The Lonely Disease

By Adam Duritz

Counting Crows front man Adam Duritz reveals how he battled a debilitating mental disorder to record the best music of his career--and reclaim his life

It all fell apart within a span of 5 minutes, with one phone call and one text message. Of course there was the long downward slope leading to that moment, but I see that now only in retrospect.

The date was March 28, 2004. We'd had a gig in Perth the night before, the first of a tour that would take us across Australia. That morning, I received a call from a relative in America who told me that my grandmother had died. Minutes later, I got a text from the girl I was in love with, saying, basically, "We've been around and around and I'm moving on with my life. You need to get on with yours."

I was my grandmother's firstborn grandchild. We were really close. But I hadn't visited her in more than 5 years. I was on the road all the time, so I had a lot of excuses. And even when she died, I still wouldn't be there. I had gigs. I wasn't there when my sister's twins were born 3 months early and almost didn't make it. Again, I had gigs. I've missed many things in my life because so many people's jobs depend on me being there. That, and because of a much darker problem I was facing.

So I'm talking to a friend about the funeral. "It's such a shame I can't go because I have to fly to Adelaide today," I say.

My friend says, "Dude, you are turning into such an jerk."

"What?" I say. I'm dumbfounded.

"Let's see," he says, "your mother's mother died and you lost the girl you love. When are you going to learn a lesson here? You have completely lost the plot. You've turned into such an jerk."

The jerk still flew to Adelaide later that day. The hotel gave me this weird penthouse room with sliding glass doors and a balcony surrounding it. That night, a massive thunderstorm swept through the city. I had all the doors open so I felt like I was hanging in the middle of it, 30 stories up, with lightning ripping all around me. I sat up all night. About 4 in the morning I called a travel agent and said, "I need to fly to Baltimore by this time tomorrow. Whatever you have to do, find a way."

Then I called my tour manager and said, "I'm leaving."Distance has always been a big thing for me. Not just physical distance, but emotional distance as well. By the time I reached Baltimore (15 minutes late for a funeral at which I was a pallbearer), I'd decided that I had completely lost touch with reality--and that I needed help.