Maybe It’s Time for a New Therapist

Lately I hate going to my therapy appointments. I dread getting in the car to go, and once I leave his office my head goes from slight ache to migraine in the course of an hour. It’s not the therapist’s fault as much as it’s a change brewing within me.

Mood music:

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I’ve written about my therapist before. He’s taught me a lot about how the brain works, what happens when a mental disorder takes hold and how specific drugs go to work on specific defects. In that regard, he’s been a godsend. I’ve never agreed with everything he tells me to do, especially the bit about not drinking caffeine. To protest that suggestion, I usually show up for an appointment with a Venti Starbucks bold in my hand. But that’s never taken away from what he’s helped me with. In fact, his good humor under my needling has only made me like him more.

But lately I keep feeling like we’ve hit a wall, that he can’t take me any further on this journey.

I’ve been here before with other therapists. They help me move forward up to a certain point, then we start going in circles, covering the same ground over and over again — sometimes simply for the sake of using up the 60 minutes that I pay for.

To some extent you have to retread the same ground in therapy, because the patient is usually dealing with the same old issues. Retracing the old steps is how a therapist checks to see how well you’re managing and using the tools you’ve developed.

But lately, I’ve had less and less patience for covering the ground I know all too well.

It could simply be that I need a fresh face to dump on every few years, and there’s nothing wrong with that. I used to hate having to change therapists because in my mind it meant I would have to tell someone the whole back story all over again. What I’ve learned, however, is that I can tell the backstory through a fresher mindset, one that works differently now that I’ve significantly improved my ability to manage the demon.

I’m not the anxious, fear-filled introvert who first walked into a therapist’s office in 2004 when I first realized I had big issues that were making my life unbearable. Today I’m a lot more outgoing, sure of myself and at ease with who I am. But I’ll always need therapy to ensure that I’m still using all my coping tools the way I’m supposed to. Besides, life is always changing, throwing new curve balls my way. Through the normal challenges of life, I need help keeping my balance.

Maybe that’s part of my current dilemma: I’ve gotten better to the point where I’ve become too comfortable with this particular therapist. In life, we’re always searching for the comfort zone, but sometimes being in the comfort zone makes you forget what really needs to be discussed in that 60-minute block.

I could be imagining all this right now. It could be that I’m looking for excuses to stop talking about things I actually need to talk about. Taking the necessary medicine is often unpleasant.

But for now I have that feeling in my gut, telling me that something isn’t working like it used to when I first step into that office.

Time for a change? We’ll see.

When Fakes Go for the Kill

We do a lot of stupid things to gain acceptance among others. Many of those things go back to being a fake. Some of you have been guilty at some point. So have I. The question is if anything good can come from our shenanigans.

Mood music:

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I’ll start with myself. Someone who means the world to me recently suggested that I’m the star-struck type. I love making friends with musicians, especially when I’m a fan of their music. It sounds sick, but I’m kind of proud that some locally famous “rock star” types read this blog and think I’m worth having a conversation with. I get the same way when respected people in my industry give me the time of day, not to mention other writers. Sometimes, my desire for acceptance in these circles will influence how I dress and even how I talk.

I’m almost ashamed to admit it all. If there’s any redeeming aspect of this, it’s that my star-struck nature has led me to some real friendships — friendships that have made me a better person. And if someone is an asshole, I’m not going to try being their buddy no matter how much I love their music or respect whatever else they do for work. Still, I can’t deny the behavior exists.

It’s all the funnier because I can be the most judgmental fuck on the face of this planet when I see other people being fake.

When the wannabes think it’s cool to throw verbal bombs online to get attention (some call this trolling), I’m quick to stare down my nose at them. I pat myself on the back for not being a troll in these moments, but is that really true? I’m a product of the news business, where editors try to make headlines as attention-grabbing as possible. One could legitimately call that a form of trolling.

I know people who turn fake when they want the world to think they’ve found the perfect soulmate. They post lovey-dovey comments to each other on Facebook all day and jam cyberspace with pictures of them hugging and smiling. Then you find out from people close to them that it’s all for show, that they argue all the time.

There are those who want to be accepted in wealthy social circles even though they may not have a lot of money. They max their credit cards out on clothes and cars to look the part and kiss asses all day in the country clubs and five-star restaurants. Then they go home to their leaky roof, chipped paint and stack of unpaid bills.

Then there are those who want to be accepted so badly in the political world that they’ll pull their principles inside out and say whatever will make people like them. Mitt Romney, this year’s likely Republican nominee for president, has been accused of being this way. Al Gore was accused of it, too, as was John McCain. A pity, because they all show signs of greatness when they’re being themselves.

I think one of the reasons some of us become addicts is because we know we’re fake and want to numb the shameful feelings that go with that look in the mirror. I think it’s why some of us suffer from depression, too.

Nothing sucks quite like knowing you’re not keeping it real. Being fake is exhausting work.

So what do we do about it?

There’s probably not much we can do because we’re dealing with flaws at the very core of human nature. For my part, I just try to figure out who my real friends are along the way and try to nurture those relationships. Maybe some of my friendships started with me being a star-struck idiot (those friends would probably laugh at this, because they know they don’t qualify as genuine stars), but the ones that became real friendships have made me better.

Or, at least, it’s made me take a sober look in the mirror more often. Hopefully, the man that emerges over time will be the real deal.

Why Reports of WFNX’s Death Are Premature

During this blog’s hiatus a terrible thing happened: Boston’s Phoenix Media/Communications Group sold WFNX 101.7 FM to Clear Channel Communications, essentially killing another bastion of Boston rock.

Mood music:

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It saddened me on many levels. Through Facebook I’m connected with some of the DJs, and I’ve enjoyed their posts, but I could see and feel their pain on that social networking site after the sale was announced. I was also reminded of how WFNX was there for me during many difficult times in the late 1980s and 1990s. I felt equally bad when WBCN met the same fate a few years ago.

Some will argue that these stations lost their way in recent years — and their points are valid. But that’s not the point. These stations are still living, breathing entities and should be treated as such. We humans often lose our way. Sometimes we stay lost until we’re forgotten or we turn up dead. Other times we find our way again and people love us all the more for it.

For the latter reason, this post is no eulogy. It’s about things in life going away and coming back, always different but usually better.

The signs of life after FNX are already evident. Sunday, the day The Boston Globe ran an article about FNX and the precarious state of Boston rock radio, DJ Julie Kramer announced on Facebook that she was engaged. Her job at FNX may be over, but her life goes on. You can’t keep the strong ones down.

Meanwhile, a petition drive to save FNX is gaining steam, and there’s always the opportunity to bring the station back via the Internet. BCN has been reborn online, though the message hasn’t gotten through to enough listeners to call it a success story yet.

Much of my music listening has shifted to the Internet. I like Pandora, though I like Spotify a lot better because I’m able to find most of my favorite albums there. One could argue these newer choices are what’s killing traditional rock radio, but I think we’re simply in the middle of a transitional period. As terrible as it is to see revered radio stations die, the story has a long way to go. In the years to come, I think we’ll see a more complete marriage between traditional radio and the Internet. We’re merely traveling through the fog right now, lost and disoriented. It sucks, but the fog always burns away eventually.

Saturday Erin and I went to a charity concert that was teeming with mourning FNX fans. My friends Pop Gun opened the show and did a blistering, satisfying set. They were followed by New Wave legends The Psychedelic Furs. The latter band was never my cup of tea, but I enjoyed them and was amazed that I knew as many of their songs as I did. They can thank FNX for that. People still hunger for alternative rock in this town. FNX’s sale leaves a vacuum, and we know by now that nature never allows a vacuum to go unfilled. Who better to fill it than the former DJs of WFX?

The possibilities are endless. And even if FNX doesn’t come back, the station will always live on in our memories. Allow me to share some of mine.

As a kid from Revere with a boulder-sized chip on my shoulder, I turned to heavy metal to sooth me after my brother’s death, family rancor and too many Crohn’s Disease flare-ups to count. In the 1980s, a good Boston metal station was hard to come by. There was WAAF, but their DJs were always too juvenile for my tastes. I loved BCN, but they never played enough of the heavy stuff to keep me satisfied.

I turned to WFNX not because it was playing metal. It wasn’t, obviously. I gave them a try because my late friend Sean Marley was a fan and back then I copied everything he did. In doing so, my musical horizons were broadened in wonderful ways. I discovered bands like The Ramones, REM (I don’t listen to REM these days, but I liked them back then), The Pixies and Nirvana and DJs like Kramer, Angie C. and Duane Bruce, who could play kick-ass music and conduct themselves with class instead of going for the shock value. In the first years of my relationship with Erin, we both enjoyed FNX. And when Sean Marley died, I turned to FNX for the comfort of bands like Weezer.

In more recent years the metalhead in me has re-asserted itself, but I’ve continued to love the bands FNX introduced me to. I’ve also come to enjoy the Facebook presence of its current and former DJs.

Clear Channel can never take that from me. And it can’t kill a powerful musical movement as long as there are people around to pluck the torch from the ground and re-ignite it.

How I Spent My Writing Blackout

While prepping this new site, I decided to take a break from writing fresh posts. I didn’t want to live between two sites. Doing this and writing a security blog in my day job can be confusing enough. During this break, I’ve learned some important things about myself.

Mood music:

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Breaking wasn’t easy for me. Daily writing has been a vital tool for me for a long time now, and while I continued to keep a private journal, I worried about the lack of public communication. The give and take that often results from a post has been immensely helpful to me. Trust me, I learn more from you than you do from me.

I was also getting obsessed with posting a lot of repeat content, because I’ve always had this fear that everyone will forget me if I go away for too long. Call it an OCD quirk or the mark of a narcissist. Both descriptions are accurate.

Though I’ve resumed the repeat posts this week, I did almost no re-posting for a couple weeks.

During that time, we celebrated Mother’s Day and Duncan’s First Communion. I went to California for a security event and spent a lot of time in San Diego and Los Angeles and then spent a very intense but awesome day and a half at my company offsite meeting.

Did I miss the daily dose of posting OCD DIARIES content? Not as much as I thought I would.

A beautiful thing happened: I found that I could go away and abstain from all promotion and not go into a painful withdrawal. Despite little to no promotion, the old version of the blog got just as much daily traffic as it did before. My audience, which has grown from a few dozen to several hundred a day, stuck around, digging through old posts, commenting on several and sharing them with others on their Twitter and Facebook pages. That was reassuring, to say the least.

I also enjoyed some more relaxed mornings.

Writing the daily OCD DIARIES post is usually the first thing I do every morning. During the blackout, I eased into work with a bit more serenity. It was especially nice during the California trip, where I filled the usual writing time with more adventures. I still worked the information security beat hard, writing a bunch of posts in my security blog while there. But I also found some spare time to walk the beach at Torrey Pines in San Diego with former co-worker Anne Saita. I spent the first night in the spare room of her home and got to know her husband, Gilbert, who I’ve heard about for years but had never met.

The drive back to L.A. was long but I didn’t mind. Avis gave me a brand-new Ford Edge SUV to drive, and I hated having to give it back. It was a smooth ride and was loaded with such modern technology as a GPS, a view screen that lets you see what’s behind you while backing up and multiple USB ports for charging the phone and iPod.

Once back in L.A., I walked up and down the Sunset Strip for a bit and went back to work. I spent that night sleeping on an air mattress on the kitchen floor of my friend Mike D. Mike is from Lynn, Mass., and was part of the circle of friends that included Sean Marley back in the day. For the last 23 years he’s been living in North Hollywood. We got some good quality time this trip, and I drove him around the Hollywood Hills to gawk at the homes of famous people and infamous murders, not telling him where we were headed as we drove around.

I was burnt when I got back home and spent much of the first day back crashed on the couch. That’s the sort of thing I don’t do easily, because I have trouble leaving the laptop closed.

Truth be told, I wanted to launch the new blog far sooner, but Erin made me wait. The email needed fixing and she didn’t want it launched until that was fixed.

There was another lesson: to be part of a team effort I need more patience than I currently have. We’re both control freaks in our own ways, and we knew it going in. Now the fun begins.

It was a good break and I’m glad I did it. I learned that I can in fact go away without being rendered irrelevant. I was never irrelevant, mind you, but my brain doesn’t work like most people’s.

I also remembered how important it is to take breaks. That’s something I easily forget in the heat of life.

All that said, I’m glad to be back in action. Now to see if I can use the lessons of the past two weeks to moderate my behavior.

Welcome to the New OCD DIARIES!

After many hours spent re-categorizing 900-plus posts, buying a new domain and building a new blog from scratch on WordPress.org — plus a few spousal disagreements along the way —  I give you the new OCD DIARIES.

Mood music:

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What’s new besides the new banner, design and background color, you ask? Quite a bit:

  • A broader theme that captures our ongoing struggles between darkness and light. I started this adventure a couple years ago to focus squarely on my own battles with OCD, depression and addictive behavior, but with time it’s become more about the demons we all live with and how we deal with them. Expect more commentary from me on politics. I’ll never tell you who to vote for or who I’m voting for, however. I’m more interested in how candidates behave and how we the masses react to and participate in the political discourse. Politics is a case study in how we talk to each other and what is says about us as human beings.
  • Recipes for healthy eating, including the no-flour, no-sugar meals I live by. You’ll have plenty of opportunity to participate by sending in your own recipes. The only requirement is that it’s healthy stuff, because healthy eating is critical to better mental health as well as physical health.
  • More guest posts where others talk about their struggles, because this stuff isn’t all about me. If you have something to say about a struggle you’ve had with depression, addiction, relationships and life in general, this is a forum where you can share. You’ll feel better afterwards, and you’ll help others in the process by showing that we are indeed all in this together. Share your coping tools and, if you’re a mental health professional, share your knowledge.
  • Mood music straight from my Spotify library. Rock ‘n’ roll is one of my main coping tools, and instead of using YouTube to deliver the music, I’m going to draw straight from my Spotify library. Spotify rocks and can be downloaded for free. Almost every album from every artist known to man can be found there. I want to introduce more people to Spotify and share my music without the YouTube copyright police breathing down my neck. You’ll need to have Spotify running to play the mood music now, but it’s well worth it. If it doesn’t work out for most readers, I’ll revert back to YouTube. For now, this is a worthy experiment.
  • A category list to the right of this space to help you find posts more precisely related to the subject you’re interested in. By clicking the music therapy category, for instance, you’ll get all previous and future posts dealing with music as therapy. By clicking the children’s issues category, you’ll get to posts all about children and the mental health issues they deal with. We’re also going to include more book reviews, and there’s a category page for that, too.
  • Advertising. This new platform will allow us to include advertisements from entities who deal in the subject matter I write about — mental health organizations and professionals, for example. If you want your ad on here, let us know.
  • A husband-wife team. Perhaps most important about the new OCD DIARIES is that it’s now a team effort. The fabulous Erin C. Brenner has played a critical role in developing this new site, and she’ll edit everything you see on here from now on. She’ll also be in charge of the marketing effort.

Welcome to OUR world.

Fatherhood Saved Ozzy, Eddie & Me

Yesterday I watched the “God Bless Ozzy Osbourne” documentary, which focused heavily on how his addictions maimed him and his family over four decades. Though my addictive behavior pales by comparison, it still struck a chord.

Mood music:

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What hit me deepest is how Ozzy finally decided to get real sobriety after his son Jack had kicked drugs and alcohol. It took his son to show him the light.

There’s a similar plot in the recent comeback of Van Halen. Armed with the knowledge that he’d be able to make music with his son if he cleaned up, Edward Van Halen finally got sober a few years ago.

The son showing dad the light theme is an old one. It’s the whole “Luke Skywalker helping Darth Vader find his good side again” story. Only in the real life examples, the fathers get to live after having their epiphany.

In the documentary, we see Ozzy changing into a different, crazy person who continuously brings heartbreak to his family — especially his children. The daughter from his first marriage is asked point-blank if he was a good Dad. Her answer is a simple “No.” We learn — though it’s not really a surprise, given how incoherent he was in all the episodes — how his alcoholism was at its worst during the run of “The Osbournes” and how his youngest kids started using in that period. Finally, we see his son Jack deciding to clean up, inspiring his father to do the same.

Like I said, my addictive personality didn’t come close to the levels of Ozzy Osbourne or Edward Van Halen. But it was bad enough that I can relate to things like being useless on the couch when my kids needed me. I was never that way all the time, and I’ve been a pretty active Dad more often than not. But I am guilty of those bad moments.

But what I relate to most is how it took becoming a parent to drive home the need for me to be a better man and reign in my demons — the OCD and addictive behavior    that was a byproduct of constant fear, anxiety and exhaustion.

It wasn’t an instant thing — Sean was almost 4 and Duncan was was barely 2 when I realized things were not right in my head — but the cattle prod was definitely my hunger to be a better parent.

So yeah, I have to say I’m inspired by these rock n’ roll stories.

For A Girl Recently Diagnosed With Crohn’s Disease

The daughter of close friends just found out she has Crohn’s Disease. She’s suffering a lot right now, and I know exactly what she’s going through. This post is for her.

Mood music:

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Hello, my young friend. I’m sorry that you’re hurting so much right now. I was diagnosed with Crohn’s Disease when I was around your age, and spent many weeks in the hospital between ages 8-16. It stinks. But if there’s one thing I’d like you to remember after reading this, it’s that it WILL get better.

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.

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.

I mention this because you should know how hard it is for your Mom and Dad to see you hurting. They’re new to this Crohn’s thing, and they will worry endlessly about what they are doing for you and whether it’s the right thing. Be patient with them if you can. But if you need to yell at them once in awhile so you can cope, go ahead. That’s what parents are for.

As you will probably soon discover, the most popular drug to treat what’s making you sick is Prednisone, which comes with a long list of side effects. Your face might get puffy and you’ll want to eat everything in sight. But you’re a strong kid and you can handle that.

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.

Be strong and keep the faith, my young friend. I hope you feel better soon.

–Bill

‘Fixing OCD’ Article Is Badly Misleading

An article in The Atlantic called “5 Very Specific Ways to Fix Your OCD” blows it from the start — in the headline.

OCD sufferers know damn well that you can’t fix OCD. You can only learn to manage it and make it less of a disrupting force in your life.

Mood music:

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Knowing that as I do, I’m dissapointed that the writer would give OCD sufferers false hope, followed by five pieces of advice that are not totally unhelpful, but also not very realistic.

I still write some clunkers with the best of ’em. All writers do, especially when you produce articles daily. But here, I think the author was mislead by Concordia University psychologist Adam Radomsky, who spelled out the five strategies.

What follows are portions of the article in italics and my responses in plain text.

Re-examine your responsibility. Many of the symptoms of OCD can be caused and/or exacerbated by increases in perceived responsibility. The more responsible you feel, the more you are likely to check, wash, and/or think your thoughts are especially important. Ask yourself how responsible you feel for the parts of your life associated with your OCD, then take a step back from the problem and write down all of the possible other causes. For example, someone who would likely check their appliances repeatedly might feel completely responsible to protect their family from a fire. If this person adopted a broader perspective, they would realize that other family members, neighbors, the weather, the electrician who installed the wiring in the home, the company that built the appliances, and others should actually share in the responsibility.

Radomsky misses the point — OCD sufferers usually know the reality of these situations. But our minds spin with worry anyway. Like the addict who knows he-she will eventually die from their bad habits but can’t help but continue with them anyway, the OCD sufferer knows that he-she shares responsibilities with others, but can’t help but take on all the problems of the world anyway. The brain is constantly in motion, taking small concerns and sculpting them into huge, paralyzing worries.

Repetitions make you less sure about what you’ve done. This is bizarre because we usually check and/or ask questions repeatedly to be more confident of what we’ve done. OCD researchers in the Netherlands and Canada, however, have found that when repetition increases, this usually backfires and may lead to very dramatic declines in our confidence in our memory. To fix this, try conducting an experiment. On one day, force yourself to restrict your repetition to just one time. Later that day, on a scale of 0-10, rate how confident you are in your memory of what you’ve done. The next day, repeat the same behavior but rate it a few more times throughout the day. Most people who try this experiment find later that their urges to engage in compulsive behavior decline because they learn that the more they repeat something, the less sure they become.

I appreciate what he’s trying to do here with the role-playing game, and it can be helpful to try tracking how much you repeat an action and what it does to your memory.

But he again misses the crucial point: We OCD sufferers already know these repeated actions fuck with the memory of what we have or haven’t done. One of my OCD habits has always been going over the checklist for what I need to do before leaving for work the next morning. Clothes laid out? Check. Coffee maker programmed? Check. Lunch made and in the fridge? Check. Laptop bag stuffed with all the necessary work tools? Check. Then, even though I know full well what I’ve just done, I run through that same check list over and over. I’m not as bad as I was before treatment, but it’s still in me.

Treat your thoughts as just that — thoughts. Intrusive thoughts are normal, but they become obsessions when people give them too much importance … Spend a week making this distinction between your OCD thoughts (noise) and thoughts associated with things you are actually doing or would like to be doing (signal). See what happens.

I’ll tell you what happens: Your thoughts continue to run wild despite the exercise. Not that you shouldn’t try it. For a few people, it may help. But one of the very first things we learn is that we are not our thoughts; that thoughts and reality are not the same thing. But this is like the responsibility example above. We keep thinking because we can’t help it.

Practice strategic disclosure. People with OCD fear that if or when they disclose their unwanted intrusive thoughts or compulsions, other people will judge them as harshly as they judge themselves. This sadly often leaves the individual suffering alone without knowing that more than nine in 10 people regularly experience unwanted, upsetting thoughts, images, and impulses related to OCD themes as well. Consider letting someone in your life who has been supportive during difficult times know about the thoughts and actions you’ve been struggling with. Let them know how upset you are with these and how they’re inconsistent with what you want in life. You might be pleasantly surprised by their response. If not, give it one more try with someone else. We’ve found that it never takes more than two tries.

This piece of advice is sound, but gets buried beneath the unhelpful material.

Observe your behavior and how it lines up with your character. Most people struggling with OCD either view themselves as mad, bad and/or dangerous or they fear that they will become such, so they often go to great lengths to prevent bad things from happening to themselves or to their loved ones. But ask yourself how an observer might judge your values based on your actions. If you spend hours each day trying to protect the people you love, are you really a bad person? If you exert incredible amounts of time and effort to show how much you care, how faithful you are, how you just want others to be safe and happy, maybe you’re not so bad or dangerous after all. And as for being crazy, there’s nothing senseless about OCD. People sometimes fail to understand how rational and logical obsessions and compulsions can be. Remember, your values and behavior are the best reflection of who you are, not those pesky unwanted noisy thoughts.

This too is sound advice. But it leaves out something incredibly important: You can’t review your character and reconcile it with your OCD habits in this simple step he lays out. It takes years of intense therapy  — and for some, like me, the added help of medication — to peel away the layers and get at the root of your obsessions.

You can learn to manage OCD and live a good life. But it’s a lot of hard, frustrating work. And that work is ALWAYS there, until the day you die.

Know that before you dive into the search for simple solutions. If it looks simple, it’s probably too good to be true.

Me and My Dysfunctional Twitter Family

It feels like Twitter has been with us forever. But in the grand scheme of things, it’s still a relatively new toy we’re learning to use.  I see it as my second dysfunctional family.

Mood music:

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My Twitter house has 3,262 people crammed into it; many from the information security profession. Some of the smartest people I know sit around the kitchen table every day, bantering without ever getting tired.

As it is with any family, we often get on each other’s nerves.

For one thing, the house is always LOUD. It’s so loud that it’s normal for half the household to go to bed with headaches while the rest keep pontificating, sharing pictures and arguing.

There’s the older uncle who’s perpetually cranky but we can sit at his feet and listen to him for hours because he’s so damn funny. And smart. Let’s face it, every family had a beloved, crazy uncle.

There’s the other uncle who will disagree with you just to start a debate. But he’s such a nice guy you just can’t get angry when he picks your positions apart.

There’s the cousin who never stops talking. Any random thought he has, he says it. You can’t keep up with him, he talks so fast. But he too is smart and talented, so we put up with it.

There’s the cousin who puts everything and everyone down for the sake of starting a conversation. This one usually comes in the house blasted on vodka or wine and talks about tearing someone’s eyeballs out. But this cousin is harmless and, deep down, a good kid.

There’s a brother who is always telling people what they did wrong — that they didn’t work hard enough or made sweeping statements that tarred people who didn’t deserve it. The rest of the family is afraid of this one. Unfortunately for us, though, he’s usually right, so we put up with him and, occasionally, try to stop doing the stupid thing he says we’re doing.

There’s the cousin who will let everyone know the second she stubs a toe, gets charged too much at the auto body shop or finds a hole in her umbrella. She’ll make her grocery list and run down the list aloud for all to hear. That grates on a few nerves, but she’s a sweet lady who is always there when one of us has a problem, so listening to her grocery list recital is the least we can do.

There are the two middle siblings who fight about everything, especially politics. They’ll occasionally call each other names, usually personalized variations of the F-S- and C-words. But they know their politics, so we listen and learn for about a half hour before yelling at them to shut up.

Then there’s me, perhaps the most infuriating family member of all.

I’m constantly shoving the stuff I write in their faces because I want them to talk about how the subject matter plays in their own lives. I don’t say much else when I’m in the house unless I’m excited about a new band I want people to hear or my kids say something too damn funny not to share. But I write all the time, and I have to show them everything, even stuff they may have seen before.

People tell me to shut up and go away; to stop repeating myself and promoting myself. That last one pisses me off and I spit out a few choice words. Then I resume what I’m doing like nothing happened.

People seem to tolerate me because writing is my job and, once in awhile, I write something that resonates with a few of them.

The rest simply ignore me when I get to be too much.

A messy, loud place, this Twitter house is. I’ve thought about moving out a few times, to get away from the so-called echo chamber. But I always decide to stay.

Because love ’em or hate ’em, these people are family.

And because — I’ll admit it — I need a few dysfunctional people in my life.