Posted on

Layne Staley, 14 Years Later

“What’s my drug of choice? Well, what have you got?” —Layne Staley, Alice in Chains

This week marks 14 years since Alice In Chains frontman Layne Staley was found dead.

Mood music:

Like Kurt Cobain, Staley had a big impact on me in the early 1990s. But while I identified with Cobain’s depression, I identified with Staley for his inability to keep his addictive demons at bay.

I can’t tell you how many times I listened to the “Dirt” album while I binged myself sick. It seems like an unfair comparison, because Staley’s demon was heroin. Mine was compulsive binge eating — a destructive form of addictive behavior in its own right, but not necessarily from the same depths of hell heroin came from.

Staley’s lyrics seeped deep into my soul. When he screamed his vocals, I could identify the pain that came from deep down. I’m convinced that pain gave him the power to sing the way he did.

My writing taps a similar source within me, but the source is a lot more muted, less despairing, because I have something I don’t think he had — faith.

But as a 20-something, I couldn’t tell the difference. I felt like my demons were as vexing as his. When you’re younger, that’s the kind of self-important thinking you get into.

Before I found recovery, my demon would start harassing me long before getting to the scene of the junk. Forget the people who would be there or the weather and surroundings. All I’d think about was getting my fill of food. Then I’d get to the event and get my fill from the time I’d get there to the time I left. I’d sneak handfuls of junk so what I was doing wouldn’t be too obvious to those around me.

Halfway through, I would have the same kind of buzz you get after downing a case of beer or inhaling a joint deep into your lungs. I know this, because I’ve done those things, too. By nightfall, I’d feel like a pile of shattered bricks waiting to be carted off to the dump. Quality time with my wife and kids? Forget it. All I wanted was the bed or the couch so I could pass out.

I imagine Staley felt something similar much of the time, though I’m told by those who have kicked smack addictions that you don’t really care about anything when you’re high, because it’s like being under a warm blanket. The problem is that you spend the rest of your life trying to feel that way, and the only thing that works is more and more smack.

In the end, I know you can’t fairly compare the two addictions. I only know how mine made me feel, and whenever I listened to Staley scream, I felt like someone else got it, and that I wasn’t alone.

Thanks for that, Layne. I hope you’re at peace wherever you are.

Posted on

Skinny Like A Fool

At dinner with friends one night, a conversation about weight control got started. It reminded me of how hard I used to work to stay thin, and how dangerous some of my methods were.

Examples:

–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. As a little treat to make it bearable, I chain smoked in the storage room next to my bedroom.

–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. It worked so well that I adopted it as my post binge regimen every few weeks. It lasted into my early 20s.

–In my late 20s, after years of vicious binge eating sent my weight to nearly 300 pounds, 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. 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 my walking 3.5 miles every day, no matter the weather. I also never ate dinner, but would eat like a pig earlier in the day. This was while I was working a night job, which allowed me to get away with the dinner-skipping part. That worked great for a couple years, but then the dam broke and I binged my way to a 65-pound weight gain by the end.

Today I put almost everything I eat on a little scale and I avoid flour and sugar. I don’t exercise as much as I should, I’m not idle, either.

I don’t always get it perfect. I’m also nowhere close to skinny.

But I’m a lot healthier — and probably a little smarter — than I used to be.

RUDOLPH THE RED-NOSED REINDEER

Posted on

RIP, Renee Pelletier Costa

This morning I received the sad news that Renee Pelletier Costa passed away after a long and courageous battle against cancer.

Mood music:

[spotify:track:3UjJmliWxuobgMSdX5bN3R]

Updates: 

Renee’s memorial service will be held Saturday, March 23, 1:30 at Faith Lutheran Church, 360 South Main St., Andover MA 01810

In lieu of flowers, donations can be made to the:
Renee L. Costa Memorial Fund, account #8371787589
Care of: TD Bank
280 Main Street
Groveland, MA 01834 or any local TD Bank branch.

Meanwhile, a new site called “Live Like Renee” has been established to raise funds for her family.

***

The last time I saw her was over the summer, when she dropped off a huge collection of Legos her children had outgrown. She made Sean and Duncan very happy that day, and I think it reflects her life pretty well. In the short time I knew her, that simple kindness was evident.

She touched many lives in her short time on this Earth. For me, she offered an everlasting example of living in the face of immense suffering. It always floored me how positive and giving she was even as she was slowly losing to cancer. “Losing” might not be the right word, though. She did, after all, live with cancer for the better part of a decade. She certainly lived longer than she was expected to.

What follows is something I wrote about her more than a year ago. I think the sentiments ring especially true now.

My deepest condolences to Renee’s husband, children, friends and extended family.

***

Oct. 20, 2011:

Renee Pelletier Costa of Haverhill starts another round of chemo today. She’s been very public about her battle with cancer, and has been a sturdy, shining example of how to live in the face of adversity.

Cancer has put her body through the wringer, but has failed to stop her positive attitude and sense of humor. On Facebook this morning, she wrote:

“I begin chemo again at 9:30. Sean says he’ll go with me and stay long enough to make sure I don’t die from anaphylaxis, then he’ll go to work. That’s how it goes when this becomes old hat.”

Judging from the responses to that comment, she has a strong circle of cancer-fighting friends. That’s one of the strange things about terrible diseases. You gain friends you never would have met if not for the sickness.

She also has a lot of friends around here who are rooting for her.

But you can never have enough prayers in times like these, so please take a moment and do your part.

Thanks.

Renee

Posted on

How To Avoid Becoming #RSAC Roadkill

Last year was a first: I had a stay-at-home vacation a week before flying out to a big conference. We took the kids to the Museum of Fine Arts in Boston and did a lot of relaxing. It worked so well I’m doing it again.

Mood music:

The kids are on their February school vacation, which was my main reason for choosing this week. That it fell the week before RSA — one of the biggest security conferences of the year — was pure luck. That it’s happening two years in a row is even luckier.

I always run myself ragged the week before a conference. A couple years ago it caught up with me. This time I have a chance to soak up some quality family time and rest my brain before getting on the plane.

That should allow me to be at the top of my game in San Francisco next week. It certainly did the trick last year.

Conferences have always brought out the the good and bad sides of my OCD. On a professional level it gives me the extra push to write more, network more, stay awake later for said networking, and get up and at ’em early. It also takes over the parts of my brain that manage my pacing and ability to stop and breath.

Not helping is that usually, the week before, I work in overdrive mode to get as much business out of the way as possible. In doing that, I’m already half burned before my plane takes off.

I won’t always get to vacation right before RSA like this. So I’ll be making the most of this week.

I’m especially going to need it this year, because a couple hours after the plane lands Sunday, I’ll be darting back and forth between BSidesSF, the hotel, the Moscone Center registration area and quite a few evening events.

Posted on

Chris Christie’s Obesity Isn’t the Issue

This morning I caught MSNBC’s Morning Joe, which was looking at N.J. governor Chris Christie’s obesity and whether it makes him unqualified to be president someday.

Mood music:

[spotify:track:7j0eQhCrpbOwucAolLJ0t8]

I’ve struggled with obesity in the past. Some of the struggle was the result of being on Prednisone, which stretched my appetite to horrific levels. I would work out to try to control the weight gain, but it wouldn’t last long. I have friends who are far more disciplined with their workout regimens than I could ever be. They tend to hold the belief that there are few legitimate excuses for being fat, that most of the typically given reasons are the talk of lazy people who need to grow a set of balls.

Most of my struggle, though, was because I was a binge eater who lusted after junk food as an alcoholic does vodka and whiskey. Eventually I had to quit flour and sugar to deal with the problem.

My personal experience makes me prickly toward those who criticize someone’s weight problem. I don’t see the subject as black and white. In my own case, there have been periods where my weight ballooned because I was simply stuffing myself with junk all the time. But there have been other times when the complications of Crohn’s Disease, a bad back and other maladies forced me to derail my fitness program.

Let’s look at the governor for a moment: That he’s obese is not debatable. Pictures of him standing next to a fit President Obama in the aftermath of Superstorm Sandy are almost freakish looking, though when you put a fat person next to a thin one, the watcher’s perception is knocked off balance. Do I think he’d live longer if he lost weight? Sure.

But I don’t believe for a second that people should judge a candidate on his or her girth.

Being overweight comes with health risks, but so does being underweight. The diseased and incapacitated come in all shapes and sizes, as do the more sturdy among us. The dumbest and smartest among us are fat, thin and in-between.

We’ve had presidents who were obese. William Howard Taft and Grover Cleveland come to mind. History has handed both men a mixed assessment. We’ve had physically fit presidents with mixed records, too. George W. Bush was and still is a fitness fanatic. JFK looked glamorous and healthy, but he was sick most of his life and landed on death’s doorstep more than once before he was president. Addison’s disease gave his skin an odd, bronze color that he managed to pass off as a healthy tan. Then there was Teddy Roosevelt, who was both an athlete and advocate of “the strenuous life” but was also a glutton with some serious girth. Despite his health problems, including the weight and serious childhood asthma, he managed to do pretty much everything and carved a lasting legacy.

The point is that a person’s physical appearance and imperfect health should not disqualify them from anything, including public service.

I admire and am inspired by friends who have lost weight after embracing intense workout regimens. They also happen to have razor-sharp minds. But I don’t know if I’d vote for them if they ran for the White House.

I’ve accomplished much during periods of obesity and have failed during times of top physical form, when I would walk four miles a day no matter how dangerous the weather was at the time. I’ve also had successes as a thinner guy and failures as a fat guy.

We tend to oversimplify things when the talk turns to weight. We do so at our peril.

Christie

Posted on

Starting Over

In a lot of ways, I feel like I’ve been starting everything over this past week. Not in big, drastic ways, but in little ways that will hopefully add up to something good.

Mood music:

[spotify:track:3IRovqSVYx3CNtDWRebsET]

There’s the afternoon tea I’ve been drinking instead of Red Bull and more coffee. There’s the meditation and yoga. And there’s the significant tightening of my food plan.

What’s the reason for all this?

I attribute some of it to the mindfulness-based stress reduction course I’m taking. I’m not sure it’s gotten me to the point of a sharper attention span and ability to live every minute in the moment, but the tools I’m learning are designed to get me there eventually.

The food clean-up is more about getting back on the horse after months adrift in the Overeater’s Anonymous wilderness. I never slipped back into the pattern of binge eating, but I was certainly getting sloppy. I was using way too much cheese for protein. On the last shopping trip I stocked up on salmon to use instead. Erin asked if this was my latest obsession. It’s really just me getting back to basics. I still haven’t returned to the OA meetings or gotten a sponsor, but one thing at a time.

My return to guitar playing has definitely been a factor. When I play I’m right in the moment, where I should be. I realized I play better when drinking tea than when drinking coffee. The chords are steadier and cleaner when I’m not on coffee overload. Another example of one good habit leading to another.

It’s fitting that all this is happening in the autumn. It’s usually the time of year when my mood and grip on life start to slip. Making changes this time of the year is turning out to be a powerful thing.

It’s also fitting because autumn four years ago was when I first decided my worst addictions had to stop owning me. That’s when I kicked flour and sugar and started weighing out my food. A year later I was done with alcohol.

Temptations still come and go. But the key is to take it a day at a time and get back on the horse when you fall off.

That’s what I’m learning, anyway. Hopefully, all of this will continue.

Reset Button

Posted on

Strong Too Long, Or Weak Too Often?

There’s a saying on Facebook that depression isn’t a sign of weakness, but simply the result of being strong for too long. Somewhat true — though weakness does feed the beast.

Mood music:

I’m feeling it this morning.

I’ve always taken a certain level of satisfaction from my ability to stay standing in the face of death, illness, family dysfunction, depression and addiction. Sometimes, I get an over-inflated sense of survivor’s pride.

People love to tell you how awesome you are when you emerge from adversity stronger than before. The victor is placed on a 10-foot pedestal and life looks hunky-dory from up there. But it’s only a matter of time before the person on top loses balance and crashes to the ground.

I’ve fallen from that pedestal a bunch of times, and my ass is really starting to hurt from all those slips off the edge.

All this has me asking the question: How much can you blame depression on being strong too long when many times it comes back because the victim has been weak?

I don’t think there’s a precise answer. I only know this: I feel like I’ve been trying like a motherfucker to be strong 24-7. But I don’t seem to have the fortitude to maintain it, and I give in to weakness.

In the past, that weakness would involve indulging in food, alcohol and tobacco until I was too sick to function.

Today, the weakness involves getting angry and self-defensive and distant at the drop of a hat.

For all the progress I’ve made in managing my OCD, there are still moments where I go weak, put the blinders on and do some stupid things.

It’s the compulsion to keep staring at the laptop screen when one or both kids need me to look up and give them some attention.

It’s stopping in the middle of a conversation with my wife because the cellphone is ringing or someone has pinged me online.

It’s spending too much money on food and entertainment for the kids because it’s easier to me at the time than  cooking the food myself and playing a board game with them instead.

I’ve been working double-time at bringing my compulsive tendencies to heel, going through some intensified therapy. The short-term result is that I’m an angrier person than I normally am.

My therapist made note of that anger at our last meeting. The trigger in the room was him taking me back to my younger years in search of clues to present-day debacles. I thought I was done with sessions like that five years ago.

But I’m learning that the road to mental wellness is not linear. It goes in a circle. It’s like driving to the same place every day for work. The drive to work and back is a loop of the same landmarks, the same traffic patterns and the same behind-the-wheel thinking sessions.

I’m learning that managing my issues is going to involve frequent trips back and forth from the past to the present. This pisses me off. But I know I have to keep at it.

I guess I’ll always have my weak moments because of the events that shaped me.  But you can still be strong throughout it, learning to regain your footing more quickly  and being better at the kind of discussion with loved ones that prevents endless miscommunication from adding up to a mountain of pain.

I don’t know when I’ll truly reach that level of strength. But for now I’m leaning hard on all my coping tools, including the music and the praying.

Posted on

Small Victories

Duncan and I took my father on a little walk around Deer Island yesterday. Dad still struggles from the stroke he had last year, but days like yesterday I admire his fighting spirit.

Mood music:

http://youtu.be/Mi_Tm_g6KdA

I’ve been reluctant to take him on long walks, mainly because I don’t want him taking a nasty spill on my watch. But it was a beautiful spring day and he was eager, so who was I to argue?

Deer Island is an interesting place. One of the nastiest prisons in Massachusetts history used to be there. Now it’s the site of a massive water treatment plant — the facility credited with making Boston Harbor far cleaner than it was in past decades, when raw sewage used to get pumped into the harbor.

Dad moved slowly, but he was steady. He was telling us about the new tennis balls he just put on his walker. By the end of the walk, those tennis balls were toast, dragged to tatters.

Duncan enjoyed walking on the rocks, and spent the time talking about coordinates — something he is currently learning about.

We had to take frequent rests, as Dad can only take so much at once. But he was determined to go at least a mile.

Dad struggled toward the end, stopping every few feet. When it was over, he collapsed into the passenger seat of my car. But by then, he had gone more than a mile.

Not bad for a guy who needed a wheelchair to get around just a few short months ago.

Sometimes, it’s the smallest victories that count the most.

Posted on

Crude But True

This pic, making the Facebook rounds, is crude. I’ve always hated the “T” word. But the overall message is the truth.

McDonald’s is where I binged again and again when my compulsive overeating was at its zenith. But I’ve never blamed the fast-food chain. Buying their food — my heroin — was my choice and responsibility.

When you have young children, you have far more control over what they put in their bodies. If you’re an over-eater yourself and you’re always stressed and on the run, you probably let your child eat this stuff all the time. If your child is fat as a result, that’s your fault, not McDonald’s.

We all have choices. When we make the bad calls, we have to own it.

McDonald’s has put a lot of effort into adding healthier, low-fat selections to its menu. You can get salads, fruit, yogurt and other healthy foods.

But I still won’t go in there.

If I do, I know I’ll order all the bad, high-fat stuff on the menu. When I want to binge, I want the baddest of the bad. Who the hell binges on apple sticks and celery? If yours is an addictive personality and food is your drug, the fruit and veggies will be passed over every time.

And so I stay away.

That’s my choice.

Posted on

Depressed? Remember To Sleep, Eat And See A Doctor

In my response to the reader who claimed wanting to die 5 out of seven days a week, I forgot something critical: It’s not always “in your head.”

In other words, withering depression is also the result of physical trouble.

Mood music:

http://youtu.be/cFKeEBFsZek

A friend reminded me of that after she read this morning’s post. She wrote to me:

May I also suggest to said young man to seek an MD’s opinion. There are numerous physical conditions that can cause lack of sleep and changes in appetite which in turn cause depression which in turn… well, I’m sure you’re able to continue the vicious cycle there. 

One of the things I’ve learned since being diagnosed with Celiac’s is the incredibly intimate relationship between physical and mental well-being. The psychological impact of an auto-immune reaction to gluten, for example, is far more long-lasting for some than the physical impact – causing depression, lack of sleep, utter despair, even suicidal thoughts. I get in these cycles when I’m reacting to gluten, and they are ugly – I have actually pondered driving into a tree more than once. Post-partum depression too, is most often caused by physical factors, for example, that can go away in time. I found the key to even a short period of PPD to be recognizing that it was physical, not mental, and that it would eventually “go away.” It didn’t make me cry less, but not heaping concern that I was “losing it” on top of the depression did help me manage more effectively until it dissipated. 

I’m sure there are other physical conditions as well that might be a cause, and I would encourage said young man (and anyone else) to take a two-pronged attack to the problem – seek a therapist or someone trusted to help with the traumatizing psychological impact now while simultaneously seeking an MD’s opinion. It may be all psychological, it may not – but if it is an underlying medical condition that is the root cause it can be managed. 

Too often people consider issues “in their heads” to be “all in their heads” and sometimes, that’s not the case, leaving them never truly able to be healed. Both avenues should be explored – just in case it’s something physically simple (and unrecognized) behind it…

Very wise words.

I know for a fact that physical problems have fueled much of my depression over the years: Violent Crohn’s Disease attacks during childhood, migraines, severe back trouble. It all wears you down to the point of feeling hopeless.

I finally found a good chiropractor and the back pain went away. I got lucky with the Crohn’s Disease because it hasn’t stabbed me hard enough to make Prednisone necessary since 1986. Those things have improved my mental health considerably.

It goes to show just how interconnected everything is.

So please see a doctor. A change in diet, increase in sleep and discovery of hidden medical ailments may be all it takes to feel the craving for life again.