The Great Depression

Snide Remarks #616

"The Great Depression"

by Eric D. Snider

Published on November 16, 2009

Clinical depression has very different social repercussions from other illnesses. Your boss doesn't think twice when you call to say you've got strep throat and won't be in for a few days. But when you're depressed -- what, you can't work because you're SAD? You're calling in SAD today??

Or at least that's how you think people will react. When my anti-depressant medication quit working a couple months ago after 6 1/2 years of faithful service and I was plunged into a devastating pit of depression, I was glad -- well, "glad" insofar as I was capable of feeling glad -- to find that we live in an enlightened age. Almost everyone I talked to had either dealt with depression or knew someone close who had. There was widespread understanding, and my fear that people wouldn't take it seriously as a real illness proved unfounded. (Sadly, my efforts to gain similar acknowledgement of the reality of DVR Withdrawal Syndrome have not been as successful.)

"Depression is the WORST sickness!" said one writer friend who has suffered from it. "If I had the flu, I could still write. I could vomit on the keyboard and still write. But when I was depressed, I couldn't do ANYTHING."

The problem, of course, is that "depressed" has an everyday meaning, too. "That movie was depressing." "I turn 40 next month -- how depressing!" "That guy whose entire family was killed by a bear is really depressing to be around." In that context, "depression" just means feeling down in the dumps, a little low in spirits.

But real depression -- clinical depression -- is something else. It's being down in the dumps times a hundred. It's being down in the dumps times a hundred, AND you feel like there's no way to get out of it, AND you hate yourself for feeling that way, AND all you can do is cry, AND would you just look at how fat you are? No amount of ice cream or sympathetic friends or CDs by The Cure can help it. It's a chemical thing in the brain. It's a PHYSICAL problem, just like the flu, or having red hair, and just as awful.

The Beginnings

It began suddenly for me. I woke up on Monday, Aug. 24, feeling a little nauseated and generally out-of-sorts. My 35th birthday was two days away; I figured my body was preparing to fall apart just after its warranty expired. (In hindsight, I should have bought the 70-year warranty on my body, not the 35-year.) I still felt a little "off" the next day, and that night I broke down sobbing over the worthlessness of my life. Mind you, this is not a common occurrence, the way it might be for someone whose life actually is worthless, like Bill Maher. Objectively speaking, my life is very pleasant, with no more stress or aggravation than the average person has, and quite a bit less than a lot of people. I do not live in a war-torn country like Afghanistan or Detroit, I am not friendless and unloved like Lou Dobbs or Nancy Pelosi, and I am not impoverished and homeless like Matt LeBlanc. There was no logical reason for me to be so distraught at the state of my life.

The next day was my birthday. It was a Wednesday, which is not conducive to celebrating, so an extravaganza had been planned for Friday. You'll notice that your calendars for August said "Eric D. Snider's Birthday" on the 26th, and "Eric D. Snider's Birthday (Observed)" on the 28th. The point is, the day itself was already going to be low-key, and now it was ... extra-low-key. What with the unexplainable sadness and frequent sobbing and all.

It was clear now that my anti-depressant had stopped working and I needed something new. One problem, though: I didn't know how to get something new because I didn't have a doctor, because I didn't have health insurance. None of my employers offer it, and I can't afford it on my own. I'm one of those uninsured Americans who have been causing so much trouble lately. So how had I been getting my now-useless medication all this time? Well, it was legitimately prescribed at one point, back when I had health insurance and a doctor. After I lost my job and my insurance and my refills ran out, I got a doctor friend to write me a new prescription. When that ran out, my mom, who's on the same stuff but for some reason gets more than she needs, became my supplier. I'm pretty sure I committed several crimes in the course of that story, but the net result was positive, in that I continued to have access to medication that prevented me from being crazy.

But now I was hosed. All I knew about doctors was that they're expensive and I didn't have one, and even if I could pay out of pocket for an office visit it's not like I could call a doctor at random and get an appointment today or tomorrow. My situation was fast becoming urgent, and the additional worry of not knowing how to fix it was making it worse. I was experiencing all the symptoms of hardcore depression that the TV commercials for anti-depressants rattle off: hopelessness, despair, unexplained sadness, loss of appetite, thoughts of suicide, no interest in doing things you love, feelings of-- wait, what's that? Yeah, they always glide right past "thoughts of suicide" in the commercials, like it's just another symptom. "Oh, you know -- you feel sad and lonely, and you can't eat, and you think about killing yourself, yada yada."

I'm gonna go ahead and glide right past it, too.

I wondered if I was having one of those nervous breakdowns you hear about. Would I have to check myself into a mental health facility? How do you even do that? Could I park my car there, or would I need to have someone drop me off? What would I need to wear? Should I just go to the emergency room? Was I a danger to myself -- more so than usual, when I'm living on Taco Bell and Frosted Mini-Wheats?

I knew enough to know that I needed new medication. But I didn't know how to get it. I didn't know what resources were available to a person of modest income with no health insurance who found himself incapacitated by depression. I suspect most people would have no idea. And while I know the issue of health care reform is complicated and thorny, let me just say this: Someone in the throes of a crippling mental disorder should not have to worry, on top of everything else, about how he's going to obtain and pay for his treatment. And that's all I have to say about that.

I called a friend of mine whose wife is a doctor at a local hospital, hoping she might have some ideas for me. My friend called me back with the number of a non-profit mental-health facility that has a walk-in clinic, which came to be known in my mind as the Clinic for the Poor and Crazy.

The Clinic for the Poor and Crazy

The Clinic for the Poor and Crazy is located in the southeast quadrant of Portland, presumably because this is where the city's poorest, craziest residents are most highly concentrated. There was certainly a good showing of them in the waiting room when I arrived. They all seemed to be much poorer and crazier than I was. I immediately thought, defensively, "Hey, I'm not as bad off as THESE people, right?" Even in times of crisis, I like to retain some measure of superiority over at least some of my fellow human beings.

I was right, though. I wasn't as bad off as most of them. Depression had incapacitated me, but I wasn't schizophrenic or psychotic. I probably wasn't going to need constant care or a huge regimen of pills. I wasn't going to need electroshock treatment or a lobotomy, nor was I going to be institutionalized and eventually suffocated by a mute Indian giant, who would thereafter make his own escape by hurling a hydrotherapy console through a window. (It seemed unlikely, anyway.) I wasn't sitting on the floor instead of a chair and muttering to myself, as one disheveled man was. I wasn't on a first-name basis with the receptionist, as several people were. I wasn't speaking passionately to a clinic employee, as one elderly woman was, about how the only things that get me through the day are my medical marijuana and my Jesus (in that order).

The way it works at the Clinic for the Poor and Crazy is that first you meet with a counselor, who determines what your situation is, then you meet with a prescriber, who prescribes you something but presumably does not counsel you, since that was the counselor's job. My counselor was a very sympathetic middle-aged woman whose daily life of talking to desperate, troubled people did not seem to have fazed her. We discussed my symptoms -- "Yep, that's depression," she diagnosed -- and then talked about what I would do in the longterm. The clinic doesn't do ongoing care. It's for emergencies only. But the counselor gave me a list of local doctors and clinics that work with the uninsured and the indigent, and said to make an appointment with one of them right away. As long as I had an appointment scheduled, even if it was weeks off, I could come back to the Clinic for the Poor and Crazy in the meantime if I needed something. In other words, we want you to fly free, little sad bird, and as long as you are making an effort to do so, you can come back here for help.

I was dismissed back to the waiting room while my counselor consulted with a prescriber. I guess I sat there for another half hour or so. There weren't really any reading materials there at the clinic; maybe they figure the three-year-old copies of Sports Illustrated and Newsweek that you find at a regular doctor's office would just depress people more. I wasn't in the mood to read anyway. This was one of the lulls in the depression, when I wasn't actively weeping I but didn't feel good, either. I felt dazed: somber, morose, gloomy, melancholy, doleful, funereal -- I can do this all day, folks -- lugubrious, sepulchral, woebegone, dolorous. It seemed like one other man in the waiting room was also there for depression, as the adjectives describing his demeanor matched mine, while the other four or five patients seemed to have other disorders or illnesses, including one whose symptoms apparently include feeling it's OK to leave the house wearing pajama pants (medical name: dementia walmartia).

Finally a woman appeared in the waiting room and called my name, beckoning me to follow her. She was evidently my prescriber, though she did not introduce herself. She was a squat, spherical person of about 45, and I followed as she trudged back to her office. "Trudged" is exactly the verb I want, too. She moved slowly, as if stiff from over-exertion (though she seemed like the sedentary type), and yawned frequently, apparently barely able to keep her eyes open. It was three o'clock in the afternoon.

In her office, we discussed my two options: increase the dosage of the medication I'd been taking, or switch to a new drug altogether. She said both solutions probably had an equal chance of working, and that finding the right dosage of the right drug for the right person often involves some trial and error. This was exactly the kind of hilarious optimism I needed to hear. "We don't know for sure what will fix you; let's just try something."

So I weighed the medication options. I looked at it like hiring an employee. My previous medication had worked for me for more than six years with nothing but excellent performance reviews; however, it had also quit suddenly, without so much as two weeks' notice, and had defecated in my office on its way out. I was wary of rehiring the same employee, even at a higher salary to motivate better performance. I'd heard good things about the employee's cousin, however, and knew it had all of the same skills. I decided to hire that guy.

I did have one concern: Which medication would cost more? All you ever hear about drugs is that they're very expensive and that old people go to Canada to buy them cheaper (though they still hate the Canadian health care system). The prescriber said that since there are generic versions of both of the options we were considering, either one would cost me only $4 a month. "Four dollars a month!" I exclaimed. "I'll take them both!"

It turns out this innovation came from Wal-Mart, of all places. In order to lure people into their stores who normally would not go there (i.e., the dignified), in 2006 Wal-Mart introduced a list of a few hundred common generic prescription drugs that it would sell at a rate of $4 for a month's supply. Several other pharmacy chains have followed suit. I was able to get my cheap drugs at the supermarket I shop at normally. At $4 a month, you really can't afford not to be on something.

I spent about a half hour with my prescriber. A few minutes of this were occupied by her researching the drugs we were talking about, which at one point involved Googling something. I recognized that she was only using Google because it was faster than pulling out a big, heavy book and looking it up the old-fashioned way, but still. Don't Google in front of your patients, even if they are getting your services for free and you never told them your name.

Despite apparently being half asleep, my prescriber was very chatty. I barely got a word in edgewise. Over the course of our conversation she mentioned, between yawns and Googlings, that she was a recovering alcoholic and that she had been, at various times, on just about every anti-depressant known to man. This was a recurring motif I'd noticed at the Clinic for the Poor and Crazy, that many of the staff members seemed like they were not just the president, they were also a client, if you know what I mean. I wondered if I would someday come back and work here. They probably at least offer a health plan.

It's My Party, and I'll Cry If I Want To

Prescription in hand, I left the Clinic for the Poor and Crazy and headed for my friend Jeff's house. He's the one who had found the C. for the P. & C. for me in the first place, and since he lived nearby and I didn't feel capable of doing anything by myself, I stopped by. Luckily, he had nothing better to do on a Friday afternoon than hang out with me, the Tigger to my Eeyore. We got my prescription filled then returned to his house, where I sat nearly catatonic on the couch for a couple hours while he tried to amuse me. Laughter is the best medicine, right? Well, let me just say that Jeff is no Patch Adams. By which I mean that Jeff is actually funny.

I had new medication and a list of local doctors that offered reduced-rate care for uninsured patients, and having these things in place helped my mood a little. The crisis was not over yet, though. This was Friday afternoon, fast becoming Friday evening. And at seven o'clock, I was supposed to be having a birthday party.

Ah, yes, the birthday party. I'd invited a couple dozen people to a casual Portland restaurant where food, drink, and general merriment can be had in abundance. I was in no mood for a party now, but it was too late to cancel it. A proclamation had been sent forth throughout the land. An Evite was involved. People had RSVP'd to that Evite. That's a sacred contract. You can't break that. Besides, as unappealing as the idea sounded, I knew that being among friends would be a good thing for me. Whether it would be a good thing for them -- spending the evening with a clinically depressed writer -- was of no importance. You're allowed to do whatever you want when it's your birthday, and that includes staring dead-eyed at the table while your friends look on awkwardly.

To steel myself for the occasion, I did something that I don't think you are supposed to do. I took a Vicodin. Another good friend of mine had given it to me as a backup, something to dull the senses for a few hours until the new prescription started to take effect, which could be days away. (Due to her many health problems, this friend has so many prescriptions she makes Michael Jackson look like a Christian Scientist.) I figured my birthday party was as good a time as any, and Vicodin is a pain reliever, and maybe that includes emotional pain. I can definitely understand the mindset that leads people to medicate themselves with alcohol and other drugs. In the old days, before anti-depressants, those would have been your only options. No wonder everyone in old photographs always looks so grumpy.

The Vicodin didn't make me giddy or lightheaded or stoned, which is a shame, as that would have been funny. It smoothed me out, though. It blunted the sharp edges of my state of mind, and it prevented this from being the saddest birthday party in the history of the world. I was able to enjoy myself. Jeff and his wife were there, and the Vicodin friend, and a lot of other friends. Everyone was briefed on the situation when they arrived: Eric's anti-depressant quit working, this has been the worst week of his life, he got something new prescribed today that hasn't kicked in yet, he could theoretically have a sobbing meltdown at any point, and he took a Vicodin. Wooo! Par-tay!

The next day wasn't any better than the previous four. Nor was the day after that. Anti-depressants can take a few weeks to really get up to speed, so I wasn't expecting anything to happen overnight. I did begin to notice improvements, though. On Monday, I felt well enough to go to a movie screening. After that, I had ups and downs, a few good hours here, a few bad hours there. A couple of those bad hours were spent watching "All About Steve," but a couple good ones were spent making fun of it. Things started to balance out like that.

I also took this occasion to examine my life. The depression hadn't been brought on by anything in particular -- a death in the family, a divorce, the announcement of a third "Transformers" movie, etc. -- and doctors don't really know why the chemicals in some people's brains get screwed up like this. But they do know that plenty of external factors can influence it. Surely there were things I could change, physically, spiritually, and emotionally, that would improve my overall mental health. For example, did I really NEED to be spending an hour every afternoon walking down Morrison Street giving panhandlers fake coins? Who was that helping? And was sleeping only three hours a night then keeping myself awake all day with Dr Pepper and crystal meth REALLY increasing my productivity?

Today, almost three months later, I feel pretty much normal, pretty much most of the time. My emotions are still a little tender, and I occasionally get weepy over something minor -- but the same could be said of your typical teenage girl, and they seem to get by OK. All in all, I'm operating at about 90 percent capacity. And let's be honest, 90 percent of Eric D. Snider is better than 100 percent of a lot of people. I'm just sayin'.

Notes:

I wrote three blog entries during the Great Depression, here, here, and here. Writing this column took forever, though. It's very long, as you can see, and I had a hard time making certain parts of it funny. But I really wanted to get the story out there, even if it turned out not to be the most rollicking edition of "Snide Remarks" I've written.

The Clinic for the Poor and Crazy is actually part of Cascadia Behavioral Healthcare, a Portland-based non-profit that offers a lot of services beyond the walk-in clinic. They were a huge help to me. I truly don't know what I would have done without that clinic and its somnambulant prescriber.

I asked my mom before outing her as the one who'd provided me with anti-depressants after my health insurance ran out. I warned her, "This means people will know you gave me drugs, and also that you're being treated for depression." She said, "I'm not ashamed of either of those things." SO THERE.

ADDENDUM: I should clarify that while I was able to get my prescription for $4 a month, that's only because it happened to be one of the generic medications on the list. If I'd needed something that doesn't have a generic version, I'd have had to pay the regular price of $50-$150 a month.

This item has 89 comments

Scott Dale Robison says:
November 15, 2009 at 10:39 pm
If my meds weren't working as well as they are, I'd probably take the "better than 100%" comment personally. But I know you love me far too much to do that to me.

Good to know you're feeling better... Just in time for the holidays and long lines at airports and such.
Aubrey says:
November 15, 2009 at 11:14 pm
Eric,

I'm glad that you're back to yourself (even if it's a tender self). Your words are a bright spot in my day. I agree that 90 percent of you is better than 100 percent of a lot of people.

I remember being a new freshman at BYU and finding your column and then actually looking forward to getting new copies of the Daily Universe. Thanks for getting me through some rough times. And I'm glad that you have gotten yourself through some of yours too.

I wish you well and look forward to reading much more from you in the future!

Aubrey
~j. says:
November 15, 2009 at 11:26 pm
Bravo. So well-put. When you're in it...there's seemingly just no way out, even with the well-wishes of loved ones. Good for you for taking the necessary steps; good for us that you share your experience.
Clumpy says:
November 16, 2009 at 1:53 am
Not to be off-topic, though now that things are somewhat back up to speed I'd just like to congratulate you for sticking with the Cure reference for this. I know you were looking for a more recent equivalent but no, there IS no more recent equivalent.
Clumpy says:
November 16, 2009 at 2:02 am
Having now read the whole article I actually feel a little bad about being so flippant. I'm really, really glad that we're doing much better as a society thinking about and treating these types of illnesses. Whether hormonal, mental or chemical, they're just that - legitimate sicknesses that are just as real as any physical malady and almost always much, much worse.

I've never had clinical depression, though I've been "blessed" with understanding from a weird thing I have, which sometimes causes me to feel intensely, horrifically depressed for a few minutes after I wake from a nap. I'm not joking, and I can't explain it, but I can't even imagine dealing with depression on a regular basis. I'm glad you're back up to 90%, Eric. Here's hoping you stay well.

Oh, and the juxtaposition of the macabre images with the fairly serious and affecting account was actually pretty hilarious :).
Kyle says:
November 16, 2009 at 2:08 am
Eric, you've made a lot of people laugh for a very long time. Back when people actually paid for newspapers, I was young enough that I didn't care about anything but the comics page. Then I found your article in the Daily Herald, and then I cared about the comics page and Snide Remarks. The next time your emotions are feeling tender, think of all the people to whose lives you've brought a smile, and know that we all wish the same for you. :)
Markk says:
November 16, 2009 at 2:59 am
Not only was this the funniest thing I've read from you in a while (that's a compliment), but I may have actually learned something reading it. Welcome back.
Owain J. Brimfield says:
November 16, 2009 at 5:53 am
In around six years of my visiting your website on a regular basis, with the occasional break to stitch up my split sides, this IMO may be the single greatest piece you've written. Kudos, sir.
mommy says:
November 16, 2009 at 6:02 am
Very funny...and poignant. Thanks for sharing.
Jennifer says:
November 16, 2009 at 8:44 am
My whole family has issues with depression and anxiety and I have also been taking a new medication. That along with therapy has changed me back to who I really am. Better living through chemistry!
andrew says:
November 16, 2009 at 8:57 am
Wow. You totally nailed what clinical depression is like. And the crazy feeling of having your anti-depressant med poop out on you. I've been there, too. It's a bitch.

I'm so glad to hear that you were able to get help, and glad that you have good friends who are understanding. It probably doesn't mean much, but consider me an e-friend cheering you on.
MPot says:
November 16, 2009 at 9:38 am
Good to hear, Eric. And friggin' hilarious, too. "Hilarious optimism" indeed!
Amp says:
November 16, 2009 at 9:56 am
I'm glad your back, Eric, and especially that your feeling better. God bless you.
Amp says:
November 16, 2009 at 10:06 am
ARGH! I was trying to be sincere, and all I did was include a stupid typo, twice. I know it's supposed to be "you're" not "your". Eric feels like a teenage girl, and apparently I write like one.
richrich says:
November 16, 2009 at 10:29 am
Dementia Walmartia. Har!

Love you eric.
Queen of Everything says:
November 16, 2009 at 10:38 am
"I wasn't going to need electroshock treatment or a lobotomy, nor was I going to be institutionalized and eventually suffocated by a mute Indian giant, who would thereafter make his own escape by hurling a hydrotherapy console through a window." This made my day but it also verbalizes the fear I have of when the clinical depression gene activates in me. Or Manic-depression, both run in the family.

Pictures of Eeyore: ooooh, priceless! Way to be, Eric. Way to face the clinic and get help and not revel in the down-ness of everything. Thanks for sharing and being awesome.
Sarah Clark says:
November 16, 2009 at 10:50 am
That was great stuff! 10 points for somnambulant. Even as a self-proclaimed "word nerd," I'm not too proud to say I had to scroll up to check my spelling on that (and then correct it).

I'm very glad you're feeling better. My husband and I love your columns and we've both been thinking about you these past months. We just made the very difficult decision to put our nearly teen son on an antidepressant, and it's done wonders for him (read: HE feels like he can finally "manage" life/school/his emotions not that WE feel like we can finally manage him). I'm glad so many are working to erase the stigma associated with depression. Thanks for all you do. :)
Dexter says:
November 16, 2009 at 11:44 am
Do you feel sad?

Is everything you see painted in shades of grey?

Is life not worth it anymore?

WHY NOT JUST GIVE IT UP!

This public service message brought to you by:
The Portland area Mortician Workers Union
Berry Moore Chairman (PAMWU)
Sicky McPillpopper says:
November 16, 2009 at 11:55 am
"Due to her many health problems, this friend has so many prescriptions she makes Michael Jackson look like a Christian Scientist."

Dammit, Snider! I have *three* prescriptions, and only one is for a controlled substance! I shake my fist at you! Or at least I would if I wasn't so hopped up on the goofballs.
Asur says:
November 16, 2009 at 11:58 am
At the end of the second paragraph on the SnideCast, I was SURE Eric said DDR withdrawal syndrome. Oh man, the mental image of Eric at an arcade with fist full of tokens, fidgeting nervously, waiting for overweight preteens to stop flailing about erratically so that he couldsedate his need was incredible.
Randy Tayler says:
November 16, 2009 at 12:10 pm
I had the same experience in southern California, only when my meds pooped out I was also jobless with a wife and a baby. Medical took me in and prescribed meds for me. I think they paid for them, too. Once I was back on my non-suicidal feet, I was able to get a job, pay taxes to the state that made me whole again, and provide for my family.

That was state-run health care, folks. Just sayin'.

Five years ago, and I've been sane ever since. Just ask these voices in my head. HA HA HA HA HA HAthemedicationmakesmenotfunny.
Casey says:
November 16, 2009 at 12:16 pm
Nice job, Eric. You nailed the experience exactly. Hey, for what it's worth, you might want to try a clinical study (I did, while I was in law school in Portland). They paid for the meds, so that was cool. I went to Summit Research Network in NW Portland. http://www.summitportland.com/ May want to give that a shot, if you're up for it!
David Brady says:
November 16, 2009 at 12:33 pm
I laughed out loud at the "I can do this all day, folks" litany of "words I know for 'sad'."

Also, just a minor stylistic nitpick, the correct grammatical form of the simile is "she makes Michael Jackson look like a dead Christian Scientist."

Welcome back!
aaron says:
November 16, 2009 at 12:52 pm
This is fantastic.

I don't know where you found that Eyeore picture (the one of just his legs) and I don't want to know. But I'm glad it was included.
spiderdust says:
November 16, 2009 at 1:00 pm
Thanks, Eric, for taking the time to write this up and even making it enjoyable to read, topic considered. You are so right about the world of difference between feeling blue about something and being clinically depressed. I went through my own complete emotional breakdown shortly after you had your experience. (I too thank heaven for those non-profit clinics.) I've heard that fluctuations in earth's electromagnetic fields can actually trigger these things. Pseudoscience aside, I'm glad you have returned to a more positive outlook and to writing for us.
Calmom says:
November 16, 2009 at 2:11 pm
Please receive a big "ehug".
Kaydria says:
November 16, 2009 at 2:21 pm
Yay Momma Snider! Thank you for sharing your story even though you didn't have to, Eric. I'm glad you're recovering.
Carina says:
November 16, 2009 at 2:26 pm
I lost a year of my life because I thought I could handle depression myself. And by handle I mean sitting on the sofa, refusing to talk to people, being scared of the phone, not remembering my kids' names crying uncontrollably, and being unable to do the most basic of household tasks. That was a fun year--for everyone!

Next time I'm going to follow the Eric D. Snider prescription and get some medication, because there's no need to find out that the last time you remember being awake was a year ago.
Reyna says:
November 16, 2009 at 2:27 pm
Dementia Walmartia--love it! Glad you're back in action. We've prayed for you!
Kimberly says:
November 16, 2009 at 2:28 pm
"...came from Wal-Mart, of all places. In order to lure people into their stores who normally would not go there (i.e., the dignified)..."

That totally made my day.

Glad to hear that you are feeling better, Eric!
Richard Clark says:
November 16, 2009 at 2:30 pm
I laughed! I cried! I felt better about hiring my ex-anti-depressant's cousin!

Eric D. Snider, I love your work. Thanks for sharing the rest of the story with us.
Alaska-Boy says:
November 16, 2009 at 2:35 pm
On the plus side, Eric, you did get to skip ever having to see Rob Zombie's butchering (pun intended) of Halloween II. So depression had SOME benefit, right?

Glad to hear you're back to "normal"!
Momma Snider says:
November 16, 2009 at 2:38 pm
Now it can be told: I didn't necessarily get more than I needed, but I cut my prescription in half so I could share. And I guess I didn't need that other half anyway, as it turned out. But I would have shared half even if it had made a noticeable difference.

That's what moms do, and I'm not ashamed of that, either.
Angie says:
November 16, 2009 at 2:58 pm
Oh! Momma Snider's sweet confession made me a little weepy. Mom's ARE the best. And Eric, I'm glad you're back.
Autumn says:
November 16, 2009 at 3:34 pm
Yes!! Just when I was about to call my local CPC (WHO invented toddlers?!?!?), this stumbled into my inbox and turned my day around. Still may run out for that V B12 boost, but laughter is the best medicine. Glad you're taking care of yourself. Thanks for being there for all of us...
Kyle says:
November 16, 2009 at 3:40 pm
Eric, I just realized I've been on your site and reading pretty much every word you write for the past EIGHT YEARS. That astounds me. Keep up the excellent work. Glad you're feeling better. I'm looking forward to the next eight years and beyond.
Guy says:
November 16, 2009 at 3:56 pm
Thanks for this. It was hilarious (of course), but reading it has made me finally decide to go see a doctor. I have been leery of using anti-depressants, but given that I have developed an OTC habit (WAAAAY over the recommended dosage––honestly, I'm pretty proud of my kidneys) to take the edge off, I figure I probably ought to. In any case, seeing Snide Remarks or In the Dark in my inbox is always a bright spot. Thanks, and feel better.
Alison Noice says:
November 16, 2009 at 3:58 pm
Hi Eric

Thanks so much for writing this. The more people that hear about these experiences, the better. I manage the walk-in clinic you are referring to here, and you got us spot-on. We take great pride in being available to people in situations like yours and--as you could tell--we have been committed to doing this for many years. Frankly, there are too many people who are uninsured and don't know where to turn for help. Spread the word!
Felix says:
November 16, 2009 at 4:08 pm
I'm really happy for you that you're feeling better, Eric! Thanks for sharing! You inspired me to start writing reviews and I thank you for that. You're my favorite critic- I can't watch a movie unless I know what you think about it. Is that bad? Or have I just caught the 'Eric D. Snider' bug? :)
Fireball says:
November 16, 2009 at 4:43 pm
I did a happy dance when I looked at my iTunes today and saw your new Snide Remarks. So many people have been praying for you. I'm so glad you're feeling better.
Kathy says:
November 16, 2009 at 4:46 pm
Was sent a link to this from a good friend. Damn! I've never read a better description of the depression experience. I have 'been there, done that' for pretty much all of what you described. You nailed the internal monologue of depression spot-on. Although I don't work at the C for the P & C I am an employee/member of the mental health world. Thanks for sharing your experience in such an eloquent and humorous manner.
hopelds says:
November 16, 2009 at 6:04 pm
Thank you for sharing your experience - we who deal with depression in family members or self (in my case both) can relate. I'm so glad you have friends and family AND the C for P & C to help out.

And please let your mother know that she rocks - I, too, have 'dealt' with family members - we do what we have to do.
Holly says:
November 16, 2009 at 6:07 pm
I don't think you're all there yet, since you don't recognize this as one of your funniest columns yet. Then again, I may be prone to enjoy mental illness-themed humor more than most folks.

Either way, I love this! I love it almost as much as the contents of my medicine cabinet.

And, I think I'll give up my excellent health insurance (it happens to be renewal time right now) just so I can also go to The Clinic for the Poor and Crazy. You make it sound like such a wonderland.
Mari says:
November 16, 2009 at 6:25 pm
I loved the ending about Eric at 90% being better than a lot of people at 100%. Amen to that.
Oz says:
November 16, 2009 at 6:34 pm
Any time you need to hop a train for the border and load up on the cheap Canadian stuff (or just want to get out of dodge for a few), there's a fold-out with your name on it at my place in Vancouver, Sni.

Just sayin'.

C.
Dave says:
November 16, 2009 at 6:42 pm
I don't think I've ever read anything that made me sad one minute and made me laugh so hard the next! You're the best, Eric--glad to see you pulled through. We were all rooting for you! :)
Chrystle says:
November 16, 2009 at 7:01 pm
Welcome back to the land of the living! Aren't drugs wonderful? I tell you, when I was in the midst of my crying jags, I was grateful for my Cipralex, my drug coverage at work, and the Canadian Health Care system in general.
Native Minnow says:
November 16, 2009 at 7:44 pm
Geez. That Snide Remarks column took FOR-E-VER to read.

(Kidding. I'm glad you're feeling better.)
Phil Cardenas says:
November 16, 2009 at 7:47 pm
There were at least 4 laugh out loud moments in this piece. Hysterical stuff...especially the part (since I am starting to loathe him with every passing year) the slam on Bill Maher. That's comedy, my friend. That whole paragraph was classic; it should be preserved for in the Comic Archives and studied for generations by satirical wits for decades.

By the way, I DID suffer from DVR withdrawal syndrome. It died on me a couple of months ago and I lost 75 hrs of programming. Yeah, I know.
Auntie Beth says:
November 16, 2009 at 7:51 pm
I'm proud of you for sharing. Unfortunately, depression runs in the family. Fortunately, there are lots of good drugs out there to make us feel semi-normal and be able to function in the real world.

Keep it up!
Erin says:
November 16, 2009 at 9:05 pm
There are obviously a lot of people that appreciate the joy and laughter you have provided over the years. That may not be helpful when you feel like nothing matters but it's there just the same. There's something to be said for someone who can make you laugh while reading a serious column about depression. I'm glad you've got a good support system and that you're putting this out there. Too many people keep it to themselves. Good to have you back and thanks for all the laughs.
Andy says:
November 16, 2009 at 9:37 pm
Let me start by saying thanks for the warning: I turn 35 on August 26, 2010, so I'll prepare myself. I don't use anti-depressants, though. Hostess Snacks and MST3K usually do the trick, though they recently closed down our local Hostess Thrift Shop for the Poor and Sweet-toothed.

Seriously, though, my wife and I both have family members who have gone through similar experiences to yours, and I'm glad you had friends and family there to help you through the rough spots.
Ironman Diet says:
November 16, 2009 at 10:08 pm
I'm surprised nobody has yet used the Simpsons quote "The only thing more effective is regular exercise." Don't you people know how to properly cheer Eric up?
SB2 says:
November 16, 2009 at 11:18 pm
> Don't Google in front of your patients, even if they are getting your services for free and you never told them your name.

True dat, true dat.

Seriously though, this post really meant a lot to me. Thanks.
SB2 says:
November 16, 2009 at 11:20 pm
PS: your mom sounds pretty kickass. Good on her.
Unnamed Source says:
November 17, 2009 at 12:20 am
Eric, when you are down here in soCal and in need of cheapo meds, you simply make a jaunt to the pharmacies in Tijuana that exist to serve us gringos.
Savvy Veteran says:
November 17, 2009 at 1:07 am
My thoughts and prayers will be with your TiVo.
Binky says:
November 17, 2009 at 1:18 am
Thanks for the story.

I've been on over 8 different medications for anxiety/depression over the last 2 years and my doctor and I are still looking for that perfect combo for my stupid brain. Needless to say it's been an frustrating couple of years. I hope we strike upon the right combo soon.

Thank heaven for family, good friends, and health care professionals who cater to the impecunious---and for being able to hear about the successful experiences of others, thereby bolstering my own flagging spirits.

Good luck to you and thanks.
Linda says:
November 17, 2009 at 5:48 am
Hey Eric. Thanks for writing this. It must have cost you. Hang in there.
Chanel says:
November 17, 2009 at 8:13 am
I've been enjoying your writing for...over 10 years now? I've never been very vocal, but I just wanted to let you know that that I thoroughly enjoy your writing, listen to your critiques, and think you're all-around great guy (as much as someone who's never met you can think that).

Just wanted to add my little snippet of support frome a one-sided friend.
OMAllen says:
November 17, 2009 at 8:27 am
Eric,

I'm glad your up 90%, maybe you can find a health kit or something to get up to 100%. But seriously, thanks for writing an explanation, I know it has gotten me thinking about depression as a physical ailment rather than something you can change through positive thinking.
Stephanie S Boyd says:
November 17, 2009 at 8:32 am
As a frequent sufferer of dementia walmartia, I appreciate your bringing attention to this important matter.
Josh says:
November 17, 2009 at 10:29 am
Nice article, Eric. I found it through Dawn's link on Facebook. And it was funny. But more importantly, other things.

So depression must be pretty common among film critics, huh?
Corie says:
November 17, 2009 at 10:54 am
Are you writing about my life? That was my last 4 months almost exactly! Well I don't get to do cool things like go to movie screenings, unless you count watching the latest made for nick jr. movie with my twin 4 year-olds :) Thanks for telling that story.
Patricia Kagwiria Makhulo says:
November 17, 2009 at 1:04 pm
Ahhh I see. Well I should tell you as one living in Portland, you are bound to suffer depression with the horrible winters.

I highly recommend you see Dr. Lita Lee or Dr Ray Peat!

I did and well now life has new meaning to meaning. I can see clearly now that the rain is gone!
Amy says:
November 17, 2009 at 1:55 pm
LOL: "At $4 a month, you really can't afford not to be on something." Why that is the funniest thing I've read in a long time, I don't know. But I love it. And I love you, Eric!! I gave you a test in the testing center at BYU one time, and ever since then I have read your articles with pride. Thanks for another great one.
mondo cool says:
November 17, 2009 at 3:46 pm
I've worked in the mental health field for about 14 years now. The biggest temptation is to use the condition as the "perfect excuse" to avoid all responsibility for one's actions. ("It doesn't make things any better but I get a lot less grief," said one patient.)

Eric, you're somewhat of a hero in that you do not succumb. Thank you. Your story is a great prize to those of us in the field.
bookworm says:
November 17, 2009 at 4:18 pm
Thank you for writing this. I wanted to point out, also, though, that depression is different for each person who experiences it. While you responded very quickly (relatively speaking) to your drug, it is not always that way. But you have more guts than I do.

Also, the pictures of the hanging Eeyore and the how to cut made me shudder. Morbidly funny.
Grace Chumley says:
November 18, 2009 at 1:14 am
Thanks for the good read. My husband wasn't so lucky and didn't survive his last depressed state. Now I have to deal with a daughter that suffers and they are completely different on how they deal with depression. I posted your link on my blog so people could better understand from the suffers point of view. Thanks again.

www.chumleyfamily.blogspot.com
Inside Grace's Mind - Surviving After A Suicide
TashaKay says:
November 18, 2009 at 3:30 am
Eric, I've been a fan of yours ever since our BYU student teacher in AP English read your Titanic column to us and I was brutally mocked for having seen the movie more than twice. (My dates paid for the movie, not me ... doesn't that make me less pathetic?) Anyway, keep up the good work. I always check your letter grade of a movie before I decide to go, and really, really enjoy your reviews and style of humor.

Eeyore picture = extremely disturbing, but I laughed anyway ...
Jenny says:
November 18, 2009 at 5:08 pm
Just as awful as having red hair?!?!

Eric!!! I've been a rapid fan since I fell in love with your Hannah Montana review ... and I'm crushed! :(

Jenny :)
Kristen says:
November 19, 2009 at 9:44 am
Thanks for this.
JeremyB says:
November 19, 2009 at 12:04 pm
Eric,

I'm glad this chapter in your life's story seems to have had a happy ending.

You wrote:

"Someone in the throes of a crippling mental disorder should not have to worry, on top of everything else, about how he's going to obtain and pay for his treatment. And that's all I have to say about that."

I am actually very interested in what else you would say about that. I really appreciated your take on the gay marriage issue, and the current health care issue seems just as, if not more, divisive.

(Man, I hope I used those commas correctly.)
Side Show Rob says:
November 19, 2009 at 4:16 pm
Natural red hair is a curse. You don't tan, you burn. You get called every name in the book, not just as a kid, but your entire life! All the old ladies say "Look at that beautiful red hair!" You have a temper. You're often kind of odd (due to the skin burn, a complex due to name calling, and thinking the only people who think you're cute are the gray haired old ladies!).

My wife wanted to have a red headed child, but to my joy, we don't have any.

There's a reason red hair is recessive and humanity will one day be rid of the ruddy scourge.
Eric Herman says:
November 20, 2009 at 12:29 am
Thanks for sharing that, Eric. I'm really glad you're doing better now!
Ron Hayes says:
November 20, 2009 at 1:04 pm
A true master of comedy is able to take a gut-wrenching situation, find great comedy in it and tell the story without denigrating the serious nature of the situation. I believe all the comments here supply ample proof that you did just that. Thanks for sharing in a way that made us all both understand and laugh at the same time. Pure genius!
Jessica White says:
November 20, 2009 at 2:32 pm
Thanks for writing this article. I've been in the midst of depression since high school and have never found my drug of choice, despite many, many, MANY hours in my city's version of the Clinic for the Poor and Crazy (as my husband says, "If you weren't depressed when you walked in, you are now!") Despite all this, I've tried, somewhat successfully, to have a sense of humor about the whole thing, and I'm glad that you did it so much more successfully that me. Gives me some hope, I suppose. Also, I guess that you are probably right about society being more open and believing of depression, but I still feel completely alone in my troubles, even though I am not. Where is everyone? I can't get anyone to 'fess up to ever having a problem. I think it still has a great amount of stigma attached to it.
Lisa Crockett says:
November 23, 2009 at 2:59 pm
Eric,

Thanks so much for this post -- the world has missed you!!! Your writing has been the bright spot in an otherwise dark world for me more than once. God bless you.
Stewie says:
November 23, 2009 at 4:55 pm
I'm glad your new medication is working, that you're taking it, and that you were smart enough to get help.

My husband has bipolar, depressive type, and goes through those depressive cycles fairly frequently. During one of the worst he's had, we ended up at a similar clinic locally. They referred us to doctors who actually take our insurance, called right then and made appointments for us, and sent us on our way. He's finally found a medication at a dosage that works for him after *three years* of searching and has been on it for 4 months.

Fortunately, the stigma attached to mental illness is going away, though his boss found out he was bipolar and said, "Take your meds, and just don't kill me." He was only partly kidding.
Myself says:
November 24, 2009 at 8:47 am
I feel like that a lot, suicidal thoughts and days spent crying included. It runs in my family, but I don't want to admit I have a problem. I don't know if your article will change that, but it's nice to know someone else has felt the way I do.

Have a nice day Eric.
Jordan says:
November 25, 2009 at 1:00 am
I know what it's like to feel that way. My depression only hit me once during a really challenging time in my life, but it was crippling. I also have ADD, which can be hard to deal with all the stereotypes associated with it.

I'm glad you made it through! And I'm glad you're willing to share your story with us. Thanks Eric!
Aaron says:
November 30, 2009 at 1:04 am
Two weeks ago I wrote down a web address off the TV for depression. Two hours ago after I got home from work and after searching that site I found your story. It really made me think about trying to find a way to feel better. There is no reason why a 36 year old guy thats been married for 15 years to a wife that says she loves him and have a 12 year old kid with another on the way feel so worthless and cry 3 or 4 times a week.

Thanks for putting your expressions out there. I've never commented online before.
knightmare says:
November 30, 2009 at 3:14 pm
I wish I could say that I had the same sort of well-wishing and understanding sent my way. Unfortunately, my two `best` friends were less than sympathetic or empathetic. One told me she `didn`t have time` for depression and I should just get over it. The other told me she had a friend with `real`problems--her husband was fooling around overseas-the implication being, of course, that my depression isn`t a real problem.

They both seemed surprised when I turned my back and walked away a little over a year ago.

I`m glad you`re feeling better, and it`s great to have you back, making us laugh.
Lindsay says:
December 8, 2009 at 12:03 pm
Depression sucks! My anti-depressent quit working about a month ago and my dosage was upped again and I'm thinking it isn't doing the job anymore.

Thanks for being upfront about being depressed. I think more people need to talk about it so people learn it's not just something you can get over.
Sarah says:
December 14, 2009 at 10:24 am
Lots of drug companies give medication for free to people who can't afford it. My sister takes Aderall but can't afford it because it's friggin expensive, so she called them and they gave her vouchers for free medication. So that's an option if you ever find yourself not able to afford medication.
jo says:
January 2, 2010 at 3:31 am
probably shouldn't have read this at 3am, but wow, momma snider has me sobbing over here.
John D says:
March 9, 2010 at 6:26 pm
I've had issues with depression, though I've never been put on medication for it. It's nice to be reminded that I'm not the only one with these problems.

Here's hoping your new meds do their job for a long time. You're a great writer and a funny guy, and I love your columns and reviews. Keep up the good work.
D-money says:
July 27, 2010 at 8:09 am
Eric, great writing. I also discovered you as a freshman at BYU and was so addicted (literally) that when I went on my mission I had my girlfriend cut out the article each week and mail it to me. Then, when I came home I discovered your articles had been compiled into books and it was like manna from heaven (or somewhere pretty close to it). Now it's been 10 years and a friend of mine told me you wrote movie reviews and I had to check it out. I really can't overstate how much I enjoy your writing style. It's pure genius. Thanks for the laughs. I'm going to tell my brother about your site and this article as he too suffers from depression and has gone through quite a few drugs with mixed results. He has a good sense of humor when he's feeling good and I know he'll appreciate this. Thanks.
Standsmom says:
August 26, 2011 at 4:40 pm
Eric, my friend directed me to your site and your articles on depression, since I just had my crash into my own Great Depression a few days ago. Now currently trying to deal with the depression and the weird side effects of a new drug. Thank you for being so real about it.

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Eric D. Snider