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Facing Down a Fear

One thing I’ve become somewhat obsessed with in my recovery is facing down specific fears. Public speaking is one example. Now I do that often and with ease. Today I scratched something else off the list.

Mood music:

[youtube=http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=i1Sypr3mF44&fs=1&hl=en_US]

I’m in Toronto for the SecTor security conference, and before buckling down to work I took a couple hours to walk around and clear my head. Looking up, I saw the tip of the CN Tower, which looks a bit like Seattle’s Space Needle. It looked like a short walk, so off I went.

Now, I wouldn’t say one of my biggest fears was height. I remember going to the top of the World Trade Center in NYC 17 years before terrorists tore it down. That was before my fears came to the service as an adult.

But being up high was something that gave me pause. It used to be that the thought of having to go on an airplane would send me into an anxiety attack.

I’ve also been to the top of the Empire State Building, but that’s a wide enough structure that I could handle it.

But the CN Tower would have scared me away a few years ago. Something about its needle-like structure shooting straight up to the heavens would scare me. Given the thinness of it, I wouldn’t feel as secure as I’d be atop a wider building.

True story: In 2007 during one of the Black Hat conferences in Las Vegas, I was walking around with friend and former colleague Rob Westervelt when we saw the much smaller replica of the Space Needle. Rob wanted to go up. I didn’t, but I kept it to myself.

As we got closer, my anxiety level rose. I managed to talk Rob into doing something else. When Rob reads this, it’ll be his first inkling that I was having an anxiety attack. He shouldn’t worry about it, but he will anyway.

So this morning I decided to vanquish this fear and up I went. It’s truly beautiful up there. It’s stupid to think I used to fear such stunning vistas.

It’s funny when I look back at the last year and all the old fears I’ve smashed into rubble.

Fear of public speaking? I do it all the time now, for work, for my 12-Step meetings, at church and on the recent Cursillo I was on team for.

Flying? I do that all the time now, too. And I love looking out the window and seeing the vast world below me, with sun, clouds and sky mixing into colors that are downright heavenly.

I also used to have fear grip me at the thought of work or family gatherings.

Long road trips used to paralyze me with anxiety. I always had a fear of getting lost and never finding my way back.

This year I’ve taken the whole family on the  five-state drive down to Washington DC — twice. The first time, we got a private tour of the White House West Wing for our efforts. That’s a rare experience that fear will deny you.

I still have my fears. They just don’t control me anymore.

And every time I do something small like climbing a tall structure, the fear loses a little more of that grip.

Life doesn’t suck. Seize it.

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My OCD is Alive and Well

Packing for a trip to Toronto, I caught myself doing some very OCD-like things. Even in recovery, it’s always there, below the surface. Here are a few examples.

Mood music:

What I did: I checked all the contents in my laptop bag last night. Three times. I took the laptop out and put it back in three times. I checked my digital recorder three times. I thrice checked to make sure the bottle of Prozac was where it’s supposed to be.

How it’s better than it used to be: Back in the day, I would check everything too many times to count. I would remove EVERYTHING from the bag and put it back in, then repeat the process up to 10 times. I left work late many times because I wasted time on this sort of thing.

What I did: I obsessively took care of house chores to make life easier on Erin. I took out the trash, made the kids’ lunches, carried down a basket of laundry, and went around the living room picking up toys and making sure everything was just so.

How it’s better than it used to be: In addition to doing these things, I used to pace around worrying about everything to do with the travel: Whether I’d get to the plane on time, whether the plane would get me to my destination without crashing, and whether I would measure up to the work task before me. That was the fear and anxiety eating at me.

This time, the stuff I did was useful and I didn’t worry about the rest. Now I don’t give a thought to the airport stuff. I just go to the airport and smoothly go through security and find my coffee. Instead of freaking out over lines, I’m more relaxed, talking to people in line and even enjoying their company.

I don’t obsessively review the schedule for whatever conference I’m going to. Now I look it over once and then play things by ear once there. I always get at least two stories and two podcasts done, and I don’t get sick to my stomach about getting it done. I just do it and I LOVE it.

The lesson of this post is that the mental ticks never go away entirely. And that’s OK.

Now when I catch myself in the act, I laugh at myself and move on. It’s a gift to be able to do that.

The real damaging, time-wasting and binge-inducing stuff is gone. What’s left I can handle. 

People who seek treatment for their struggles tend to go looking for the Happily Ever After. You’ll figure it out and never worry about anything again.

The thing is, that’s a bullshit notion. You’re not supposed to go through life without a care in the world.

The lessons continue.

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Out of the Closet, Into the Light

My kid sister-in-law told me a friend of hers has admitted to some hefty demons. I won’t mention the person’s name (I don’t know her, actually), but I know where she’s been.

Mood music:

[spotify:track:5F6rwEF15hN1jnhNk2YQHn]

This is a little message for her friend, in the event she someday stumbles upon this blog:

Outing yourself is a hard thing to do. When I did it, I was terrified at first because I thought my mental struggles would be used to define who I was. It gave me an appreciation for what it must be like when a gay person comes out of the closet.

I felt weird around my family at first. Ill at ease might be the best way to describe the feeling. I’m sure they felt the same. That I had OCD and related addictive behavior didn’t surprise them much. As my sister-in-law will tell you, I’ve always had an abundance of strange behaviors.

The people I work with were most surprised. I guess I did a good job of fooling them back in the day. But they have never defined me or treated me differently over what I’ve opened up about. I get the same fair shake as everyone else.

Since people keep their demons hidden for fear of bad treatment at work, it was an eye opener for me when I got nothing but support for coming out with it.

After awhile, it’ll be like that with your friends. They’ll appreciate you more, and they’ll be grateful that you came clean. Some of them will learn from your example, even though they may not know they need it yet.

I understand one of your problems is compulsive lying. There’s no need to feel like a freak over this, because everyone with mental health struggles and addictions lies. I certainly have. Hell, I’ve never met a so-called normal person that hasn’t lied. It’s not something to be proud of or accept. Lies imprison us and make our troubles deeper. But when we can stop living the lie, there’s a new peace and freedom that’s very powerful and hard to describe.

When I decided to stop living lies, I felt 100 pounds lighter. Physical pains went away.

I understand you are looking at taking medication. I take Prozac and it works. But I’m convinced it works as well as it does because I went through years of hard therapy as well. That’s the most important thing you can do: Find the right therapist to talk to. Therapy will provide you with mental coping tools that will make you stronger. By that point, medication becomes the mop that wipes away the remaining baggage.

Things may get worse before they get better. When you start dealing with this stuff, you find yourself learning how to behave all over again. You will still go through periods of depression.

This is when any addictions you may have will tempt you. Fight it at all costs. I didn’t at first. I completely gave in to my addictive behavior and I paid dearly for it. Even if you don’t think you have an addiction, it might be worth considering a 12-Step Program. The tools you learn from that will help you cope with the mental struggles at the heart of your troubles.

Coming clean doesn’t mean you get to live happily ever after. But happily ever after has always been a bullshit myth. But you will have an easier time dealing with the tough times. That may not make sense right now. But it will.

Here’s the thing about one’s demons: When they hide in the dark, out of view, they own you. They’re too powerful to beat.

Opening the door and forcing the sunlight on them is hard as hell. But once you take that step — as you just did — the demons start to shrink. The light always kills demons. They turn to ash and you become a lot bigger than they ever were.

That’s what I’ve learned from my experiences, anyway.

Congratulations on taking that first step. I wish you the very best.

–Bill

 

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Soundtrack of the Week

I’m starting a Saturday tradition. Since music — especially metal — has been a vital tool in my recovery from OCD and addiction, I’m going to celebrate each Saturday by sharing songs that got me through the week. Welcome to my party.

Songs that pulled me through this week:

Let’s start with Zippo Raid. I got a copy of their “Punk is in Season” album at the benefit for Joe Zippo last week and can’t stop playing it. Joe’s lyrics were brilliantly simple — and, in many spots, funny as hell. At least funny to my brand of humor. I went looking for footage of these songs being performed on Youtube but no dice. I did, however, find this:

[youtube=http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Iq-EeudVGVM&fs=1&hl=en_US]

For some strange reason, going to that show last weekend gave me a craving for Sonic Youth, which I listened to constantly during my Rockit Records days. This is one of my faves:

[youtube=http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Dubt7roEtSM&fs=1&hl=en_US]

As a teenager I loved Def Leppard, probably because my brother loved them. And when he died, I started listening to all the music he listened to. In more recent years I’ve found their music to be pretty hit or miss, but this week I came across this, which captures the essence of the Def Leppard I remember:

[youtube=http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=vjW2DB4jIf4&fs=1&hl=en_US]

Not a week goes by where I don’t listen to Sixx A.M. I simply identify with the music too much not to listen at least weekly:

[youtube=http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=SSyMSkbIHiA&fs=1&hl=en_US]

I’ve been listening to Guns N Roses a lot lately, and this song is particularly useful during my more contemplative moments:

[youtube=http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=_FPBi9N9hNc&fs=1&hl=en_US]

And while we’re on the subject, I tripped across this most excellent cover of Cheap Trick’s “Surrender” performed by Velvet Revolver:

[youtube=http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=IgygUiMtvUQ&fs=1&hl=en_US]

Thanks to my friend Donna Swift, I found a few minutes of rapture in this acoustic version of Soundgarden’s “Like a Suicide,” which seemed perfect for yesterday’s “Thank You, Joy” post:

[youtube=http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=NcOXrYXj69I&fs=1&hl=en_US]

And with that, my week is complete.

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Thank You, Joy

This post is about something I should have told someone 14 years ago — a long overdue nod of appreciation.

Mood music:

[spotify:track:13SlzLb33cggKzAeeLONts]

When someone commits suicide, the guilt-stricken survivors obsess about why they didn’t catch on to their loved one’s depression sooner so they could have helped.

That was me after my friend Sean Marley died. I spent the next decade-plus thinking about it. Really, I was just thinking about myself. That’s what addicts do. No matter who we think about, it’s all about us in the end. I had a very long self-pity party.

When we do this, we easily forget that there was someone spending day and night with the depressed soul, trying everything to save him. When the battle is lost, we smother that person and swear to be there for them always. Then we move on and forget that promise. Sometimes that’s a good thing, because nobody benefits from being smothered.

Sean’s wife, Joy, put everything she had into helping him.

And I never thanked her for it.

She was there with him day and night, holding him through every agonizing moment. She did everything to keep his spirits up. It didn’t work in the end, but she did her best.

I first met Joy 19 years ago. Sean had just severed what I thought was a poisonous relationship, and when he told me he was seeing this girl Joy, my eyes rolled into the back of my head. Here we go, I thought: Another fucked-up pairing.

Me and Sean, summer of 1989

It was nothing of the sort.

From the moment I met her, Joy was true to her name. She always made you feel good about yourself and treated you like an old friend even if she didn’t really know you.

She married Sean in 1994, knowing he had a sickness brewing inside. It didn’t matter. Love won out. I was best man, though they could have done far better with someone else in that role.

I was so self-absorbed that day, obsessing about the toast the best man is supposed to give, that I forgot the glass of champagne. The room stared back at me, puzzled. It was more of a speech than a toast, and a bad one at that. 

I didn’t trick out their car with the “Just Married” stuff, either.

I was an ass.

Fast-forward to the present. Thankfully, Joy found someone else to love and remarried. She has three kids and you can tell how much love she pours into them.

Her parents knew what they were doing when they picked that name.

This post is my way of saying what I should have said in November of 1996.

Thank you, Joy.

I’ll never forget the sacrifices you made to get Sean through his pain.

If you, readers, know of anyone who lost a significant other to the illness of depression, take a few moments and thank them, too.

They were there when you couldn’t be.

Instead of feeling bad about that, just feel grateful.

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Things My Kids Say

When life gets you down and you feel like shutting out the world, a child’s perspective will always give you a mental boost. That’s what Sean and Duncan have taught me.

They also know how to trigger my OCD-isms,  but I’ve covered that already. This post is all about their spirit-lifting wisdom. (Guest appearance by their cousin Madison.)

–Heard in the bathroom: Sean singing to no one in particular, “Your butt’s too big to be real…”

–Me: “I missed you Sean. I love you.” Sean, staring intently at the drawing he’s working on as I tell him this: “Dad, go get me a pencil”

–Sean, grousing about his loose pants: “This is ridiculous. If Eve didn’t eat that stupid apple, I wouldn’t have to worry about pants!”

–Duncan on the passing of Father Nason: “It’s really sad for us, but it’s really good for him, cause now he can have fun.”

–Sean, unhappy that I’m making him and Duncan pick up their toys, has declared me “pure evil.” Accoring to Duncan, I’m just being stupid.

–Duncan finally gets it! He told Sean: “You don’t get to boss me around. Only Dad gets to boss me around, so take that!”

–One of Sean and Duncan’s friends, wowed that Sean has read the first 3 Harry Potter books, has named him “The Manly King of Reading.”

–Sean: “Dad, are you working or fooling around?” Me: “Working.” Sean, looking at my screen: “Working on Facebook and Tweetdeck? I don’t think so.”

–Me: “You’re a good kid, Duncan. I’m proud of you.” Duncan’s response: *rolls eyes* “Go away, Dad. You’re spoiling my fun.”

–Sean, explaining The Prodigal Son to Duncan: “If there were a third brother, he would have just sat there chilling out, taking it all in.”

–Casually uttered from the mouth of Duncan as he walks by, strumming his severely out-of-tune guitar: “Nobody puts Baby on the shelf…”

–Sean-ism of the morning: I learned Australian in second grade. It’s my second language.

–Sean-ism of the morning: “I learned Australian in second grade. It’s my second language.”

–Sean, exasperated that Duncan is running around sans pants: “For Pete’s sake, Duncan! You’re a lot of work.”

–Sept. 23, 2010: I feel a strange sense of satisfaction for a Dad who was just informed by his oldest that “You are ruining my life.”

–Sean asks Cousin Madison: “Who’s your favorite cousin?” Madison, without hesitation: “Duncan!”

–Sept. 17, 2010: Madison, who slept over last night, thinks it’s hilarious when Uncle Bill burps. In other news, Duncan is teaching her his “Big Butt” song.

–Sept. 10, 2010: Sean says I’m too bossy. Since I’m feeling blah, I think I’ll go make myself feel better by bossing him around some more.

–3 days into the school year, Sean announces that he has 4th grade “licked.” Boy is he in for a reality check.

–Sean: “Babies come out the you-know-what” Duncan: “Gross. Why’s that?” Sean: “That’s just the way life works.”

–Me to Madison, the 2-year-old niece: “You’re so stinkin’ cute.” The niece: “Yes. I am.”

–Sean wants to study “Australian as a second language.”

–Meanwhile, Duncan likes the British because instead of missile, they say “Mis-Isle”

–Duncan, puzzled to learn that Darth Vader killed the Emperor in “Return of the Jedi”: “Where does he get off killing his own boss?”

–Duncan, catching me with my shirt off: “Really, Dad. Do you have to be such an ape?”

–Duncan, upon learning he’ll be an attendence monitor in class: “Wow, that’s great! And I don’t even know what an attendence monitor is.”

–Sean, in response to me telling him and Duncan to do a chore: “Dad, if you’re trying to annoy us, it’s not working.”

–Me to Sean: “You’re so stinkin’ cute.” Sean to me: “You’re so stinkin’ ugly. No offense.”

–Sean, noticing the Greek Orthodox church we were driving past: “Gee Whiz! I didn’t even know Greek Mythology was still around!”

–Me: “I know, kids, you can fold laundry for my birthday!” Sean: “We’ll do anything for you today. Pause. Sean: So, you’re not joking, are you?”

–Duncan pounced on me, pounded his elbow into my spine and kissed my bald head, telling me he just gave me a “love ambush.”

–Duncan pounced on me, pounded his elbow into my spine and kissed my bald head, telling me he just gave me a “love ambush.”

–Sean, trying to coach Duncan through a Star Wars game online: “Oh, for crying out loud Duncan… USE THE FORCE! USE THE FORCE!”

–The Sean-Duncan Star Wars feud takes a dark, stinky turn: Duncan says Sean keeps calling him Sen. Poopatine and he wants me to punish him.

–Heard from the boys’ bedroom: Sean and Duncan chanting “My head, my butt, my head, my butt…”

–Bathtub chatter: Sean: “Cheese is your favorite food, right Duncan?” Duncan: “Of course.” Sean: “I read they’re gonna stop making it soon.”

–Sean’s take on his grandfather (my father): “I’ll tell you what, Duncan. There is nothing we can’t get him to do.”

–Duncan: “I fell on my butt. Can somebody kiss it?” Me: “I don’t kiss butts. Go ask your mother.”

–Sean, growing impatient with the DC-to-Boston drive: “What state are we in besides a state of confusion?”

–Sean: “Can I have more computer time?” Me: “No.” Sean: “Wow. That was unexpected.”

–Duncan wants you all to know that my jokes are not funny. They are, however, “annoying and stupid.” So I’m telling him some more.

–Aug. 4, 2010: Sean & Duncan are cleaning up the loft because they forgot all about my threat to give ’em chores whenever they complained of being bored.

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One More Thing About Being Depressed and Gay…

A lot of folks have left comments on my post about homosexuality and depression. All of them are excellent, thoughtful responses and I hope you’ll check them out. But there’s one response I’m puzzled over.

Mood music:

[youtube=http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=dOx37_h0UH8&fs=1&hl=en_US]

It came from David Nedlin, operations manager at Beyond the 12 Steps. He left the following comment in the “Mental Health and Addiction Specialist” forum on LinkedIn, where I sometimes post my blog entries: “Ridiculous post – I thought this was a somewhat serious web site.”

Now, I’m familiar with Nedlin’s work with recovering addicts and I have enormous respect for him. I sent him a message asking what his issue is with the post, and for all I know it’s a good reason.

Whatever the reason, his reaction reminded me that I occasionally have to clarify what this blog is about. With that in mind:

–I tackle various issues around mental health and addictive behavior based on MY OWN PERSONAL EXPERIENCES. I am not a medical professional, nor have I ever claimed to be.

–Like anything that’s based on one’s personal impressions, you should never take what I write as Gospel. Everything I write is based on my perceptions, which can be as flawed today as they were a decade ago.

–I figured this would be of service to some people because I reached the point where I can open up about embarrassing things I’ve done, so others may see it and realize they are not freaks and, more importantly, that there is light to be found at the end of the hellhole if you’re willing to walk toward it.

–The subject of homosexuality will always be a charged issue. I dove in because I’ve seen up close the pain friends and relatives experienced before they chose to come out of the closet.

–I also had to address it because it’s something that comes up a lot in my Catholic community. In one of the comments in Saturday’s post, a fellow named Nick put the matter in words that I think come closest to nailing it on the head.

All I know is this: I’m not sorry for tackling the subject, and those who don’t like it don’t have to come here.

One more thing: You’ll notice a lot of people wearing purple ribbons or posting pics of them on Facebook and Twitter. That’s in memory of the six gay boys who committed suicide in recent weeks/months due to homophobic abuse in their homes and at their schools.

If you think harassing someone for their sexual orientation is an example of God’s love, you’re an idiot.

If you dismiss these kids as wasted souls because they committed suicide, I don’t agree. When pain and fear remove your sanity and sense of logic, a mental illness has taken hold and you are more likely to do things you know are wrong. It’s not as simple as going against God. I’ve seen suicide cases up close.

We’re all guilty of going against God at various points in our lives. But some are lucky enough not to get so far away that death is the result.

It’s a tragedy that these kids were pushed over that line.

My prayers are with them and their families, and with anyone who is going through the pain right now.

I’m sorry if this has been a preachy post. But I said what I felt I had to say.

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Maybe People Pleasing’s Not So Dumb After All

One of the more popular posts I’ve written in this blog is about how stupid it is to be a people pleaser. Lately, I’m having a small change of heart.

Mood music:

[youtube=http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=nFl0nlHaWa4&fs=1&hl=en_US]

I still stand behind much of what I said. When it comes to trying to please the overlords of corporate America or the abusive parent in hopes that you won’t get hit again, people pleasing IS futile.

Here’s the dark side of people pleasing — at least from personal experience:

I wanted desperately to make every boss happy, and I did succeed for awhile. But in doing so I damaged myself to the core and came within inches of an emotional breakdown. Actually, looking back, I crossed the threshold and broke down more than once.

It caused me to work 80 hours a week, waking up each morning scared to death that I would fall short or fail altogether.

You know what? No employee ever gets back 100 percent of what they put in from the corporate machine. Sure, you can make your direct bosses happy, but the folks many layers above them in the food chain still won’t know who you are or care that you work 80 hours a week. That doesn’t make them evil. It’s just a reality where it’s impossible to have an intimate understanding of every toil of every employee.

I learned this the hard way at Community Newspaper Company, where the pay was criminally low, and at The Eagle-Tribune, where the pressure on everyone was so intense back then that it was every man and woman for themselves. Some excellent people have worked there, and still do. But we all behave in strange ways when we’re staring down the nose of a gun. I was no different to those below me who wanted to keep me happy with their work efforts. I’m certain I hurt some people along the way.

I wanted to make every family member happy. It didn’t work, because you can never keep everyone happy when strong personalities clash. That’s not a swipe at the family members. It’s just a fact of life.

To this day, my relationship with some family members is on ice. Part of the problem is that I failed to keep them happy and take care of others I needed to be paying attention to. I reached a breaking point that has caused a lot of pain on all sides. I’m not happy about it, but it’s how things have to be right now.

So when did I reach the moment of truth? It’s hard to pinpoint the exact moment. I don’t think there was one defining event. It was just a gradual realization that if I kept trying to please everyone, I wouldn’t be alive much longer. I would have had a complete breakdown and plunged into my addictions until they killed me with a heart attack or a blood clot to the brain. 

To put it another way, this was a simple matter of survival.

If I’m trying to please every boss, friend or family member, I can’t be present for my wife and children. And I certainly can’t be present for God.

That last point is what brings me to this follow-up post. Everything I’ve just said fits my personal truth. But as I live each new day, I start to realize that sometimes IT IS OK TO BE A PEOPLE PLEASER.

I want to please my wife and children because I want them to be happy. I still want to please people at work, but it’s different now. I don’t want them to think I’m the golden boy who can do everything. But I DO want to do the best work I can for readers who need to tap into what we know. And, because I work with so many stellar people, I want to return the favor and be stellar to them. I guess it’s more about paying it forward than people pleasing.

Even with this sense of clarity, I know there are going to be times where I’ll fail at the good kind of people pleasing. And even when the feeling is there, pleasing someone who may deserve your love isn’t the right answer at the time.

I’ll just have to keep trying.

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Cut the Drama, Rage Boy

My old friend Clarence liked the post I wrote about him awhile back and jokingly asked me to write another one. OK, buddy, but you’re not gonna like this one.

Mood music:

[youtube=http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=72rWAe0pUdQ&fs=1&hl=en_US]

Note: I’m keeping your true identity out of this, so your anonymity is preserved.

I meant everything I said in that post. In fact, I cherish your friendship a lot more than I did even then. But you have a special challenge I have a little experience with (a lot of experience, actually). I’ve tried to explain it to you in person and on the phone, but I’m not doing a very good job at it. So I’ll do what I always do in situations like that and put it in the written word.

You carry a lot of rage inside of you. An old priest I used to know described it as Irish Alzheimer’s Disease — you forget everything but the grudges.

You talk a lot about how this friend has betrayed you or that friend is driving you to the point where you want to “rip his f-ing head off.” You describe these verbal rages as “taking moral inventory.”

It’s good to take moral inventory. The problem is that your taking inventory of other people’s morals instead of your own.

Taking inventory is probably not the best way to describe it. I used to have to take inventory of shoes in my father’s warehouse and all it did was bore me and make me do stupid things like chainsmoke and talk trash about others.

I used to spend every waking hour stewing over everyone I felt had wronged me that day, week or year. I call it my angry years. Stewing is an exhausting activity, and nothing good comes of it. Build up enough resentment over time and it’ll eat you alive before you have time to feel the teeth going in.

I had one hell of a temper when I was younger. To call it a byproduct of OCD, depression and addiction would be a stretch, because I think the temper would have been there even without the mental illness.

Some of the more colorful examples of my temper:

– Hurling a fork or steak knife at my brother in a restaurant on New Years Eve 1979 because he made a joke I didn’t like. The more dramatic among my family members say it was a steak knife, though I’m pretty sure it was a fork.

– Lighting things on fire out of anger, including a collection of Star Wars action figures that would probably be worth a fortune today. I would pretend they were kids in school who were bullying me. Never mind that I bullied as much as I got bullied.

–Throwing rocks through windows, especially the condominium building that was built behind my house in the late 1980s.

–Yelling “mood swing!” before throwing things around the room at parties in my basement. It came off as comical, as I intended, and nobody got hurt. But there was definitely an underlying anger to it. I was acting out. 

– Road rage. Tons of it. I was a very angry driver. I would tailgate. I would speed. In the winters I would intentionally spin out my putrid-green 1983 Ford LTD station wagon in parking lots during snowstorms. While in college, I nearly hit another car and flipped off the other driver while my future in-laws sat in the back. Traffic jams would infuriate me. Getting lost would fill me with fear and, in turn, more anger.

I could go on, but you get the picture, Clarence.

You gotta drop the rage because it’ll never make you feel better. It certainly won’t help you deal with the relationships that give you the rage.

Focus on your own betterment instead. You ARE doing that and you’ve made a ton of progress.

But that rage will hold you back from your full potential as a human being, so cut the bullshit and move on.

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Broken Souls, Emotional Breakdowns

I’ve been in a strange place lately. I’m fine and all, but I’ve been around a lot of broken people, and that has an impact on you after awhile.

Mood music:

[youtube=http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=3px0m1Y9Tuc&fs=1&hl=en_US]

I can’t get into the stuff that has brought these friends to the brink, but I can say there’s been a lot of crying. Given my own trouble with tears, it’s rather funny that I’d be in this position. But I’ll do anything for my friends, so it’s all good.

The reason I bring this up is because it reminds me of the emotional breakdowns I’ve suffered over the years. I’ve mentioned before that I’ve hit bottom several times, but the emotional breakdown is a slightly different beast in my eyes. Hitting bottom meant reaching a point of stinging clarity that I couldn’t go on as I was. The emotional breakdown takes it a step further.

I experience powerful anxiety attacks to the point where breathing is a struggle. My chest takes on the feeling of burning rubber, and I’m ready to bawl my eyes out. But as I’ve mentioned before, the bawling doesn’t really happen. I feel it in every way except the tears running down my face.

One of the worst breakdowns was around 2005, the week of Erin’s birthday. I was about six months into some hard-core therapy for OCD (though I was still about a year away from the official diagnosis).

It got so bad I had to call my boss. I know Anne Saita is a special woman because here she was, supervising me at work, and despite all my efforts at being the golden boy with ice-cold blood in the eyes of my bosses, I fell apart on the phone while she was on the other end. I did it calmly. But I did something I had never done before: I had confided in a boss that maybe — just maybe — my issues were going to fuck with my work performance.

I exposed the weakest part of me, and I felt it for days. If you read this, Anne, I just want to thank you again. I will never, ever forget what you did for me.

Going back 20 years, there was another emotional breakdown, and this time I exposed my most raw emotions to Sean Marley. He helped bring me out of it. It’s a painful irony, because six years later I utterly failed to do the same for him.

Last December, when I started this blog, I kind of felt the same rawness. I was starting to spill my guts publicly. And I felt a bit unstable and wobbly.

But in all of these cases, the rawness, the wobbly knees and the shame passed, and each time I came back stronger than before. Not perfect. Not healed for life, but better. 

I just felt the need to mention that to my friends who are hurting. You might feel a little ashamed and embarrassed right now, but it’s good. This stuff happens because you were in need of a good humbling, as I was back then.

Whatever happens with your individual struggles, you will get past what you feel now. And you will be much stronger for whatever happens next.

That’s how it happened with me, at least.