The second annual Joe “Zippo” Kelley benefit is in a little under a month from now. I’ll have much more to write about this as the date gets closer, but for now I’m just going to share this:
You Win Some, You Lose Some
Yup.
Yes, Virginia, There Is A Grinch
Everything about Christmas is infuriating me today. It’s progress, because Christmas once brought out deep feelings of sadness, and I prefer self-righteous fury over sadness.
Still, this is supposed to be a joyful season and I’m trying to find that joy. After all, nobody wants a cranky bastard in the room ruining the party. So I’ve been seeking THE CHRISTMAS SPIRIT, and I must admit the results have been mixed.
One thing that makes me cranky is the music. Erin has this “Rock N Roll” Christmas album she loves to play, but I hate it. Billy Squier and Bon Jovi singing Christmas songs grates on my nerves. So I searched for alternatives. Twisted Sister made a Christmas album, which always amuses me since they are a band of Jewish guys from New York. Check this out:
[spotify:track:4ndDBQGMALpfVUxhz5Ytwj]
That cheers me up a bit. But I also wanted to find some Christmas music that was more serious yet in tune with my heavy metal tastes. Duh, says my friend Dave Marcus. Rob Halford has just such an album. That’s right, Rob Halford, lead vocalist of legendary metal band Judas Priest.
I found some Christmassy warmth in this rendition of “Oh Holy Night” —
In another effort, I turned on all the Christmas lights even though it was the middle of the day. It all looks pretty, but it’s also a lot like the happy lamp I’m supposed to use when the darkness of winter sets in: My brain knows it’s not real sunlight, and that sort of spoils the moment.
I figured going to the Christmas pageant at my kids’ school would put me in the spirit, and it did brighten the mood for me. The kids and their teachers did a wonderful job putting it on. But it was offset by my annoyance at all the parents who get pissy about where you sit at these events because they’re trying to save a bunch of seats for relatives who are running late, like it’s their God-given right to do so.
I finished all the Christmas shopping in record time, but I see all the packages in the garage and know it’s only a matter of time before I have to start wrapping. Boo hoo.
Yeah. I’m just not feeling it. Not the warm and fuzzy stuff, anyway.
But that’s OK.
There are upsides to the downside.
One is that once Christmas Eve and Day arrive, I usually have a pleasant day with family. Maybe it’s a reward for enduring the rest of the season.
Unlike the Christmas seasons of several years ago, I’m not binge-eating my way through December. That’s huge progress, because I was always a pile of toxic waste this time of year. No binges means that while I’m still cranky, I’m healthier.
I also feel more grounded in knowing that in the end, when you strip away all the bullshit, the holiday is about Christ entering the world to save sinners like me. The annoying stuff will come and go, but that truth is always there.
When You’re A Kid, Little Incidents Are A Big Deal
A point my mother made regarding some of what I’ve written about the past: “I remember differently than you on most entries. Not because I am blind but because children are little and see things big.”
Mood music:
I don’t disagree with that. When you’re little you do see things big.
In this case, my mother was referring to the stuff I’ve written about my childhood and whether things really happened as I remember it. “I love you but cannot understand how you can go online and write these awful Mommy Dearest entries,” she wrote to me (full comment — and my response — at the bottom of this post).
For those who aren’t aware, “Mommie Dearest” is a memoir written by Christina Crawford, the adopted daughter of actress Joan Crawford. The book, which depicts Christina’s childhood and her relationship with her mother, was published in 1978 and released as a movie in the early 1980s.
Christina’s version of her childhood is brutal. By her account, her mother beat her with a wire hanger, made her scrub the bathroom floor in the middle of the night and cut her son and daughter from her will.
As kids we joked about the movie and often suggested our mom was “Mommie Dearest.” To this day, truth be told, the scene in the movie where Joan freaks out about the wire hanger sends me into a fit of laughter.
My mother always hated when we made the comparisons, which is understandable. The thing is, I don’t really remember her as a “Mommie Dearest.” Not even close. Ugly things did happen back then, but we suffered as a family. My mother reacted back then in ways that didn’t make sense to me, but I don’t see her as the symbol of a bad childhood. Not for one second. Her love for us kids was unmistakable, even when she struggled to cling to sanity in our presence.
Why do I write about it here, for all to see? There are several reasons.
To understand my adulthood with OCD and addictive behavior, it’s important to see how I got that way. History plays an important role in how our adult demons manifest themselves. If I don’t share this stuff, the reader won’t connect with all the points I make about how I was able to overcome a lot of demons. To that statement some will cry bullshit. That’s fine by me. The memories must be shared because that’s how the reader is able to relate what I tell them to their own experiences.
Those who have written me about how this blog has helped them gain perspective about their own lives and allowed them to start dealing with their problems always point to the back story. They relate to it first, and then they are able to put my end points into perspective. Without the raw recollections to chew on, you can’t start building a foundation of strong recovery.
Also, since this blog is part memoir, the author’s recollections will inevitably leave some people stung and pissed off.
This exchange with my mom has been useful in that it makes me look at my own behavior as a parent.
I’d love to tell you that I learned from my parents’ mistakes and have been a better dad as a result, but is that really how my kids see it?
After all, as my mother noted, when you’re little you see things big.
When they’re in their 40s, will they remember my smaller quirks as explosive outbursts that cut them to the core?
I guess I’ll find out in a few years.
But for now, it gives me extra incentive to conduct myself in a way that they will look back on with respect and happiness.
If I succeed, everything I went through will have been worth it.
To The Child Who Thinks Obsessively
A few months back I wrote a letter to a girl named Addie, who has struggled with OCD. This is a similar letter for the child of a friend who is struggling with OCD and other mental disorders.
Some of what follows was in Addie’s letter. But I’ve added to the previous thoughts because I’ve learned even more about myself and how to manage my own OCD since that was written.
Mood music:
http://youtu.be/QGEeNLXAWyg
Hey, there.
My name’s Bill, and I know a thing or two about what you are going through. I’m a friend of your Dad’s and he told me that you get stuck on one particular thought and can’t let go.
I’ve been there. That used to happen to me all the time. I usually compare it to the brain being like a scratched CD. The song gets caught in a skip and won’t move on to the next track. That’s what happens to us, isn’t it? We get stuck on a thought and can’t move on to the next thing no matter how hard we try.
The resulting pain is like a deep cut in the skin.
I bring it up for a couple reasons.
1.) To let you know that you are not alone. A lot of people suffer from this as we have.
2.) To let you know that you will be fine — better than fine. But you’re going to have to do some hard work to get there.
I’ve told those who ask that living with obsessive thinking is like being stuck behind a wall. Everyone worries about things, but the so-called normal people can still go on with life and even enjoy it, despite their cares.
Not us. We get stuck. Everything else stops and we get left in the dust while everyone else is moving on.
It causes anxiety, which is a nasty thing to live with. I spent the better part of my 20s and early 30s hunkered down in my bedroom because of it. I saw guys looking for a fight around every corner.
Whenever I had to get on a plane, I’d have visions of the plane going down in flames. If I had to make a stand or take a test in school or turn in a big project at work, my mind would spin violently with every negative thought one could have. I would fear for the worst, but never hold out hope for the best.
I worked myself into a stupor over the safety of my wife and children. I had an obsession with cleanliness, which was interesting since depression always meant my personal hygiene took a dive. I was terrified of world events.
Yet I got through each one of those moments.
One day I woke up and realized the fear and anxiety had to go. It took a long time, but through good therapy, medication and a deepening faith in God, those things did go away.
The first thing to remember is that you have a mom and dad who love you and will do anything for you. They will be your biggest allies. There will be others who will help you through it. Many, many others. Their support is much, much bigger than the things your anxiety has made you fear.
When my children were younger, they watched a show called “Veggie Tales.” One episode focused on a boy afraid of the boogie man. He learned a song called “God is Bigger Than the Boogie Man” and that made his fear much smaller. In time, it went away. God is bigger than anxiety, too. The fears you get from the anxiety are over things that aren’t real. The only thing that is real is the here and now, and what you do with it.
You ever watch Mister Roger’s Neighborhood on PBS? After the Sept. 11, 2001 terrorist attacks, he did a wonderful show about getting through bad times. He said:
When I was a boy and I would see scary things in the news, my mother would say, “Look for the helpers. You will always find people who are helping.” To this day, especially in times of disaster, I remember my mother’s words, and I am always comforted by realizing that there are still so many helpers–so many caring people in this world.
Mr. Rogers learned a powerful lesson from his mother. I wish I had it in my head to focus on the helpers growing up. In hindsight, they were always there:
–The doctors and nurses who saved me from brutal bouts of Crohn’s Disease, which shaped how my OCD would manifest itself later on.
–The therapists who guided me through a diagnosis of OCD and showed me how to manage it.
–My family, especially my wife, and also my father and mother.
–My friends, who have always helped me make sense of things, made me laugh and done all the other things a person needs to get through the day.
–Many of the people in my faith community, who showed me how to accept God’s Grace, even if I still suck at returning the favor.
So that’s one of the big lessons: Always look for the helpers. You will always find them.
The other piece of advice is to never, ever let yourself believe that you can’t live life to the fullest because you have OCD.
Have you ever heard of Winston Churchill? He was Prime Minister of Britain during the darkest days of World War II. He often suffered from depression — he called it his Black Dog — and yet he led his country to victory over evil. He had a saying that I think of every day when the going gets tough: “Some people see a calamity in every opportunity. Others see an opportunity in every calamity.”
Do you like music? I find that music — rock and roll, specifically — soothes my soul in times of difficulty and gives me the strength to press on. There’s a band called Def Leppard that has an inspiring story of success despite bad things that could have stopped them cold. The drummer, Rick Allen, had an arm ripped off in a car wreck. A lot of people thought his career was over. Twenty-six years later, he’s still drumming. The example applies to people like us. OCD can only defeat us if we let it.
I’m not about to let that happen. I’ll bet you feel the same way.
I have a final and important piece of advice for you:
Even if you are able to free yourself of the obsessive mind freeze — and I know you will — you will still have plenty of OCD moments. I still check my laptop bag several times to make sure I didn’t forget my computer. I still go on a cleaning tear through my house if too many things are out of order.
That’s perfectly OK. As long as you learn to beat down the part where your mind spins with worry about things beyond your control, the other habits are fine. Since I’m open about my OCD, people don’t look at me funny when I have those “OCD moments.” They’ve learned to see beyond the habits and see me for who I am.
And sometimes, the OCD moment can be put to good use. If you have a big project, the OCD can push you to get it done and done right. It may seem strange, but if you learn to manage it, it can be very useful.
Some of our repetitive motions do look silly at times. Don’t worry about it. Learn to laugh at it instead.
Life is tough. But it’s supposed to be. It’s how we discover who we are and what we are capable of. I bet you are capable of a lot.
Take care of yourself, and keep the faith. You’ll get through this.
Yours truly,
Bill Brenner
Seeds Of Rage At The Paul Revere School
My friend Marc Serra posted an eighth-grade class picture from the Paul Revere School, circa 1984-85. The scowl on my face says a lot about the time.
Here I am, first from left in the back, looking like I want to stab someone in the eye:
The photo was snapped maybe a year or so after my brother died. I was gaining weight by the boatload and couldn’t seem to stop. Some of the kids picked on me as a result, though I gave as good (or badly) as I got. Things at home were less than harmonious for the obvious reasons.
This is around the time I was starting to rebel. I grew my hair long and started staying out late, especially when I was with my father, who didn’t keep tabs on me as closely as my mother did. I learned to escape not just in food, but in alcohol and weed.
The school district knew I was an emotional, troubled kid. I started getting extra help in elementary school because of the toll Crohn’s Disease had taken on my young body. It worked at first, but when I went to the Paul Revere School for seventh and eighth grade, the safety was off the gun.
There, kids were divided into three groups: The A group, the B group and the C group. The first was for the kids who consistently got As on their report cards. To the lower groups, they were sort of an elite class. The B group is where most kids were. Then there was my group, the C group, where the kids with bad grades were sent to rot. I think the school was trying to do what was best for students. But the stigma of being on the low end of the student body was damaging all the same.
Call it the unintended consequence.
The C kids were never really encouraged to study their way to the B or A groups. We just got teachers that gave us the bare minimum for work and treated us like troublemakers to be kept in line.
Indeed, the C group was where all the troublemakers were. I was a quieter version of trouble. I mostly hurt myself by dabbling in addictive substances and ignoring the academics. Other kids in my class were always getting into fights and some were already getting arrested. There were some so-called normal kids in the mix who did study their way into the higher groups.
Some of the C kids got picked on a lot, including me, though I also met a lot of great kids along the way.
I remained a slacker in high school and it took a couple years of community college before I found my ability to study hard and advance.
It all worked out for me, and I have no regrets. Those days were what they were, and as I look at this picture, I see kids I remember fondly.
Marc Serra and I bonded over music, including the AC/DC song at the start of this post. All the girls in the row in front of me were kind to me. One of them, Lena Cerundolo (third from left) lost a sibling, too. Several kids were originally from the Roosevelt School in the Point of Pines, and we had essentially grown up together. I hope everyone in the picture is doing well today. I know many of them are, as I’m in touch with them on Facebook.
This picture is like the fourth-grade report card I wrote about recently. It’s a snapshot in time, something I can look at and suddenly remember everything I was going through at that point.
Staring at it in the rear-view mirror, I have no regrets or grudges. History played out as it was meant to, and here we all are.
Thanks for sharing, Marc.
Because It’s Not All About Me
A friend nominated this blog for a Liebster Blog Award. I had no idea what it was until I looked it up, and it seems I may not qualify. But many others do, and I’m going to tell you about five of ’em.
Mood music:
First, a few words about this award: It’s meant for blogs with less than 200 followers that a fellow blogger feels deserves more attention. As part of getting nominated, you’re asked to pay it forward, nominating and linking to five other worthy blogs.
I constantly keep an eye on the page views here to see what topics people are most interested in but I usually overlook the follower count. When I got nominated, I figured I wasn’t at the 200 threshold. But with this, I decided to have a look.
Followers: 2,931
That seemed freakishly high to me, then I saw a breakdown: 55 WordPress.com blog followers. 90 WordPress.com comment followers. 2,786 Twitter followers. So, I may or may not qualify, depending on how you spin the numbers.
But I don’t care if I qualify or not. I’m paying it forward anyway, because it’s not all about me, and because I get a lot out of so many blogs that I’m dying for you to check them out.
Let’s start with the friend who nominated me. I’ve been friends with Linda White a long time. Her kids are in the same classes as mine. She always shares the amusing stuff her kids say, and finally, after years of her friends suggesting she do a blog, she started one: Crud my kids say: http://crudmykidssay.wordpress.com/
Her kids — “The Girl” and “The Boy” — are a riot and are sharp as knives. I always smile when I read about them. You will, too. Now to start nagging Linda to write a second blog about the hilariousness (to those of us on the outside) that ensues when you work for a big retail chain.
The second blog is a new one by another mom with a razor-sharp wit and the talent to capture it in a blog. I don’t think she wants her name out there yet, so I’ll simply guide you to “Not Now Honey. Mommy Has To Blog” — http://notnowhoneymommyhastoblog.com/
Read it and you’ll see the makings of a modern-day Dr. Seuss.
The third blog is from my old friend and Rockit Records colleague Christian Campagnia called “Caffeineandcookies” — http://caffeineandcookies.com/
Christian has a wit that’s one-of-a-kind and there’s a rawness and honesty that keeps me coming back. A couple weeks ago I had the honor of spending the day with him during a visit to Hollywood. He got in the passenger seat while I drove around to a bunch of famous Hollywood murder sites. I think he feared my driving more than where we were going. Either way, it was a lot of fun.
The fourth blog is from Dr. Annabelle Rc, author of “A Life Lived Ridiculously” — the companion blog being “Crazy In A Crazy World” — http://www.ridiculouslife.net/crazy-in-a-crazy-world.html
She’s an authority on OCD and has fed me many ideas for my own blog.
This fifth blog is Ocdbloggergirl (http://ocdbloggergirl.wordpress.com/), written by Lisa Burleson. Like me, she writes in an attempt to sort out the daily challenges of life with OCD. Her observations are raw and unflinching, and reading about her challenges makes you realize how so alike we all are. When you realize you’re not alone, life’s big challenges become less insurmountable.
My Mother Found The Blog
In my slow effort to reconcile with my mother, I made it easier for her to find this blog. Given the raw emotion to be found here, I was pretty sure it would be rough.
Mood music:
I suspect it hasn’t been easy for her to read through this thing. Not at all. But her initial comments suggest she’s really trying to get it and put it in the proper perspective.
Some of my memories are not as she remembered the sequence of events, but I knew that would be the case. As I try to point out regularly, this blog is based on my recollection of things. But my recollection is never going to be the same as how others saw it.
One of my favorite rock autobiographies is “The Dirt” from all four members of Motley Crue. What I love about it is that each member writes about the same events, and while they remember many details the same way, there are other events each band member remembers differently, especially when it comes to what they think was going on in their bandmates’ heads. By seeing the four different perspectives, events become a lot more real and ironclad.
That’s why I always encourage family members to chime in via the comments section. If they remember an event differently, the reader should know about it. Then we get closer to the truth.
I suspect my mother will focus more on the bad stuff in here than the good. It would be hard not to when you’re essentially reliving family history as remembered by the youngest child.
That has to be a mind-bender.
She commented this morning that while she doesn’t remember everything the same way, she understands (or at least accepts) my need to write it all down and share. She suggested that she just wants me to be well and focus on my family.
She also noted that the post I wrote about my brother’s death had a couple facts wrong. He didn’t walk to the ambulance as I remembered, and he died earlier than I thought. She said it as an FYI, not in an accusatory, bitter tone.
I don’t think she would have been able to see things this way even a couple years ago.
I’m still not sure how far I want to go with this. I’m still somewhat gun shy about getting too close again. That’s not her fault. It’s just that I have my OCD triggers, and I have to be mindful of them. I have to set clear boundaries. I’m still going to keep my distance. But I’m at least ready to talk.
I started to feel this way at my Cousin Andrew’s wedding in August. I saw a lot of family members I hadn’t seen for a very long time, and I was admittedly feeling somewhat lost.
I give my mother a lot of credit. Despite all the trouble between us, she gave me and Erin hugs and was very friendly. That couldn’t have been easy. My stepfather kept his distance, but given the tension in the air, who could really blame him?
My Aunt Robin didn’t say more than three words to me, but that’s ok. She hadn’t seen us in a very long time and that has to create some awkwardness. I watched her being a good, nurturing and loving aunt to several cousins, and that made me happy. It was really good talking to my Aunt Dee. The two of them look great. Aunt Robin has such a close resemblance to my late grandmother that I was taken aback at first. It goes to show that the dead live on in others. Also very comforting to see.
One of my cousins was there and it was the first time I had seen her in over 20 years. She’s not on speaking terms with much of the family. She didn’t remember me on sight, but last time we saw each other I was a skinny, long-haired metal head. Now I’m a husky, bald-headed metal head.
Since she’s a black sheep too, it’s rather ironic and funny that she didn’t recognize me. Or maybe it made perfect sense.
This family has been through the meat grinder. There has been a lot of mistrust and misunderstanding along the way. There’s been way too much sickness and death. We’re not special in that regard. Every family has a deep reservoir of drama.
I don’t think the wedding did much to change the family dynamics. The people who are not on speaking terms need a lot more than a family wedding to resolve the overwhelming tangle of misfiring wires.
But everyone getting along in the same space showed that despite everything, despite the divisions, everyone still fundamentally loves each other. That’s important, because as one of the refrains in the second reading of the wedding ceremony made plain, you can have everything in the world. But if you don’t have love, you have nothing.
I’ve had a lot of love and blessings in my life in the last few years. I’ve come far in overcoming addictions and mental illness. Even the family discord has served a purpose.
My Uncle Bobby, the last of the siblings that included my grandmother, took me aside at one point and said life is too short to hate.
He is absolutely right.
But hate has nothing to do with it.
Mistrust, hurt feelings and deep disagreements over right and wrong? Absolutely. But not hate.
I still love everyone, and I forgave my mother a long time ago.
So why, you’re probably wondering, can’t we just let the past lie in its grave and move on? Because relationships are deeply complex things, and it is never that simple or easy.
But I let Ma find this blog, and believe me: That was a big fucking step.
I hope it leads to something better.
Christmas Group Therapy
Yup.
To A Woman Under Attack From Crohn’s Disease
A friend asked me about good Crohn’s causes she could donate to because a friend of her daughter is gravely ill from the disease. I shared my thoughts, but wanted to reach out directly to the person suffering.
Mood music:
I hear you are really going through the meat grinder right now and that you face life-threatening surgery. I’ve been there, so this is my attempt to give you some peace of mind.
I experienced all the things you are now — the massive loss of blood, the knifing pain in the gut, sleepless nights in the bathroom, and more blood. But looking back, I must say that in the long run it’s been more damaging to my mental health than my physical health.
It screwed up my brain and pushed me toward an adulthood of addictions and other hangups. I had a couple transfusions in the late 1970s. This left me scared to death in the 1980s and 1990s about AIDS, because many people got it from tainted blood transfusions. Fortunately, I’ve been tested many times for it and that didn’t happen. I was lucky.
A couple times, I’ve been told, the doctor’s came close to removing the colon. Too much of it was under siege and they didn’t know where to start in terms of targeting it. But it never came to that.
The pain was pretty intense. I really don’t know how my parents were able to get through it. I think it would cause me more anguish to see one of my kids suffer than to go through it myself. That had to hurt. Especially since they lost another child along the way. It also couldn’t have helped that I would be in the hospital for six-week stretches in 1978, 1979, 1980 and 1981.
As you have probably discovered by now, the most popular drug to treat it is Prednisone, which comes with a long list of side effects. In fact, the drug screwed with me much more than anything else. More on that in another post I wrote called “The Bad Pill Kept Me from the Good Pill.”
But I’m here to tell you there’s no need to write yourself off as doomed. There’s the spiritual argument for this, where you put all your trust in God. I’m a true believer and subscriber of that argument. I also know that in your darkest moment, there are always people to help you through it.
A lot of people helped me survive a childhood of brutal Crohn’s Disease: My parents, great doctors, school friends who helped me catch up with my schoolwork and rooted for me whenever I got out of the hospital, and a great therapist who helped me sort through the mental byproducts of illness.
I think you’re going to get through the current attack and that you will be able to move on to a better life. Again, I lean on my personal experience.
I’m probably one of the luckiest Crohn’s patients on Earth. The last bad flare up was in 1986 and I haven’t had once since. I still go through frequent periods of inflammation, but nothing that requires drugs or hospital stays. The colon is checked out every other year to make sure the layers of scar tissue don’t run wild and morph into cancer.
Had the doctors removed the colon when I was a kid, I think things still would have worked out. I would have learned to live with it. Whatever you have in front of you, I think you can make the best of it and push through.
Good luck and God Bless you.
–Bill