Objects in the Media Are Often Smaller Than They Appear

After yesterday’s post on the Washington Navy Yard massacre fueling the stigma around mental illness, I got the usual assortment of feedback after that post published.

If you’re for gun control, you told me I was minimizing the reality of gun violence by suggesting more gun control laws will accomplish nothing. Those of you who don’t see this as a gun control issue took me to task for picking on NRA Chief Wayne LaPierre for suggesting the mentally ill be committed.

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One good friend commented, “What he REALLY said was ‘that the nation needs to do more to lock up mentally ill people who are dangerous.’ He did not make a sweeping generalization about the mentally ill, just the subset that are dangerous.”

Truth be told, I agree with a lot of things LaPierre said on Meet the Press. The mental healthcare system is broken, especially in the schools. I also agree that it takes good guys with guns to stop bad guys with guns and that security personnel at military facilities need to be better armed.

My main criticism here is with the media, which sliced and diced his words to make more dramatic headlines suggesting people are homicidal maniacs if they are mentally ill.

Wife and OCD Diaries editor Erin Brenner said of the phenomena, “Shocking things, like mass murders and mentally unstable people committing murder, get over-reported so that we think there’s an epidemic.” I agree.

I’ve been a journalist for most of my career and will believe in freedom of the press until my dying breath. But we also have the freedom to ignore the press. In my case, I try to find the more objective news sources and avoid the loud, obnoxious networks that are guilty of over-hyping the causes and effects of national and global tragedies.

Perversely, the hyperbolic drama of the mainstream media is contributing to the mental illness of many. When I was at my worst, I watched the news nonstop. If there was a shooting in London or LA, it may as well have been right outside my bedroom window, because in my sickness, that’s how it felt. The music and graphics TV news used magnified the feeling exponentially.

Is there a mental illness epidemic? Yes, but there always has been. Depression and mental disorders have been woven deep into the fabric of humanity since the beginning. But people are much more open about it than they were 20-plus years ago.

You could say that’s good, because a society more open about mental illness is more capable of devising remedies. Or, through the filter of mainstream media, you could say it’s bad; that recent shootings were the handiwork of mentally sick people. Therefore, there’s a mental illness epidemic, and if a depressed soul acquires a firearm, watch out. The truth is probably more of the former than the latter.

Just remember: Objects in the media are often smaller than they appear.

Breaking news alert

Navy Yard Shootings: The Stigmatizer’s Wet Dream

With last week’s terrible Washington Navy Yard murders, politicians are preaching the importance of better mental health services. In the process, stigma building has reached disturbing heights.

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This massacre, like Sandy Hook and Aurora, Colorado, before it, was perpetrated by a troubled soul with some degree of mental illness. Navy Yard killer Aaron Alexis had told authorities weeks before that he was hearing voices in his head. Aurora shooter James Holmes had colored his hair red and was dressed head to toe in black tactical gear when he murdered people. After he was arrested, he told police he was The Joker. Adam Lanza had a history of deep mental illness when he grabbed his mother’s guns, killed her and headed to Sandy Hook Elementary School.

As a result, the media is sinking its teeth into the crazy factor, the notion that if you’re mentally imbalanced, you might be the next mass murderer. The NRA, in an effort to deflect renewed calls for tougher gun control, suggests the problem is that too many homicidal maniacs are running loose. NRA Chief Wayne LaPierre went as far as suggesting more of the mentally ill need to be committed.

What LaPierre and others are saying is “If someone is mentally ill, they are a potential threat to public safety.”

Whether they they really believe that or not is debatable. It’s true that recent shooters were deeply disturbed emotionally and mentally. But the words LaPierre chose paints everyone with mental illness as a dangerous lunatic and they build an undeserved stigma.

My struggles with mental illness are well established. It’s the reason I started this blog. At my lowest lows, I never considered picking up a rifle and wiping out a school. I know many, many people who have struggles similar to mine. I don’t know of a violent soul among them. They include business leaders, cops, doctors, friends and family.

Suggesting these tragedies are about the need to register mentally ill citizens in a database and commit them if necessary is as stupid as suggesting that tougher gun control laws will prevent more mass shootings. It hasn’t worked in the past, and it won’t work now.

Recent shootings didn’t happen because we have an epidemic of crazies on the street. I don’t even think weak gun laws are to blame. They happened because somewhere in the sequence of events, someone didn’t do what they were supposed to do.

Lanza’s mother kept a lot of guns around the house, even though she knew how disturbed her son was. She could have kept the weapons locked up and out of sight. Instead, they were easily accessible at the moment her son snapped.

Alexis had called police a week before the shootings and told them he heard voices he feared were “sending vibrations through his body” and were out to hurt him. Police questioned him, and then notified the Navy police. Naval police sat on the information, and Alexis held on to his security clearance, ability to carry a weapon and access to the Washington Navy Yard.

Along the way, people with the authority failed to follow the most basic of security protocols.

Maybe it’s time to stop debating whether the problem is too many guns and too many crazies, and demand those responsible for security do their jobs better.

DC Shooting Suspect

Jesus’s Drafty, Leaky House

During Mass yesterday, the priest repeatedly told us that “Jesus lives inside you.” I couldn’t help but think about what that must be like in my case.

Mood music:

http://youtu.be/R3BA7OXI8CA

If I were a house, I could imagine Him grappling with a constant flow of repair bills. There’s more square footage than the heating system can accommodate and the place is drafty as a result. The roof leaks constantly. The place is teeming with vermin.

Yet He continues to live there.

He patches the roof every time the water gets in. When wall frames and flooring threaten to give way, he replaces them with sturdier pieces of wood. And he calmly keeps doing these things no matter how many times the house seems on the verge of caving in.

That’s how I picture it, anyway.

I try hard to get life right. But I know I’m still a sinner, making the same mistakes repeatedly. If I were a house, I might be condemned. But Jesus won’t let the house go down. He refuses to let it give way.

I’m glad he’s inside of me. If he weren’t, I’d have been knocked down and cleared away along time ago. And because I know He’s so invested in my future, I’m going to keep doing my best to be a sturdy, safe house for those who need refuge from the storm.

Jesus the Carpenter

When Teachers Get It

Last night I attended a parent information night at Sean and Duncan’s new school. It’s a great school, but the kids have been struggling to adjust, especially Duncan. That’s to be expected. But there is always that worry in the back of my brain that teachers will never truly understand Duncan, who has ADHD.

We moved them to this new school because we felt Duncan in particular needed a more organized, regimented environment to thrive. His academics are going well, but he is clearly not at ease in his new surroundings. Not yet, anyway.

But by the time last night’s event was over, I knew everything would be fine. The fourth-grade teachers showed us this video, which tells me they get it. The video is from a website called Raising Small Souls and is worth a few minutes of your time.

Thanks to Duncan’s teachers for showing they get it.

Animal School

Dumb, Racist Reactions to Miss America 2014

I typically try to avoid passing judgement on people in this blog. I simply react to events from my own experiences and move on. I also always try to assume that the best of humanity will win out over the worst. I still believe that.

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Sometimes, though, people do things that are so stupid and embarrassing for the rest of humanity that they simply must be called out on it.

So it is with some of the reaction to Nina Davuluri being named the first Indian-American Miss America for 2014.

Immediately after she was chosen, the racist comments started.

Here are some, according to The Guardian:

If you’re #Miss America you should have to be American,” said one on Twitter.

“WHEN WILL A WHITE WOMAN WIN #MISSAMERICA? Ever??!!” asked another.

One of my favorite sites, Public Shaming, captured these gems from Twitter:

Luke Brasili Tweet
Wendy Fraser Tweet
Shannon McCann Tweet
@em_adkins Tweet

Davulur handled all the racist talk with class, telling The Guardian, “I’m so happy this organization has embraced diversity. I’m thankful there are children watching at home who can finally relate to a new Miss America.”

Bravo to her.

For the rest of you: Go back to school and take some Social Studies classes. Clearly, you need a refresher course on what America is all about.

Miss America Nina Davuluri

Athletic Bulimia and Asshole Slogans

As someone who has struggled with both compulsive behavior and binge eating, a blog post from Pilates instructor, movement therapist and martial artist Kevin Moore called “The 6 Most Shockingly Irresponsible ‘Fitspiration’ Photos” strikes a big chord with me.

Moore takes aim at the advertisers who put out photos of rail-thin men and women with six-pack abs with messages suggesting you’re inferior, even pathetic, unless you find a way to get ripped. Number three especially resonates with me. It’s a saying I’ve seen a lot on places like Facebook:

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I won’t say this one offends me. But as someone with OCD, a condition where obsessive behavior is a form of slavery, I find it spectacularly stupid. Especially the part about people being lazy if they are not of this “dedicated” mindset.

The saying describes the dedicated as those who spend hours upon hours in the gym, pushing their bodies to the outer limits until they reach physical perfection. Take it from someone who knows what it’s like to be obsessed with both exercise and the more obviously self-destructive behaviors like binge eating: Being that dedicated is not always a good thing.

I have a lot of friends who are very athletic and I’m inspired by them. Some have lost a lot of weight that caused them a variety of health problems. Getting in shape wasn’t easy for them, but they got it done.

But when you start to feel subhuman because you only exercised an hour instead of two, or you only lost two pounds in a week instead of five, you’ve blown past the parameters of healthy.

The biggest reason I find this slogan stupid, though, is that I know from experience how obsessive exercise is used to mask ongoing bad behavior in the eating department:

  • In my late teens, I got the bright idea that I could party and drink all I wanted on the weekends with no danger of weight gain if I starved myself during the week, often living on one cheese sandwich a day.
  • My senior year in high school I wanted to drop a lot of weight fast. So for two weeks straight, I ate nothing but raisin bran from a mug two times a day and nothing else. I also ran laps around the basement for two hours a day.
  • In my late 20s, after years of vicious binge eating sent my weight to 280, I lost more than a hundred pounds through some healthy means and some fairly stupid tactics, like fasting for half of Tuesday and most of Wednesday. On Wednesdays, I would also triple my workout time on the elliptical cross-training machine at the gym. I did all this so I would be happy with the number on the scale come Thursday morning, my weekly weigh-in time. Thursday through Saturday, I would eat like a pig, then severely pull back on the eating by Sunday. Call it the 3-4 program (binge three days, starve four days, repeat).
  • In my early to mid-30s, some of my most vicious binge eating happened. For a while, though, I kept the weight down by walking 3.5 miles every day, no matter the weather. That worked great for a couple years, but then the dam broke and I binged my way to a 65-pound weight gain.

I’ve heard this kind of behavior described as athletic bulimia. I found it easy as hell to become dedicated to athletic bulimia. But health had nothing to do with it. My obsessions were all about body image.

And slogans like the one above only made the obsession worse, because it was always a reminder that my body was not perfect.

To Duncan on His 14th Birthday

Note: I’ve often written notes to my kids on their birthday. This was originally written when Duncan turned 1o.

An open letter to my second child on his 10th birthday…

Mood Music:

At 2 a.m. on Sept. 15, 2003, I was jolted awake by your mom shoving me in the shoulder. I had just gone to bed 45 minutes earlier, and I had had a lot of wine the night before.

You weren’t expected for a few more days, so I figured I could drink and watch TV all night. I worked the night desk at The Eagle-Tribune back then, and Sunday night was MY time.

But your mom knew you were coming. And unlike your brother’s slow entry into the world two and a half years before, the labor pains you gave your mother came on fast and furious.

This was the first time you made it clear that you were going to be heard. It certainly hasn’t been the last.

Fun fact: On the ride to the hospital, as I drove over the train tracks, Mom’s water broke. The car was still brand new at that point, and that would be the first of many messes you would make of that car. We were afraid you would be delivered in that car. That’s how intense your Mom’s labor pains were. It was the first and only time Mom let me blow through red lights. Two of them, to be specific. When we reached the hospital, I accidentally slammed Mom’s finger in the car door. She barely noticed, with the labor pains you were giving her.

You entered the world by early afternoon, and you were perfect. You still are.

Sean couldn’t wait to meet you. He had a stomach bug and was throwing up all over the living room the morning after you were born. But he wasn’t going to miss meeting his new little brother. Not for the wide world.

Fun fact: We chose the name Duncan for you early on. Your mom and I each made lists of potential names and Duncan was the only name on both lists. A lot of people think we came up with that name because of Dunkin’ Donuts. But I’m a Starbucks kind of guy and people should know better. Actually, I put the name on my list because your brother was really into Thomas the Tank Engine at that point, and one of the trains was named Duncan. As you now proudly tell people, your name is Scottish for “brown warrior.” You carry the name of a leader; a chief. It’s a name of strength. The key is to put your stamp on it. With your kind heart and strong faith (how many kids your age go to the chapel AFTER Mass to pray a little more because they WANT to?) I know you’ll do great.

You have a beautiful command of language and vocabulary, and one of my great pleasures is watching you with your face buried in a book or writing stories on the computer. You gave yourself an awesome pen name in N.R. Rennerb (Brenner spelled backwards, for those of you who didn’t immediately catch on).

You’re as brave and daring as your name suggests. It was you who talked your brother into going camping with your grandparents for the first time. You also dove into Cub Scouts and basketball without hesitating. Learning to ride a bicycle was a big challenge, but you never gave up. Who would have thought the key was simply raising the seat an inch or so?

You say things that make me laugh. Like the time you walked up to the old man in the van in front of Toys R Us and scolded him for smoking. Your exact words were, “Smoking is dumb, you know. It puts holes in your lungs. You also left your back door (to the van) open.”

You’re one of the most giving, loving souls I’ve ever met. You love unconditionally, whether you’re spending time with your cousins or sharing your artistic gifts with us. I especially love the things you can do with Origami.

I love to snuggle with you on the couch as we watch “Star Wars,” “The Hobbit” or your favorite British comedy, “Keeping Up Appearances.”

I love to take you on road trips with the rest of the family, like the time we drove to Washington D.C. and got a tour of the West Wing of the White House. One of my favorite family photos is the one where we are in the press briefing room:

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As you’ve discovered by now, life can be hard. Learning to manage ADHD has been no picnic, but you’ve risen to the challenge. You study hard, take your grades to heart and got honor roll twice last year despite all the trouble you had staying focused.

ADHD hasn’t kept you back. It never will, because you won’t let it.

I can’t believe you are 10 years old. Where does the time go? I guess time flies for a Dad who is blessed with two precious boys like you and Sean.

Happy Birthday, precious boy!

Never Too Late to Renegotiate Your Life

When you have legal problems, mountains of debt, bad relationships and a job that makes you unhappy, it’s easy to feel like there’s a point of no return, that this is how your life turned out and that’s that. It’s not true.

Mood music:

I can say that, because I’ve lived it.

I’m thinking about this after talking to a friend who allowed an addiction to get out of hand to the point where he’s now facing jail time. One of the points he keeps making is that if he goes to jail, his career is over. He won’t be able to provide for his family, and all will be lost.

I’ve felt like all was lost many times. I felt that way as a kid as the Crohn’s Disease shredded my insides and I simply assumed I wouldn’t live to see 30. I felt that way when my weight shot to 280 and I failed at one attempt after another to turn it around. I felt that way when relationships with friends and relatives snapped over the years. And I sure as hell felt that way when I was in a job I absolutely hated.

Yet here I am, with a job I love even after coming clean about old and frequently reappearing demons. I’m married with two kids and pushing 42 even though age 30 seemed unlikely in my teenage mind. My addictions can still be a knife in my side, but I’m having more success in controlling them than I ever have before.

That kind of blows the notion that there’s a point of no return to smithereens, in my humble opinion.

I’m betting my sister felt that point-of-no-return feeling back when she suffered from crushing depression. Yet this weekend I watched her getting married, looking happier than she’s looked in years, and thriving months into a new job.

I’m betting my father felt that point-of-no-return feeling in the months following his stroke last year. Yet there he was the other night, walking with the assistance of a simple cane — walker pushed to the corner — walking his daughter down the aisle and later dancing with her.

Yeah, life can seem brutally overwhelming sometimes. When you’re knee-deep in legal, financial or relationship problems, it can be hard to see coming out the other side with a better life.

But it happens. All the time. All it takes is the will to survive.

If you have that, then it’s never too late to renegotiate your life.

Phoenix Rising

Adventures With The CPAP

I’ve been using a continuous positive airway pressure (CPAP) machine for about two weeks now as a remedy for sleep apnea and my initial review is mixed.

Mood music:

http://youtu.be/zlxj_P3HuH4

The good news: When I have the mask on, I don’t snore. As a result, I’ve slept in the bed for 14 days straight without getting kicked to the couch for making a racket. The bad news: Keeping the mask on properly for the entire night is proving to be a real bitch.

A lot of people who have used a CPAP machine for years told me the machine has made a world of difference in their physical and mental health. A minority told me the machine has been a mixed bag or not helpful at all. I can’t say I feel like a new man, as some described themselves after using the device, but I think that’s because I’ve yet to get a full night’s sleep with the mask properly in place.

I tend to wake up between midnight and 2 a.m. because the head straps are tangled and air is escaping out the mask. Putting it back in place is a complicated task, especially in the dark.

I have an appointment with the sleep doctor this afternoon. I think I’ll make a play for a new mask with a less complicated head strap.

Stay tuned.

patient_cpap_frustrated

Flying on September 11

One of my biggest moments of shame came a week after September 11, 2001, when I scrubbed a planned trip to Arizona for a relative’s wedding. I was terrified to get on an airplane, and fear won out. Not only did I miss an important day in a loved one’s life, I also deprived my wife of the same thing. I didn’t want her flying, either.

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I’ve talked to many people over the years who have similar stories and whose fear of flying lasts to this day. I got over the flying fear several years ago and love doing so now. But it’s always been hard to fault people who have vowed not to get on a plane if it’s the anniversary day of the attacks. For some, it’s not even about fear and superstition. The memories of that day are simply too much to take, and nothing will make you fix on such a thing like being on an aircraft on the anniversary.

But last year I flew on September 11. And it was one of the most peaceful flights I had all year.

I was coming home from the CSO Security Standard. I was managing editor of CSO at the time, and the Brooklyn event was a favorite, because it always coincided with the anniversary. New Yorkers showed us how to stare down adversity during and after the attacks, and there’s something special about being in NYC around that time of year. But I never managed to fly on 9/11 until last year. I always left on September 9 or 12.

Truth be told, I didn’t think much about the anniversary when I went to the airport. I was too tired to think about much of anything after a super-busy few days. I was also more focused on being annoyed with the third-world experience that is LaGuardia Airport. But once we took off, I looked out the window and could see Lower Manhattan, with the Freedom Tower rising up next to where the Twin Towers once stood. I could clearly see the two memorial pools built in the footprints of the towers as well.

It brought my mind right back to the anniversary. But it also inspired me in a major way, which suppressed any feeling of dread or sadness I might have otherwise had.

I’ve been to the site many times. But on the ground it can be hard to get the full appreciation of what’s taking shape there. It is, after all, a large construction site with all the noise and barriers that drive a person to distraction. It’s also not easy to get a clear view of the memorial unless you’re right there, behind the fencing, boards and signage. Seeing it from above was quite a trip, indeed.

It wasn’t an exercise in banishing fear, since I had already overcome the fear of flying years before. But it was one of those moments that marks you forever.

In this case, it’s a mental mark I’m happy to have.

World Trade Center