mice and humans withdraw and display depressive symptoms. Patients receiving treatment for hepatitis C with substances that mimic viral infections often become depressed despite finally receiving treatment for a life-threatening illness. Similarly, some people feel temporarily low after receiving typhoid vaccines. Large-scale studies have confirmed these connections. Danish researchers analyzing data from 73,000 people found that those with mild depressive symptoms often had high levels of C-reactive protein (CRP), a marker of inflammation. People with depression also tend to have slightly raised body temperatures - a low-grade fever that may help ward off infection. Genetic studies provide further evidence, as several genes linked to depression risk also affect immune system function. Our sedentary modern lifestyles and chronic stress create more inflammation than our bodies evolved to handle. The brain interprets this as a threat - as that is what inflammation has signified throughout human history - and tries to make us withdraw by adjusting our feelings. In other words, inflammation acts as a thermostat for our emotions: the more inflammation we have, the worse we feel. About one-third of all depressions may be caused by inflammation, and anti-inflammatory medications can enhance the effect of antidepressants in these cases. From this biological perspective, depression is no stranger than pneumonia or diabetes. Neither has anything to do with character flaws, so encouraging someone who is depressed to "pull themselves together" is as absurd as telling someone with pneumonia to "pull their lungs together." Understanding these biological mechanisms doesn't automatically cure depression, but it provides a framework for viewing our emotional states with greater compassion and insight.

Chapter 5: Physical Activity: The Natural Antidepressant

For years, I noticed that depressed patients who exercised regularly and sought help didn't come back for further treatment. After the odd follow-up visit, I rarely saw them again. This made me wonder whether physical activity has an antidepressant effect. When I investigated the research, I was surprised to discover this is indeed the case. The last decade has seen numerous studies on treating depression with physical activity, with the most important ones examining how exercise can prevent depression in the first place. In the UK, 150,000 study participants performed simple tests of fitness and hand strength and answered questions about depression and anxiety. Seven years later, when the questions were repeated, those who had been physically fit showed half the risk of developing depression. They also had a reduced risk of anxiety symptoms. Researchers adjusted for factors like age, smoking, education, and income, and the pattern remained consistent. No matter how they analyzed the data, physical fitness was linked to a lower risk of depression. Why does exercise have such a powerful impact on mental health? Long-term stress is a risk factor for depression, and the body's central stress system is called the HPA axis (hypothalamus-pituitary-adrenal axis). This system regulates our stress response by sending signals from the hypothalamus to the pituitary gland, which signals the adrenal glands to secrete cortisol. This stress hormone mobilizes energy but also has self-regulating properties - when cortisol levels rise, activity in the hypothalamus and pituitary gland is subdued, applying a brake to the system. In most depression cases, activity in the HPA axis increases, producing too much cortisol. Physical activity normalizes this system, but only in the long term. In the short term, exercise increases HPA axis activity as physical exertion itself is a stressor. When you go for a run, cortisol levels rise, but afterward they drop to lower levels than before and remain there for hours, contributing to the calm we often feel post-exercise. With regular exercise over weeks, the HPA axis activity gradually decreases overall. Physical activity strengthens the brain's internal stress brakes - particularly the hippocampus (memory center) and frontal lobe. The hippocampus actually grows physically larger from exercise, and the frontal lobe develops more small blood vessels, improving oxygen supply and waste removal. Exercise also makes the HPA axis more sensitive to its own activity, improving its self-regulating ability. From a biological perspective, exercise is essentially the opposite of depression. Depression is associated with inflammation, low levels of neurotransmitters (dopamine, serotonin, noradrenaline), low levels of brain-derived neurotrophic factor (BDNF), and altered brain activity. Exercise increases neurotransmitter levels and BDNF, has an anti-inflammatory effect, speeds up brain cell formation in the hippocampus, and normalizes the HPA axis. Exercise also strengthens all organs and tissues in the body, stabilizing blood pressure, blood sugar, and lipoproteins. This means the brain receives different - and better - signals from which to create feelings, increasing the likelihood that those feelings will be positive. How much exercise is needed to see benefits? Just one hour of brisk walking per week has been proven to provide some protection against depression. The biggest impacts come from those who go from doing nothing to doing something - like starting to cycle to work or walk to school. Optimal protection seems to come from between two and six hours of cardiovascular exercise weekly, with most studies suggesting closer to two hours is sufficient. Exercise isn't just effective against depression - it also reduces anxiety. By repeatedly exposing the body to elevated heart rates in a safe context, exercise teaches the body that an increased pulse doesn't signal danger. For those with panic attacks or severe anxiety, it's important to start slowly. Begin with brisk walks for a month or two, then gradually introduce jogging and increase the pace. Rushing into intense exercise when unfit can trigger anxiety as the brain may misinterpret the increased heart rate as danger. Physical activity provides a powerful neurobiological hack: our brains evolved to function optimally during movement, not while sitting at computers. When we exercise, we activate brain systems that evolved over millions of years to help us survive as hunter-gatherers. These same systems help us handle modern sources of stress and anxiety. The science is clear - for most people, regular physical activity is one of the most effective ways to both prevent and treat common mental health problems.

Chapter 6: Social Connection: Why Loneliness Hurts Physically

Imagine a medical condition that affects over one-third of us, and which for one in twelve is as dangerous as smoking a pack of cigarettes daily. This condition exists - it's called loneliness. One of the most unexpected medical research discoveries of recent decades is that friends and relatives not only make our lives fuller but also make them longer and healthier. The absence of social connection puts our health at significant risk. Loneliness is defined as "a concerning disparity between the desired level of social interaction and the level experienced." Since social needs differ between individuals, loneliness can't be quantified by counting Facebook friends or dinner invitations. It's subjective - if you feel lonely, you are lonely. Short periods of loneliness aren't dangerous; it takes months or years for the health risks to rise. Feeling lonely occasionally is as natural and unavoidable as occasionally feeling anxious. The link between loneliness and depression is particularly strong. According to one study, people with depression are ten times more likely to feel lonely than the general population. Australian researchers studied over 5,000 people with an average age of 50, asking about their feelings and social group involvement. Two years later, those whose depression had improved were more likely to have participated in social groups during the intervening period. The more groups they joined, the greater the improvement - those involved in one social group had a 24 percent lower risk of depression, while involvement in three groups reduced the risk by 63 percent. Another study following 4,200 participants over 12 years suggested that almost 20 percent of all depressions in people over 50 stemmed from loneliness. Loneliness affects not just mental health but physical health too. Researchers following 13,000 people with heart disease found that lonely patients had nearly twice the risk of death, regardless of other factors like exercise, smoking, or diet. Similarly, lonely women with breast cancer had higher mortality rates. When data from 148 studies involving over 300,000 participants were compiled, social support networks were so strongly linked to reduced risk of death following stroke or heart attack that the effect was comparable to quitting smoking or regular exercise. Some researchers conclude that loneliness is as dangerous as smoking 15 cigarettes daily. How could loneliness harm the body? Surprisingly, loneliness activates the sympathetic nervous system - our fight-or-flight response - rather than the parasympathetic system associated with rest and digestion. When lonely, we perceive our surroundings and other people as more threatening. Neutral expressions appear slightly threatening, while slightly unsympathetic faces feel outright hostile. The brain becomes hypersensitive to signs that others might view us negatively, and we perceive people around us as competitive and unhelpful. This heightened alertness creates chronic low-level stress, elevating blood pressure and inflammation. From an evolutionary perspective, this makes sense. For 99.9 percent of human history, being part of a group was essential for survival. Those who survived the hazards of nature did so together. Togetherness meant survival, so those equipped with a strong urge to create and nurture social ties had better odds. The brain rewards social connection with wellbeing for purely selfish reasons - it increased our ancestors' survival chances. Conversely, the discomfort of loneliness is the brain's way of signaling that we need to address our social needs. When lonely, we're in a state the brain interprets as dangerous - because throughout human history, that's exactly what loneliness meant. The evolutionary importance of social connection is reflected in our neurobiology. In one fascinating experiment, researchers at MIT had volunteers spend ten hours in total isolation, then performed brain scans while showing them images of people socializing. A region called the substantia nigra activated intensely. When the same volunteers fasted for ten hours and were shown images of food, the same brain region activated in a similar pattern. This suggests the brain processes social hunger similarly to physical hunger - both are fundamental needs. What can we do about loneliness? Small gestures make a surprising difference. In one study during the COVID-19 pandemic, participants at risk for loneliness received brief phone calls a few times weekly. After just four weeks, their loneliness scores dropped by 20 percent. The callers weren't trained therapists but young people who had received just one hour of training in empathic conversation. As for how much social interaction is optimal, research suggests having a few close friends is more important than numerous casual acquaintances. The Harvard Study of Adult Development, which has followed participants for over 80 years, found that good relationships with family, friends, and colleagues were consistently the strongest predictor of wellbeing and healthy aging. Our increasingly digital world doesn't fully satisfy our social needs. During the pandemic, many felt lonely despite video calls and social media. This is because social connection has a physical dimension - our skin contains receptors that respond specifically to light touch, activating endorphin release and creating bonds between people. Activities like laughing together, dancing, singing, or exercising in groups trigger similar endorphin releases and feelings of connection. These mechanisms evolved from physical proximity, which is why virtual interaction, while helpful, cannot fully replace in-person contact.

Chapter 7: Beyond Diagnoses: Reframing Mental Health Biologically

It's tempting to believe we feel worse today than ever before, given the alarming statistics about mental health problems. One in eight American adults takes antidepressants, and similar or higher rates exist in countries like the UK, Iceland, and Portugal. But determining whether we actually feel worse than our ancestors is surprisingly difficult. Studies examining this question show mixed results - some indicate increased depression rates in recent decades, while others show little change. What's truly remarkable isn't that depression rates might be increasing, but that they haven't significantly decreased despite extraordinary medical and economic advances. The twentieth century saw enormous progress in treating infectious diseases, reducing heart attack fatality, and extending lifespan. The average global life expectancy has increased by seven years since 1990. Economic development has paralleled these medical advances, with many countries' economies doubling or tripling in recent decades. Yet despite these fantastic developments, we don't appear to be feeling substantially better mentally. This seems paradoxical - if better health and greater wealth don't improve our emotional wellbeing, what will? The answer might lie in examining how modern hunter-gatherer societies function. Anthropologists who have lived with such groups report that depression is relatively uncommon among them, despite their materially difficult conditions and high child mortality rates. Their lifestyle appears to protect against depression in ways our modern lifestyle doesn't. What might those protective factors be? Modern hunter-gatherers typically walk 15,000-18,000 steps daily and are physically active for two to three hours, with one hour being intensive. They maintain strong social bonds and live in close proximity to each other. They rarely smoke, eat less processed food, work fewer hours, and live in more egalitarian societies. While we can't quantify the exact role each factor plays, physical activity and social connection are clearly crucial. Even modest increases in these areas could potentially help millions avoid depression. The brain hasn't evolved to make us happy but to constantly plan for the worst (anxiety) and occasionally withdraw as a self-defense mechanism (depression). While happiness is one of the most searched terms online (902 million Google hits), defining it proves elusive. Many equate happiness with constant positive feelings, but research suggests happiness is more about having a sense of purpose than feeling perpetually great. In fact, chasing happiness directly may be counterproductive. The brain constantly predicts what to expect and maps actual experiences against these predictions. When bombarded with advertising and social media images suggesting we should feel fantastic all the time, our expectations become unrealistically high. When our inner world doesn't match these expectations - which no one's can - we become disappointed. One study found that participants who read about happiness before watching a comedy enjoyed it less than those who hadn't read about happiness first. The heightened expectations led to disappointment. A more constructive definition of happiness combines positive experiences with deeper self-knowledge - understanding your strengths and how they can help yourself and others. For most people, fulfillment comes not from reaching a goal but while working toward something larger than themselves. Happiness arrives when we stop chasing it directly and instead focus on something meaningful. As psychiatrist Viktor Frankl, who survived four concentration camps including Auschwitz, quoted from philosopher Friedrich Nietzsche: "He who has a why to live can bear almost any how."

Summary

Throughout this exploration of our brain's defensive mechanisms, we've discovered that much of what we consider mental illness may actually be our brain functioning exactly as it evolved to - just in an environment radically different from the one it was designed for. Our tendency toward anxiety, depression, and social connection isn't random or broken; these are sophisticated survival mechanisms honed over hundreds of thousands of years. Our ancestors who survived dangerous environments passed down genes that prioritize vigilance, periodic withdrawal, and group cohesion - traits that kept them alive long enough to become our ancestors. The key insight is that our brains didn't evolve for happiness or wellbeing but for survival and reproduction. When we understand that feelings are biological signals meant to guide behavior rather than permanent states to maintain, we develop greater self-compassion. This perspective doesn't minimize suffering - anxiety and depression cause genuine pain and warrant treatment - but it does help us understand why we experience these states and what we can do about them. Physical activity, meaningful social connection, and reduced inflammation through lifestyle changes can dramatically improve our mental health because they address the core biological needs our brains evolved to satisfy. This understanding offers a more balanced approach to mental health that neither dismisses genuine suffering nor pathologizes normal human emotions. The question for further exploration isn't whether our brains are broken when we feel bad, but how we can better align our modern environment with our ancient biology.

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Anders Hansen

Anders Erik Hansen (born 1974) is a Swedish psychiatrist.

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