In 2014, comedian, musician, podcaster and Nashvillian Chris Crofton asked the Scene for an advice column, so we gave him one. Crowning himself the “Advice King,” Crofton shares his hard-won wisdom with whoever seeks it. Follow Crofton on Twitter and Instagram (@thecroftonshow), and check out his The Advice King Anthology and Cold Brew Got Me Like podcast. To submit a question for the Advice King, email bestofbread@gmail.com.
Dear Advice King,
I have treatment-resistant depression. I’ve heard you talk about ketamine therapy on your podcast. Is it helpful?
—Chuck in Nashville
Hi Chuck! First of all, I'm not a doctor. I'm an alcoholic. You should get your medical advice from a doctor. Not an advice columnist.
But the short answer is yes.
However, at this very moment, I am exhausted from it. I have two sessions a week after work. They happen in a medical facility in an office park near downtown Nashville. The ketamine is delivered through a nasal spray. The brand name for the spray is “Spravato.” It feels like a short, fairly mild hallucinogenic mushroom trip. If you’ve never done mushrooms, then I would compare it to being very high on marijuana — more of a “body high” than a cerebral one. But there is a cerebral aspect. When I say “cerebral aspect,” I mean ... you have “stoned thoughts” — i.e., little epiphanies, insights. For example, during one session I realized how dystopian the term “office park” is. Not being on ketamine, I’d never thought twice about it. On ketamine, I got very worked-up about it: “Office park? OFFICE PARK?! WHAT THE FUCK?!”
How do we remain hopeful while the people in power in America insult immigrants and call the poor 'parasites'?
It only takes two hours to go “up” and come back “down.” But it is draining. And doing two treatments a week while working full-time is making it hard for me to do anything else besides those two things.
So here are some excerpts from my ketamine diary. (I haven’t really kept a ketamine diary, but that’s gonna be the format.)
1: I have determined that the ketamine nasal spray is called “Spravato” because they combined the word “spray” with the word “bravado.” Imagine the atmosphere in the boardroom when they revealed it on the whiteboard. I pictured the amazing scene in Brain Candy where they name Gleemonex.
2: During my first session I freaked out. I have been sober for years, and haven’t taken psychedelics since 1992. In case you were wondering why I stopped taking psychedelics in 1992, it’s because I freaked out. The medical attendants were very nice. They took my blood pressure while I told them about my entire childhood. They gave me a stress ball to squeeze. I freaked out every time during the first few sessions, and each time different people took my blood pressure, and each time I told them about my entire childhood while they did it.
The second time I was freaking out, THE LADY FROM THE FRONT DESK took my blood pressure, and before I let her know about my entire childhood I said, “No offense, but aren’t you the lady from the front desk?” She said, good naturedly, “They got me bouncing around!” It turns out the private-equity “understaff, underpay and deliver the savings to the shareholders” model applies to ketamine therapy as well as everything else, because ... of course it does. After the session was over, I made sure to let her know that I wasn’t trying to be a jerk, it was just that I thought I was going to die (and my blood pressure was quite high — 180 over 100), and I wanted to make sure she was a medical professional of some sort (she was). The “bouncing around” that results from the garden-variety private-equity understaffing does give American ketamine therapy a “tripping at Jiffy Lube” feel. But that's not the fault of the employees. I mean that. They have done their best to make me feel safe. Many people’s blood pressure goes up dramatically during treatment. Mine hasn’t gone that high often, and since I’ve gotten more used to the drug, it stays nearly normal. That being said, the woman you see blowing leaves in the parking lot? That’s the director of psychiatry. They got her bouncing around.
3: I’ve had depression since my late teens. It’s a terrible disease, because lots of people don’t believe it’s real — including me. I’ll blame myself, and call myself names all day in my head. I use words like “lazy” and “bootstraps.”
4: Sometimes — especially now, during this “empathy is for losers” iteration of fascism — diseases are treated as novel opportunities to bully someone. Stuff like, “I don’t like getting up in the morning either! But I still do it!” Not helpful. To either party.
5: It’s easy to convince a healthy person that they don’t need health insurance. Everything seems like fraud, waste and abuse to an arrogant young man.
Mindfulness is no substitute for a middle class. Meditation doesn’t work as a co-pay.
6: There isn’t enough ketamine in the world to make you forget about the innocent people being kidnapped by masked men when they show up for their immigration hearings. The goddamn due process that they are supposed to be GUARANTEED. Due process is the only thing that distinguishes humans from a pack of hyenas.
7: Horses have the right idea, though: ivermectin, ketamine, blinders — I’m strapping on a bag of oats and a huge wig to see if it makes the coup go away. See you at the track!
P.S. The wig is the mane. THE WIG IS THE MANE.
8: I have been on Zoloft for more than 20 years. It has major side effects. The energy I have gotten from these six weeks of ketamine treatments has enabled me to reduce my Zoloft prescription by 50 milligrams — under a doctor’s supervision. Let me reiterate: under a doctor’s supervision. I’m still taking 100 milligrams a day. But ketamine has changed me, and given me hope that someday I might not have to take an SSRI and deal with its debilitating side effects. But if the ketamine stops working, I will happily keep taking Zoloft. I am grateful for mental health treatment in general. I realize it is a luxury in this country. IT SHOULDN’T BE. WE ARE ALL CRAZY. We need to care for each other.
