Reverend Stang, talking about the effects of withdrawl, which extrapolate nicely also to clinical depression, stress-related clinical depression, and other such unpleasant beasts. It was fascinating and useful, so I've posted some pertinent bits here. Original rant in its entirety is here: for your perusal; it's got specific Sub-Geniusy things, and some extras about what he was up to that week of 1997.

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PRAISE "BOB" I'M DEPRESSED

However, yesterday somebody said to me, in the middle of my screaming, "To tell the truth, man, you actually sound like you're crazy right now. Like you've lost your mind."

A little while later, as I was replaying every word in that conversation from memory, searching for backmasked between-the-lines unspoken clues as to how badly they were secretly shafting me, which sort of thing I had been discovering EVERYWHERE lately, that one phrase bubbled up. "You sound like you're crazy."

AND IT WAS THE FIRST THING I'D HEARD OR CONSIDERED IN DAYS THAT ACTUALLY MADE SENSE. It seemed it just might explain... a LOT.

Suddenly realizing that you have been depressed, in the clinical sense, the classic sense, not just the usual SubGenius hate-the-Pinks alarm-clock and drive-to-work, depression, but the real thing -- suddenly realizing that you're just plain NUTS can be a JOYOUS MOMENT INDEED. It means that you ARE crazy, and They're NOT out to get you! A refreshing reversal of the usual (and often no less valid) SubGenius outlook.

That I might be insane seemed, well, SANE. I did, after all, stop smoking 3.5 weeks ago, which was like self-amputating an arm. We're talking one of the meanest, most vicious, most deeply entrenched death-wish cig habits you will ever HEAR of.



You cannot know what depression, in its clinical sense, IS, really, unless you've both HAD it, and gotten OVER it, or else dealt very closely with someone who has. The Catch 22 of depression, is that you literally CANNOT pull yourself out of it. By definition. That's what it IS. Smoking, hell, I got myself into it, I can get myself out, or not. Depression isn't like that. It's bad brain, bad chemistry. You sometimes need replacement chemicals to oil the stuck-shut hinges on the Mental Slack Shack door, and you need psychological support to get the door cracked open again at ALL.

I am a big believer in antidepressants combined with counselling. For some people. The counselling doesn't have to last forever necessarily but the pills might. The pills are fucking MIRACLE DRUGS, in my opinion. In the old days they frequently didn't work or even did damage, but more and more I'm seeing people who REALLY ARE FAR BETTER, but without losing any of their 'spunk' or "righteous SubGenius Hate" or creativity or anything; indeed, all that improves. They regained their ability to HAVE FUN again.

I am not saying that Conspiracy Mental Health Programs are suddenly DOBBS APPROVED now. I'm saying if some pill can fix you, TAKE THE DAMN PILL! If somebody trained to circumvent your self-deluding bullshit can actually DO that, then LET THE INSURANCE COMPANY PAY 'EM TO DO IT!

If you need 5 bags of Habafropzipulops a week to keep from becoming a serial killer, BUY THE FROP AND LIVE OFF DOGFOOD!

When I started to suspect that I might be crazy, crazier than everybody else I was dealing with anyway, I started a list. Of SYMPTOMS. Just a little ways in, I could see it. It was just TOO OBVIOUS to deny. I wasn't JUST having a bit of a nicotine fit. I was also looking at a textbook description of depression.

THINGS TO EXPECT WHEN YOU QUIT SMOKING

1st Week

LOSING THINGS: common objects like keys, wallets, appointment books, jackets, Fropcans, lists of passwords. Imagine picking up a tape deck, getting distracted, putting it down, spending 10 minutes LOOKING FOR A LARGE TAPE DECK in a SMALL ROOM.

GETTING LOST WHILE DRIVING IN VERY FAMILIAR PLACES because nothing looks familiar. I missed the SAME EXIT twice running one day. And did it again two days later.

FORGETTING WHAT YOU JUST GOT UP TO DO. All SubGenii are absent minded to some extent, going to another room to fetch something and then forgetting what it was. Professional froppers even more so, but we overcompensate for short term memory loss by keeping careful notes and schedules. The Secondary Memory notes are of NO HELP when you forget what you were doing EVERY THREE FOOTSTEPS.

SEVERELY SCREWING UP THINGS NORMALLY DONE ON AUTOPILOT.
I dub Hours of Slack. I flip tapes when I cross the room. Have done that for 10 years. Yesterday I recorded side one on one tape, side two on another tape, and kept doing that for 3 sets before I realized it.

Inability to distinguish right from left without long and careful study.

2nd Week

Subtle insanity creeps in. The act of thinking, "That was EASY!" triggers it.

Repeating yourself in conversation -- or, THINKING you'd be repeating yourself, and thus never actually saying anything to begin with.

Inability to hear anything said to you the first TWO times.

Ability to read 30 pages in a novel without any comprehension whatsoever. Reading the same paragraph 6 or 7 times.

Even though you can't remember what you did 5 minutes ago, you can vividly recall every broken or forgotten promise ever made to you since childhood, every small slight or insult, especially by close friends. Perfect recollection of everything ever borrowed but not returned; inability to see best friends as much better than common thieves. Interminable mulling and moping.

Vividly imagining painful and unfair arguments, down to every nuance and detail. Perfect, photographic recollection of completely imaginary fights.

A tendency to laugh off cigarets, yet become hideously bitter about everything else... for 5 minutes to an hour at a time. Then, a favorite tune plays on the radio and suddenly everything is fine for awhile, until the next frothing suicidal rage.

Calling people by other people's names. Transposing important phone numbers and addresses.

Physical clumsiness. Greatly increased sex drive. Greatly reduced sex drive. Completely confused, right off the road and crashed into a tree sex drive.

3rd Week

Mistaking vividly imagined arguments and painful scenes for actual events that really happened. And holding grudges for them.

Looking for incredibly creative work done in the computer the night before, and then realizing that you only DREAMED that you did that amazing work. (Nicotine patches cause heavy dreaming because you're jazzed all night long.)

Fretting and fuming for 5 hours a night, sleeping for 3.

Inability to remember anything good ever happening to anyone except those you most envy.

Inability to accept the existence of anything good even when it's being shoved in your face.

Suddenly conviction that you have been KIDDING YOURSELF during all previous times of happiness. Screaming to self, "All this time I've been a SAP!!! A CHUMP!! ONLY NOW can I finally see the BITTER TRUTH I was hiding from myself. How LUDICROUSLY, PATHETICALLY NAIVE I was. How EASILY HOODWINKED. Oh, I know now that they've all been LAUGHING at me behind my back this whole time and I was too much of a TRUSTING FOOL to SEE it." Etc. ad infinitum.

Any single statement that might be construed as less than HIGHLY FLATTERING, interpretted as a snide insult. Reading between the lines of the most innocuous pleasantries and personality quirks, and finding EVER MORE PROOF of a general unspoken conspiracy against you. Seeing everyone else as venomously jealous while displaying the most venomous jealousy.

Setting conversations up with such evil Moriarty-like twisted logic that no reply anyone makes could be taken as anything BUT total betrayal, or at best the most callous insensitivity.

Forcing arguments and ultimatums over inconsequential things, insisting that they have taken on undeniable symbolic significance. Screaming on the phone. Hanging up on people.

Extreme time distortion. Mulling and festering over how that person borrowed this thing you now desperately need, WEEKS ago, and despite your weeks of reminders, they TAUNT you with procrastination and excuses, and never give it back. You happen to notice that in reality it has only been four days, and you never DID ask for it back, but then you find some other reason to be pissed off.

Screaming the most vulgar, childish insults at your boss, quitting your job, telling your spouse it's ALL OVER FOREVER, writing inforgiveably nasty letters and THEN SENDING THEM, etc. etc. etc. ...

***

and somewhere in there, if you're REALLY LUCKY, somebody says "Seriously, you sound CRAZY," and something clicks, and it sinks in, and it's... well, it ain't exactly over, but at least you can CRY again, breath freely again and holler out:

PRAISE "BOB," IT WAS ONLY SEVERE DEPRESSION, DRUG WITHDRAWAL and BORDERLINE SCHIZOPHRENIA!!

And that IS a gigantic relief. If it happens on New Year's Eve, IT'S A WONDERFUL LIFE.

'Cause there are pills and tricks that'll help cure all but the borderline schizophrenia, and if you're a SubGenius you probably want to keep that. And I dunno about you, but as much as Normals disgust me, SHIT... forgot what I was saying. OH! It was that, fuck... what was it... OH YEAH... as much as Normals disappoint me, I'd still rather think that it was me being an asshole than that LITERALLY EVERYBODY ELSE is one. Because I can DO something about ME.

So far, knowing I'm crazy seems (SEEMS!) to be keeping me "sane." I can probably keep the lid on... at least, until the THIRD MONTH!!!

I type all this mainly to get it out of my system and hopefully to pep-talk and WARN the next poor bastard of some hidden dangers I found. I figure if what, 10% of Americans smoke, 20% of SubGeniuses do or have. That means a fifth of you can sympathize and maybe even gain a useful tip or two. No, you aren't alone, and YES, you ARE CRAZY. The Conspiracy REALLY IS to blame, but only you can exercise the Slackify your Fate, THEY WON'T, and someday you'll quit just TALKING about it, and QUIT. And perhaps go TOTALLY FUCKING NUTS like I have.

There is nothing in Dobbs' Word that prohibits self pollution of any kind. Rather, Strength Through Disfigurement is preached -- that one might need to IMMUNIZE oneself against a toxic environment by GRABBING THE BULL BY THE HORNS, so to speak. I swear that I will never act like the "former smoker," that most vile of hypocrites. I shall strive to remain nonjudgemental about the drugs I no longer consume like a fiend.

But that's not the point. Also the point is not that I want you miserable wretches to call me up for "counselling," or to counsel me. The point is, by definition you can't know when you're depressed, so it sneaks up on you, and the Tobacco Demons can use Sudden Adult Clinical Depression Syndrome as a weapon... so watch out. THAT'S the point."