The OCD Diaries

June 9, 2015June 9, 2015

The “I’m Surviving” Checklist

I’ve learned that in times of disorganized thought, depression and anxiety, it’s good to make lists. Want to squeeze out all your negative thoughts about people? Make a resentment list. Need help getting your diet in order? Write a daily food list, also known as a food diary. Feeling overwhelmed by work and family responsibilities? Make daily to-do lists to stay on top of it all.

Mood music:

https://youtu.be/oKujsRIjoOA

Life has been pretty chaotic lately, and it feels like I’m losing my grip on everything. I know that’s not really true, but another list exercise is in order. For this one, I’ll focus on the positives.

“I’m Surviving” Checklist

My children are healthy and thriving.
My wife is excelling at her business, and she loves me even though I’m not always pleasant to be around.
My father is dying, but he’s able to live in comfort for whatever time is left.
I’m getting lots of quality time with him, which is a blessing.
Despite the family upheaval, I’m still able to do my job do it well.
I have legions of friends who stick by me for some reason.
My Crohn’s Disease is in check.
My eating is off, but I haven’t gone on any binges. I haven’t picked up a bottle, either.
Helping my father tie up loose ends with his business is a harrowing experience, but I’m learning a lot and that’ll be to my benefit later.
Summer is upon us, and that’s my favorite time of year.
I have a really good therapist.
I’m sleeping OK under the circumstances.
I have plenty of coffee to keep me going.
I have music.

It would appear my life is still pretty damn good, despite my perceptions lately.

Beat-up journal labelled

April 25, 2015April 25, 2015

Post #RSAC 2015: Coming Down the Mountain Syndrome

It’s the Saturday after RSA Conference 2015. I spent most of Friday sleeping and have been off balance today. I know from past experience that depression is next. Not clinical depression, mind you. It’s more like what seasoned conference travelers call “ConFlu.”

Mood music:

I actually call this Coming Down the Mountain Syndrome, and it arrives every year like clockwork.

In my industry RSA is one of the biggest conferences of the year. Months of planning goes into the four-day event. There’s endless strategizing on how to make the biggest bang at the show: how the exhibit booth should look, what kind of blogging to do, which dinners and meetings to attend, and so on.

Then you get to San Francisco and haul ass for the week, sleeping an average of three hours a night. You walk several blocks around the city daily, getting from one meeting to the next. You spend much of the time too warm or cold, depending on which climate you come from.

You talk to hundreds upon hundreds of people about what you’re working on and how it’ll benefit them, until your throat is so sore that you can’t talk anymore.

Then you fly home and life returns to normal … eventually.

Since it’s been so long since the schedule was routine, your adrenalized body struggles hard with re-entry. It becomes difficult to keep thoughts organized. Those who expect you to return to a business-as-usual mindset become the object of your crankiness and scorn.

That’s my annual experience, anyway.

This isn’t exclusive to my industry’s conferences, either. It can happen after any intense event with a long lead-up. I know many people from different business sectors who feel the same way after a big event. I’ve also experienced it and seen it happen to others after religious retreats. There’s even a book about it.

The good news is that the feeling is short lived. Monday and Tuesday suck, but by Wednesday the universe comes back into alignment.

Now if I can just keep from punching people until then…

April 6, 2015April 6, 2015

The Burden of Being Upright, Part 2

I’ve written a lot about the frustrations that come with trying to be a good man when you carry so much baggage. The burden of being upright is something we all carry, but it’s really been weighing on me of late.

Mood music:

https://youtu.be/KNcvGwaJ-lI

This isn’t a pity party. But I’ve learned over the years that listing my issues and what I’m doing about them can help put them into perspective for me and can encourage others to do the same. The stressers in my life are not unique to me; it’s the kind of stuff every human being must deal with.

So what’s going on lately?

My father is bedridden and in a home, and my aunt — his sister — suffered a stroke and was unresponsive in the hospital for a couple of weeks. She’s responding a little now, but still. I’m not dealing with either of these things on my own, however. My sisters have been particularly awesome about communicating with my aunt’s doctors, and my stepmom has tirelessly seen to my father’s needs.

My frustration stems from the fact that I can’t do more. Living an hour away, traveling frequently for work and raising two young sons means I can’t drive to my father or aunt at the drop of a hat. This makes me feel guilty and failed as a son and nephew. Does my frustration square with reality? Probably not, but I feel it all the same.

Meanwhile, my depression was particularly brutal this past winter. And since the cold air and piles of snow are still here in April, I’m struggling more to come out of it.

I worry about not doing enough to keep the connection with my wife and kids going as strongly as it needs to be. As a result, some hang-ups have taken hold, the kind of stuff that comes from insecurity and is too personal to get into even here.

What am I doing about all of this?

I’m doing everything I can to move forward. I’ve played my guitar every day. I’m even taking walks most days — not yet consistently but more so than I have in a long time. And since I have a charity walk to prepare for, I’m going to keep walking.

My diet could be better, but I’ve managed to stabilize more than it has been in recent months.

I’ll keep plugging along with that stuff, and it’ll work. But it’s going to take longer than I want. That’s OK, though, because as long as I’m moving forward, I’m moving in the right direction.

face being punched by a boxing glove

March 30, 2015

The AP’s Suicide Rule Is Inadequate

The AP Stylebook, which I lived by as a journalist, recently added a new rule for reporters and editors dealing with the topic of suicide. It’s not a bad set of guidelines, but it’s inadequate.

Mood music:

The AP now advises the following:

Generally, AP does not cover suicides or suicide attempts, unless the person involved is a well-known figure or the circumstances are particularly unusual or publicly disruptive. Suicide stories, when written, should not go into detail on methods used. Avoid using committed suicide except in direct quotations from authorities. Alternate phrases include killed himself, took her own life or died by suicide.

The verb commit with suicide can imply a criminal act. Laws against suicide have been repealed in the United States and many other places.

Do not refer to an unsuccessful suicide attempt. Refer instead to an attempted suicide.

Medically assisted suicide is permitted in some states and countries. Advocacy groups call it death with dignity, but AP doesn’t use that phrase on its own. When referring to legislation whose name includes death with dignity or similar terms, just say the law allows the terminally ill to end their own lives unless the name itself of the legislation is at issue.

The language is all well and good, but it’s all about how to avoid libel and protect reputations of those affected. Important, for sure, but I believe we need to write about suicide in a way that captures what it truly is: the potentially fatal result of a ferocious disease. That disease is depression.

When someone dies of cancer and it’s deemed newsworthy, we say the person died of cancer. When writing about suicide, we should say they succumbed to depression.

That’s my personal opinion. I think saying it that way would further kill the stigma around suicide and raise public awareness of depression as a potentially deadly medical condition.

natural remedies for depression

February 25, 2015

Walk All Night Against Suicide

Update: I’ve set up my donations page. To donate, click here.

Though this blog is about dealing with the challenges we face, I started it to raise awareness and bust down stigmas around depression and suicide.

It’s time for me to take that fight to the next level.

Mood music:

I’ve been inspired to do more by the American Foundation for Suicide Prevention, which will hold an overnight walk in Boston June 27-28. My legs work almost as well as my typing fingers, so why not? Words can only do so much.

You can register or donate money to the cause through the organization’s website. I’ll be asking you for donations and walking in honor of my best friend and brother, Sean Marley, who died by suicide on November 15, 1996.

I’ve written a lot about Sean and the effect his death had on me. Having had my own battles with depression, I know how thin a line it is between hope and hopelessness. Though Sean couldn’t be saved, losing him forced me to confront many of the demons at the heart of my own infirmity. That made me stronger.

This event is bigger than me, bigger even than Sean. Every minute of every day, countless people suffer from depression. Once they slip far enough, suicidal instincts take over.

With more awareness, research and support programs, we can save more people. Not everyone, but maybe enough to make a difference in the world.

Money raised is well spent. The organization funds research, creates educational programs, advocates for public policy, and supports survivors of suicide loss.

During this fundraiser, participants will spend the entire night walking the streets of Boston. They will share stories and offer each other comfort and prayers. Each person will be strengthened by friends, family, and colleagues who donate to their cause.

This is an incredibly appropriate way for me to do my part.

Sean and I grew up on Revere Beach, just north of Boston, and we spent much of our young years walking that beach. Sometimes we drank there. Once we got caught up in a fight there. Often we sat on the wall, listening to rock ‘n’ roll from a portable cassette player. But mostly we walked on the sand, talking over the big questions of the day, sharing our hopes, dreams and fears and pushing toward the dawn.

Back then our walking feet gave us strength. May those feet come through again, this time for all who suffer from this insidious disease.

Rememberance Candles on Suicide Walk

January 28, 2015

Want Cheese With That Whine?

A few weeks back, a reader suggested that I whine a lot. She said I’m badly depressed and need more help than I’m getting.

She’s not the first person to misunderstand the purpose of this blog.

Mood music:

For those who don’t know by now, I started this blog because writing is powerful therapy. When you type out your feelings on paper or in a forum like this, it’s very freeing. You don’t keep stuff inside and you can move ahead more easily.

I decided to go public with my struggles because, for me, bringing my problems to light would make them smaller and weaker — and easier to manage.

I also did it because I know most people suffer with their own issues and live in greater pain because it’s the sinister secret in their closet. I figured that if I came clean about my own frailties of character and more medically based struggles, people who live in the closet would at least know that they don’t have to be alone and that they can get to a better place. A lot of people have told me this blog helps them. So I keep writing, even when I don’t feel like it.

I write frankly about my challenges. But I accept those challenges and have found happiness all the same. If you think that’s whining, you’re badly confused.

Fortunately, there’s a remedy for you: You can stop reading this blog and erase it from your mind. If you stay despite getting nothing from it, perhaps you’re the one in need of more help.

Middle Finger Mushroom Cloud

January 25, 2015

For Parents With Kids Freaked About Winter Storms

With a blizzard in the New England forecast this week and next month’s 37th anniversary of the Blizzard of 1978, I thought this might be of use:

Mood music:

http://youtu.be/6-WMbP1RcC4

I got a message awhile back from a mom who reads this blog regularly. I’ll keep her anonymous but share some details of the note:

“My son, only 7, has suffered from pretty severe anxieties about weather over the past 3 or so years. It took me forever to figure out what was going on (the doctors couldn’t) and finally found an amazing counselor for him that has given him the tools to deal. But still it is a lot for a little kid.”

Since this one really hits me where I live, I’m going to take a stab at offering something useful. But be warned first that I AM NOT a doctor. It’s also important to note that one person’s perfect solution might make things worse for another individual. What I offer is simply based on my own personal experience and some of what I’ve read from smart people in the medical community.

Tricky stuff, mental illness is.

I do think there’s good news for children who suffer:

1.) Getting the right help early will spare him/her from a lot of pain later on.

2.) Children seem to learn things like coping mechanisms more readily than adults.

3.) If a kid has to deal with any form of mental anguish, anxiety is probably one of the more natural, normal reactions to life. Even the healthiest of children live with a certain level of fear. My kids are healthy boys, mentally and physically, but they still crawl into bed with Mom and Dad in the middle of the night because their minds are spinning with worry over a ghost story they heard in school.

What really resonated with me is that this child gets anxiety over the weather. It’s been nearly 35 years since I watched in fear as the ocean rose up and ripped apart my neighborhood along the northern edge of Revere Beach in Massachusetts during the Blizzard of 1078..

Houses were torn from their foundations. Schoolmates had to stay in hotels for a year or more while their homes were rebuilt. The wind tore the roofing off some of the pavilions lining the beach.

Every winter since then, every nor’easter riding up the coast filled me with anxiety. The TV news doesn’t help. Impending storms are more often than not pitched as the coming apocalypse.

From the late 1970s straight through the 1990s, I’d shake from weather reports mentioning the Blizzard of 1978 with each new storm. As a young adult, I developed a pattern of throwing a blanket over my head and going to sleep. That’s exactly what I did in 1985 when Hurricane Gloria grazed us and, at age 21 in August 1991, when New England took a direct blow from Hurricane Bob.

My step-sister still likes to bring up how, on the morning Hurricane Bob was coming, I came into her room and yelled at her to wake up, telling her, “This aint no (expletive) Gloria.” That was me in OCD mode.

That rough weather scared the heck out of me as a kid, I think, was perfectly normal. Carrying that same fear and anxiety well into adulthood? Probably not so normal.

In more recent years, I’ve overcome that fear, and I actually like a good storm now and again. I love to drive through the snow. And when Washington D.C. got smacked with 30-plus inches of heavy snow in a blizzard in 2010, I gleefully walked the streets as the storm continued to rage.

That’s my long-winded way of saying this 7-year-old probably — hopefully — will grow out of his weather-based anxiety, and hopefully sooner than I did.

I think the best thing his mom can do is talk him through it, explaining that weather changes all the time and we usually get through the rough stuff just fine, even if a tree is blown over.

I’d tell him it’s ok to be concerned about a coming storm, but that the storm always passes and is followed by the sun.

When the TV news starts to hype up a storm, make fun of them for making mountains out of molehills. Sometimes, the hype is warranted, like when Hurricanes Katrina and Andrew came along. The Blizzard of 1978 certainly lived up to the hype. But most of the time, the media exaggerates the importance of a storm, and they deserve to be picked on for it, especially if it makes a little kid feel better.

Now, for those seeking a more scientific, medically-grounded piece of advice on treating childhood anxiety, I once again direct you toward the excellent WebMD site. I did some digging and found some helpful tips, which include the following:

Professional counseling is an important part of the treatment for depression. Types of counseling most often used to treat depression in children and teens are:

Cognitive-behavioral therapy, which helps reduce negative patterns of thinking and encourages positive behaviors.
Interpersonal therapy, which focuses on the child’s relationships with others.
Problem-solving therapy, which helps the child deal with current problems.
Family therapy, which provides a place for the whole family to express fears and concerns and learn new ways of getting along.
Play therapy, which is used with young children or children with developmental delays to help them cope with fears and anxieties. But there is no proof that this type of treatment reduces symptoms of depression.

Hope that helps!

“Blizzard of ’78,” by Norman Gautreau, depicting the devastation of Revere Beach following The Blizzard of 1978:

December 18, 2014May 29, 2020

Woe-Is-Me Disease

Funny thing about us humans — especially those of us with mental disorders: When the going gets tough, we blame it on someone else. Call it the Woe-Is-Me Disease, where the sufferer is an eternal victim, forever screwed by everyone but themselves.

Mood music:

We all have people like that in our lives. They are clinically incapable of seeing their own role in the thing that goes wrong. It’s always someone else’s fault. They whine a lot, and when you suggest that they are whining, they call you the whiner. They repeat the same stories about how they were victimized over and over again.

They always seem to be involved in a bunch of projects but never seem to follow through on any of it — usually because of something someone else did or didn’t do.

I’ve fit that profile in the past, especially in my angry teens and 20s, when many of us might fit that profile.

It used to be that it was impossible for me to see the problems as my own. It was always the result of something someone else did to me or failed to do for me.

Seeing yourself as a victim every time the going gets tough is probably one of the worst things you can do. It holds you back, keeps you from improving yourself and makes you look pathetic in the eyes of people who don’t understand where the emotion comes from.

I was reminded of this a few years ago after getting a message from an old friend who was fighting his own battle with OCD. Here’s what he wrote to me at that time:

I recently finished my PHP for my OCD. It was a great program and I’m glad my wife recommended that I enroll. So many things helped me change my way of thinking. One of the most important things I learned was to find ways to be proactive and a problem solver (where before I would be reactive and put my head in the sand).

Additionally, I realized that I suffer from victim-type of thinking (such as “this is not fair,” “I can’t handle this,” etc.), and I need to think more like a survivor (“I can handle this”).

I have a huge folder of handouts that I need to organize. I do know that just because I went through the program doesn’t mean I’m miraculously cured. From here I on out, I have many tools in my toolbox to handle whatever life throws at me.

He’s right: people like us are never miraculously cured. We simply create a set of coping tools and pull them out when we need the help.

As a result, we stop being victims and become, as he put it, survivors.

December 8, 2014

An EddieTheYeti Christmas

Every year, I have trouble finding my Christmas spirit. I’ve written a lot about why that is, and this year is no different. But I feel like God is throwing me more clues than usual.

Mood music:

The first clue came from my wife. We were discussing my father’s ongoing health problems and I noted how that was contributing to what I see as the same old pattern of shitty things happening during the holidays.

Erin noted, rightly, that this season isn’t about having a constant warm glow in the belly and not having a care in the world. It’s about celebrating the second chance Christ’s birth gave humanity. A lot of people have a hard time with the concept and the faith, but it is what Erin and I believe. She’s just better at seeing it than I am this time of year.

The second clue came as I was reviewing some works from Eddie Mize, known in the infosec and art communities as EddieTheYeti. I recently vowed to do a series on his art and the feelings it stirs in me. My faith is a good place to start.

A disclaimer before I go further: My take on Eddie’s art won’t necessarily be the same as what he was thinking and feeling when making these works. We haven’t discussed religion, and I don’t know what his beliefs are. This exercise is about what his work brings out of me. The results may well be light years from what he intended.

Which brings me to two of his works.

“Prayer”

The look on the angel’s face is sad, not at all characteristic of an angel. I’ve carried that frown a lot lately, even I feel like the warm glow of Christmas should be shooting out from my fingertips. I still believe that if I keep Christ close everything will work out.

The angel reminds me that in the face of sadness and despair, there is always hope. I’m a flawed person, but Christ never gives up on me.

“Pierced”

For those who don’t believe, it’s a hard concept to wrap the head around: Christ allowing himself to be killed in one of the most brutal ways imaginable. Yet I believe that Christ suffered and died to give us all a second chance. It opened a path by which sinners could find redemption.

He saved us by sacrificing Himself. No matter how much I screw up, He has my back.

That will strike many of you as bat-shit crazy. I’m not going to debate the truth and science of it all. It’s what I believe, and I don’t have to defend it.

Eddie’s art has no warm, glowing Christmas tree lights. There’s no mistletoe, no Santa Clause and no chestnuts roasting on a fire. It’s bleak and dark. But it gives me more clarity about the purpose of the season than any Rockwell painting could.

December 2, 2014

I’m a Relapsed People Pleaser

I’ve had an epiphany about my recent depression — a realization so brutally simple that I feel stupid for not seeing it sooner.

I’ve been miserable in part because I fell back into a habit I knew was corrosive. I once wrote a post about overcoming it. That made me feel even more like a chump, because this thing I had overcome was back, whipping me again. And I didn’t see it coming.

I relapsed into people pleasing.

Mood music:

http://youtu.be/7ZVbGj6wp_8

In recent months, I’ve obsessively tried to please colleagues, friends and family. I’ve worked myself to exhaustion trying to make everyone happy. In the process, I burned myself out and developed a low sense of self-worth.

Most of the time, you can’t please people. I learned that lesson a long time ago, but it seems I forgot it.

It used to be that I wanted desperately to make every boss happy, and I succeeded for a while. But in doing so I damaged myself to the core and came within inches of an emotional breakdown. It caused me to work 80 hours a week, waking up each morning scared to death that I would fall short or fail altogether. No employee gets back 100 percent of what they put in to the corporate machine. Sure, you can make your direct bosses happy, but the folks many layers above them in the food chain still won’t know who you are or care that you work 80 hours a week.

I wanted to make every family member happy, too. That didn’t work, either, because when you get right down to it, people are never satisfied for long. Humans have never-ending, ever-changing wants and needs.

Understanding that, I changed my ways a few years ago and spent more time being true to myself, playing to my strengths and passions and not worrying about who was happy and who wasn’t. I focused more on the things I love and put in 100 percent. I worried less about the tasks that bored me, performance review consequences be damned. When I did that, a lot of things fell into place and I had more career success than ever before.

So why the relapse?

Lately, there have been serious challenges at work and with my extended family. As the challenges started to arise, I dove headlong into dealing with them with the gusto I’ve had in more recent years.

But the challenges were too big and numerous. Without thinking, I let myself get sucked in deeper and deeper. I got so absorbed in the problems around me that I forgot an old lesson: The more you try to fix things, the more likely you are to just make them worse.

I’m not advocating selfishness. It’s absolutely right to want to do the best job you can at work. It’s absolutely right to try being a blessing to those around you. But there comes a point where certain situations are bigger than your ability to change things. You can play a part, but you can’t fix everything on your own.

Now that I’m aware again, I have to address the next challenge: remembering how to stop.

screaming face with empty eye sockets