#its horrible because my brain just immediately switches into 'its night and therefore i should be getting ready to go to sleep'

[nalver]

i think i should be moved to iceland for every winter here. just so i can keep my sanity through long days. and then maybe go insane from the endless days. but at least my brain will stop being overridden by the instict to go home as soon as it hits 4pm and it gets dark

[1suebop]

My depression story- November 2018:

Disclaimer: I am not a doctor with any medical training except for my own personal study and experiences. Please consult your own very experienced physician about any medications or treatments that are specific to your situation.

Hello, friends. I am a 51 year old woman who resides in Oregon in the US. I’m a mom of five healthy children and have been married for 30 years. So, yes, a very blessed life—no severe tragedies in my life thus far to cause severe MMD/TRD. My personal, and unprofessional, belief is that depression comes from either an outer tragic experience, a deep poor mental perspective, or a physical anomaly – or any combination of the 3. I deeply wanted to share the story of my battle with depression for the past 17 years because it is with great hope that someone out there will read it and get (real) information from a (real) human being that has been through a lot of treatments and medications.

I am going to try and hit the highlights quickly:

I had had postpartum depression after each of my five babies that always took a few months but eventually disappeared. That is, until baby number five, when the start of 17 years of depression began.

My OB recognized the signs and immediately put me on an SSRI. After 4 days, the sun came out! I was completely sold on medications at that point. Sadly, it pooped out after about a year.

We moved to Oregon then and I had to start over with a new family doctor, then a psychological nurse, then my first psychiatrist. (as of now, I’ve had 3 psychiatrists here in Oregon).

All of the medical personnel, I believe, did the best they could with the training and experience they had. However, there was a particular class of medications that no one ever offered me : MAOIs (specifically Parnate or tranylcypromine). In my humble opinion, this is a travesty against human kind. If you have the time, research it and see its success rates. Also, a super experienced doctor in Australia named Ken Gillman, whom I’ve had the pleasure of Skyping with, has a very thorough web site on MAOIs called psychotropical.info.

A bit more of my medical experience : I’ve been on so many different antidepressants and meds to augment them, that I couldn’t possibly remember them all. I do remember a lot of switching, titrating up, and complete experimentation. After being on a combo of Effexor (venlafaxine—AND PLEASE READ BELOW WHAT I WROTE OF THE WORLD’S MOST AWFUL DRUG!) and Abilify, my doctor was so desperate (as I was) she included the amphetamine, Vyvanse, which worked great until I had hit the maximum dose and it just wasn’t enough anymore. She then added Adderall to the mix. Again, Adderall needed to be increased in time to get the desired effect. I now had officially become a drug addict in my opinion. Oh, and Klonopin (clonazepam) combined with Clonidine to be able to sleep at night – no surprise there. I also do not want to leave out that I have had a psychotherapist for 2 years – one of the best things to come out of this trial (and he has become my very dear friend as well).

EFFEXOR (VENLAFAXINE) NOTE: While this particular drug may appear to be just another antidepressant, it is NOT! I know that it is effective for some and possibly worth the risk. But please do not go into it blindly. The physicians that prescribe it (I believe) do not know about the withdrawal effects. To name a few which last for 6 weeks to many months after the last dose: sever nausea, sweats/chills, constant brain “zaps”, body aches, and even more severe depression had it not ever been taken at all. I have contacted the FDA about this drug in hopes that at the very least, physicians, and therefore patients, will be fully informed of the chance they are taking. I personally am NOT a fragile flower (my liver can metabolize just about anything) and I swear to you, EFFEXOR should truly be taken off the market.

In the last 12 months…. I have withdrawn from Clonidine, Abilify, Adderall, Vyvanse (pure h***), and continue to withdraw from Effexor (its been only four weeks, so I am still suffering ). I’ve done TMS (which I HIGHLY recommend, even if it’s wonderful effects only lasted two weeks for me, it may be the magic bullet for someone else). 10 treatments of ECT (completely ineffective, and the memory loss and heartbreak have been horrible). But I’m still, however, hanging onto my dear psychotherapist!

There was a psychiatrist that was present during my detox off of Vyvanse up in Portland (I took the route of an IV Nadh treatment for a week) who was the first person to suggest the MAOI (Parnate). Be alert, if you go hunting around on the net about MAOIs, you will get a ton of dated misinformation (even on WebMD and Drugs.com) that will scare the heck out of you. Please, again, check out Dr. Gillman’s site: psychotropical.info for the most up to the minute research on this (perhaps magical) medication. If you research long enough (as I have) you will discover exactly who knows their pharmaceutical business and who does not. It truly is shocking.

Current update, Nov. 18th, 2018, (which I will continue as time goes on) : My current meds are 25mg of Parnate- my awesomely open minded doc is titrating it up very slowly. The therapeutic dose is 30-60mg, so while I cannot say yet that I have finally won the war, my hopes are pretty high. But I will update one way or another soon. Right now, every day feels like an eternity—Note: I took my last dose of Effexor 4 weeks ago and then had to have a “washout“ period of about a week. The only clear sign that my body is responding to the Parnate is miserable insomnia which is very common. (FYI: I figured out that a combo of 75mg trazodone and 1mg of clonazepam works like a dream, pun intended!- and it is completely safe to take with Parnate).

My suggestions if you ever go this route:

*always keep in mind this is a LONG process, so don’t give up!

*be super careful with drug and food interactions. MAOISs CAN KILL you, but the information on the internet is old and exaggerated—so study up!

*get on top of your sleep. It’s the only break from the suffering you will get.

*small doses of caffeine have been my friend. And Klonopin/Clonazepam, once I got my sleeping under control, helps give me a lovely nap everyday.

*I only read about this recently, so it’s a little late for me to try it, but it should be known that patients who are switching from an SSRI/SNRI to Parnate, can (it’s safe) use Nortriptyline as a bridge while coming off one drug and starting the MAOI to ease the withdrawal symptoms. This idea is totally worth looking into.

*please find a belief system: God, Buddha, the Universe, whatever. You WILL need it in those dark days.

*And please know that you are not alone. Ever! You are important and worthwhile. I personally care about each of you (if only for the fact that I’m your sister in suffering) and totally believe that a happy future is in store for you.

Love and hugs, Suebop

I’m going to post this letter on a few depression forums… so you may bump into it more than once. Sorry!

[crowcawcus-blog]

Interview with Rob Crow, circa 2012

Crow says you need to be “a real music nerd” to appreciate Devfits: Devo in the style of the Misfits and vice-versa. When I hear he's playing a benefit for UCSD's Ché Café, I jump at the chance to witness this spectacle.

After scuttling about like any good roadie, setting up his equipment, Crow steps into a corner and wrestles on a suit constructed of duct tape, a creepy skin-toned mask, and thick geeky glasses while a film clip of his five-year-old son instructs the audience to buy lots of merch and tell everyone how well the show went, "even when it sucks."

He bursts out onto stage and takes hold of the mic, which is hopelessly tangled around its stand. After belting out his first lines, he brandished the offending machinery and commands, “Please undo this thing from here.” I grab it and unravel it awkwardly, nearly spearing him in the process. He nevertheless tells me, “Thank you very much,” and forges on.

I'm charmed by his manners, but moments later my opinion shifts when he charges his way through the audience, trailing the mic wire behind him heedlessly. Me and two other spectators barely squirm our way out of a firm trussing-up, and I twist my shoulder in the process.

Yet his performance is hauntingly beautiful, especially his rendition of the Misfits song “Hatebreeders.” (Devfits (Rob Crow) @ The Che Cafe on 01.07.12) The herd of UCSD students seems mostly bemused. Near the end of the set Crow tells us that he’s “been coming to the Ché since way before you were all born, and that's not hyperbole."

Crow steps back into the corner and removes the duct tape suit. I watch him chat with a few fans, and after they help him pack up and he's at liberty, I approach. He greets me with a handshake and another thank-you for detangling his mic. His sweet demeanor makes it easy to screw up the courage to ask if he'd consider an interview.

"Sure!" he agrees. "You know I do 'em all the time, for my podcast. Can it wait a few minutes, though?"

I assure him I'm not going to interrogate him tonight, that I meant to schedule for another time. He looks relieved, pulls some rolled-up t-shirts out of his bag and spreads them out on the merch table, scribbling in Sharpie that they’re available for at least a $10 donation to the Ché. Again I am impressed by his gentility.

I email to ask if I might pick his brain at his "Super Amazing Happy Funtime Night" at Bar Eleven. The poster for the event intrigues me; someone pasted his torso onto a horse's body. He looks natural as a centaur. "Sure!" comes the scarily succinct reply again. I hope the whole interview won't go this way of brevity.

I sip a Monkey Paw Sweet Georgia Brown Ale while he painstakingly plots the trajectory of his projector. Then he upends a bag of 99-cent store toys: 20-piece puzzles, bubble wands, foam airplanes, barrels o' monkeys, and paint-by-numbers on all the bartops and booths. I grab bubbles. Then, again, he retreats to the corner and pulls on... a gorilla suit. Only then does he visibly relax, stationing himself in between the turntable and the bar. The smirking bartender, Justin Bess, hands Crow a beer. I start with what I hope is an innocuous question: why the gorilla suit? 

“’cause I hate thinking about what to wear,” he states matter-of-factly. I blink, at a loss. He adds that often he wears it around the house and forgets to remove it between home and the recording studio.

He downs a draught, then pauses and looks at his cell phone. “My Words are piling up,” he laughs, showing the screen with a long list of Words With Friends requests.

He busies himself in switching vinyl – so far I've heard King Crimson, Metamatics, Nomeansno, The Locust, Dead Ghosts, Electric Light Orchestra, and Neil Young. Does he remember the first album he bought?

"The soundtrack to Over the Edge, a phenomenal movie," he answers immediately. "It's the truest movie about the seventies I've ever seen. Cameron Crowe called it the greatest soundtrack ever. And I spent a lot of money on The Ramones and Cheap Trick."

A glance at the stream of videos on one screen informs me that "Your Masonic friend thinks very highly of you! You should be proud!"

"Where do you find this shit?" slips out of my mouth before I think about it. He chuckles: "I delve."

I inquire as to when he realized his voice is such a beautiful instrument.

“When I was a kid, I always thought I was gonna be a guitar player. The first band I was in [Heavy Vegetable], we didn’t know who would sing, so we’d take turns. I remember we’d go into the bathroom, which we thought would have an awesome reverb effect – which it didn’t -- and sing into this machine, and there was this giant boa constrictor living in the bathtub –"

I can’t help but interrupt. A boa constrictor?

“Yup," he affirms without elaboration, and rattles on: "And I’m standing over the toilet, all wrapped in this snake, with a drink in one hand and a mike in the other, trying to sing this dumb song – everyone liked it. And I thought, ‘Oh, okay.’”

He notes, in fact, that he likes his singing voice but despises his speaking voice as “super-annoying.” I respond that his speaking voice is very pleasing and radio-friendly on his podcast.

“That’s super-edited,” he replies. I shoot him a doubtful look. “Well, I’m being hyperbolic,” he admits.

A Western saloon-fight with dogs as cowboys starts up on the screen, and I remember that Crow said in an interview with popmatters.com (Contrary Opinions) that he does not like dogs.

In the same interview he says he dislikes the Beatles, confessing that “It’s also just really fun to tell people that you hate the Beatles and watch them flip out.” I wonder, therefore, if he’s merely being "hyperbolic" to be provocative. I mean, who doesn’t like dogs unless mauled when young? Does he really hate dogs?

“Ummm, nah," he says vaguely, distracted by a stubborn wrapper on a velvet paint-by-numbers set. "Well, it just depends,” he hems.

He seems disinclined to explain what makes a dog odious or not, so I switch gears. On the cover of his newest solo album, He Thinks He’s People, one of his signature illustrations shows a stick-figure in the doghouse under a starry sky with two feeding bowls labeled “calzones” and “Speedway Stout.” Is Speedway Stout his favorite local brew? “Pretty much. But it’s not something I could drink twenty of in a night.”

I ask, does he get his calzones from Etna’s?

“Noooo, no Etna’s,” he intones firmly. “Luigi’s. Not Pizzeria Luigi’s, who does have the best pizza in San Diego, but Luigi’s At the Beach, in Mission Beach… I’m from New Jersey; I know my calzones. Every year my family and Pushead’s meet to go there.” My eyebrows shoot up, and he pauses to gauge my reaction. “You know who that is?”

I nod. Pushead is a fixture in the heavy metal and punk scene. I best know him for his grotesquely gorgeous Metallica album art which features skulls, twisted body parts, and lots of fire and ooze and gore, beautifully rendered, a stark contract to Crow’s signature stick-figure art.

I mention off-hand that the San Diego Reader called his cover art 'crass.' His eyes flash and his heretofore soft voice increases an octave. “You know, I’ve never NOT been misquoted in those two magazines [the Reader and the San Diego City Beat]."

The white stick figure upon a black background is Pinback’s little unassuming avatar. After a show at the Belly Up I had watched Crow dutifully draw dozens of the unique pictures on tickets, stolen set-lists, and whatever else fans brought up to him. I ask him now, why a stick figure?

“Early in Pinback’s career, we wanted to do everything ourselves,” including album art. He pauses, meditatively, then surges on: “I feel the stick figure represents the Everyman, with all its foibles or alienation or loneliness… it means a lot to me in its sameness. It’s zeroing in on the darkest parts of mortality."

I in no way expected such a profound, introspective reply, and before I feel I’ve grasped it, he continues: “I think art’s pure escapism. It shouldn’t be the purpose of art to really express joy. I mean, through art one should know what true happiness is; but once you know the real states – this whole life-deathy thing we’re in – it becomes this mobius strip…” He trails off and laughs shortly.

“I’ve been in a mid-life crisis since I was 18… manaically depressed. I don’t want to call it a perpetual e-motion-al machine, because that’s just horrible –“ I stop him to demur, because I love wordplay. He shakes his head and continues:

“But to not be able to enjoy the best parts of life because it’s all worthless… worthless!... there’s no hindsight in death – even wasting your time feeling shitty about it is just a waste of the time you have left but you STILL don’t feel great – it’s endless feedback.”

I think of the song “Scalped” from his album. Crow’s plaintive, prophetic voice cants, “I suggest you don’t waste your time... /Don’t kneel to the alter.” When I first read this line, I thought “alter” as opposed to “altar” was merely a [sic] in his handwritten lyrics, but now I think he punned on purpose, implying one shouldn’t live in a constant off/on, binary state. When happy, be happy: don’t dwell upon sadness, or impending mortality. And conversely, if sad, then address it and embrace it, as Crow does with his music.

Then again, maybe he’s just a weak speller. But given his penchant for Words With Friends, that’s improbable.

Does he mind that his solo album wrapper boasts a sticker declaring it "The new album by one-half of Pinback!"? He blinks; it's news to him.

"Does it?... No, I don't mind. What I DO mind is when they call me the Pinback 'Frontman.' It's 100% a collaboration." [with Zach Smith] I ask if he attended Torrey Pines with Smith.

"Errrrr, I got kicked out of all the schools in Oceanside," he states somberly.

Crow's buddy Tony Gidlund, who has listened to my questions with half-lidded and somewhat suspicious eyes, mutters something to Crow, who notes they might not make it. I look at him quizzically. “In-N-Out," Crow explains. "We always try to hit it before they close.” I ask him what he gets, because every late-night fast-food aficionado I know ritualizes what they order, especially after a solid drinking bout of the sort he put in tonight. “Grilled cheese with onions” is the reply.

“Are you vegetarian?” I venture. “Yup! I used to be vegan, but I couldn’t keep it up – It’s awesome, though. I recommend it.”

“But I love eggs,” I frown, “and besides, the chickens GIVE us the eggs, don’t they?"

He looks thoughtfully at his beer and says, “You’re very close to a Woody Allen monologue right now.”

He seems wont to self-effacing mannerisms. His 2007 solo album Living Well features a song called “I Hate You, Rob Crow." He flips off his own reflection in a recent video, “Sophistructure” (a perfect slice of his hypnotic mesh of visual and sonic). And he introduces his podcast, "Rob Crow's Incongruous Show," by styling himself "San Diego's Foremost Overrated Indie-rock Manchild!"

Meaning to explore this theme of self-flagellation, I instead blurt that I think he’s brilliant. Incredulous, he leans over asks me to repeat myself, then utters a short ironic bark of disbelief. “What?! Look at me! I’m in a monkey suit playing with dinosaurs!”

When I mention this to my pub-mate on the right, she nods sagely and says, “He doesn’t revel in himself. He’s an artist but not... pretentious. He’s a creative genius. I mean—“ she breaks off and gestures at one of the screens, currently occupied by a band of skeletal warriors from Jason and the Argonauts who, eerily, are shimmying to the death metal music in perfect time.

As he's packing up, he mentions that today was technically his one day off. "I should've spent it with my mother," he says, mostly to himself. I ask him how his wife feels about his late-night solo projects, and he says that as long as her vampire shows have recorded correctly, she is content.

I ask him if he liked having the last name ‘Crow’ growing up. “No, I didn’t enjoy it especially.” I tell him I really like crows, and instead of giving me the odd look most normal folks do, he says, “The other day there were 43 crows in my yard.” He counted them? “Yup. But when I went to get the camera and they flew away.” Typical Crow behavior.