Posted on

Back in the Real World, Emotionally Drained

I’m back from a very powerful, emotionally draining weekend. It was absolutely wonderful. I came closest as I ever have to crying a few times. More on that later. For now, here’s the talk I gave Saturday morning.

I’ve embedded no links and all typos and rough edges are included. I’m sure you’ll give me a pass on that this time. Everything my new brothers shared this weekend stays between us. I’m only posting this because you, my friends, already know this stuff.

Mood music:

http://youtu.be/JpMt_YqVbhw

The Rollo on Study, Men’s Cursillo Weekend, St. Basil’s:

Good morning, my brothers. My name is Bill Brenner, and this talk starts like many stories do: With a girl.

I live in Haverhill with my beautiful wife, Erin and our 2 boys, Sean and Duncan. This is largely a talk about them, because God put them in my path as a way of taking me to school. And, really, it starts with Erin.

First, though, let me confess that I chuckled when I was assigned this talk because I was always a bad student growing up. The dog always ate my homework. When they gave us aptitude tests I was like that Sean Penn character Jeff Spicoli in the film “Fast Times at Ridgemont High.” He sat there coloring in the little holes on the test form until it was in the shape of a shoe print. At the end of the film, Mr. Hand, his long-suffering teacher, visits his house and makes him go over all his lessons before he can go to the dance.
Instead of sending a teacher to my house, God sent me Erin and, later, my kids. It’s through them, not necessarily a stack of books, that I have studied my relationship with Jesus and realized why I need a Savior in my life.

That’s the Holy Spirit for you. IT acts through the people and experiences around ME.

It wasn’t always this way.

I grew up in a Jewish household. We followed Jewish traditions because that’s what my parents were taught. But since God wasn’t really part of the proceedings.

I did have conversations with God as a kid, but it was purely selfish on my part. I had a fierce case of Crohn’s Disease and often spent nights sitting on the toilet passing nothing but blood. The abdominal pains you get from this sort of thing are the type that MADE ME turn to God for help.

Of course, the conversation always goes something like this:

“God, I swear to you, if you make me better I will change my ways and devote my life to you. At that age, such a promise meant I’d share my toys instead of lighting them on fire to see what burning plastic looked like. Yeah, I was that kind of kid.

Fast forward to 1993 when I met Erin.

Like most love-struck guys, I would do anything to impress her. She was editor of the Salem State literary magazine and her staff had to read hundreds of submissions and decide which ones to put in the next issue. I did it even though it meant reading what I thought was a lot of bad poetry, until I read my own poetry a few years after writing it.

It also meant I would go to Church to impress her, because she went to Church every Sunday without fail. Her parents taught her well on this score, and now she would start teaching me. Not that we saw that as the plan. It just sort of happened that way. The Holy Spirit was taking me to my first class. I just didn’t know it at the time.

I can’t remember a word of what the priest said in his Homily. I just kept staring at Erin. Still, a feeling came over me in that church, a feeling of peace and belonging that I’d never felt before. It would be many years and many struggles before I understood what it was.

We dated for a few years and married in 1998. She kept going to church every Sunday. Not me, though. I was too busy getting a journalism career off the ground and on Sundays all I wanted to do was walk around the parking lots around the area of Chelmsford we were living in at the time, drinking coffee and pondering the week ahead. Other days, I preferred to lie on the couch and watch the talking heads on those Sunday-morning political news shows.

Essentially, I was cutting class again.

Then my son Sean was born, and I started going to church every Sunday. I wasn’t hungering for a more spiritual life. Indeed, my head was full of selfish things at that point and parenthood felt like more of an inconvenience at first. But something in me said I should go to church each Sunday and set a good example for my son. So that’s what I did.

I went through the motions of the Mass but didn’t really understand it. I had a still-undiagnosed case of Obsessive Compulsive Disorder at that point (I was officially diagnosed in 2006). So I’d go to church and sit their inside my head, focusing and seething over the merry-go-round of obsessive thoughts. Now, I don’t mean for this talk to be about those struggles. But MY struggles HAVE DEFINED ME and MY Faith, so I really have no way around it.

I started to really deal with the mental baggage and related addictions around the middle of 2004. And that’s where Erin and my children – and ultimately JESUS – come back in. This is where I REALLY started to study my Faith, and I haven’t been the same since then. I say that in a good way.

I dove into it in a very sloppy way. I tried studying my spirituality in all the wrong places. I drank a lot, thinking there was something about alcohol that brought me closer to God. I felt the same way about pot and pills. While intoxicated, I would discuss things like religion to my drunk buddies, but for all I know we were really talking about how to bake a cake.

I remember none of the conversation, except that we were getting into so-called deep stuff. My main addiction — compulsive binge-eating — took me as far away from God and the study of Faith as I could get.

All I was studying was how to stuff the biggest amount of food into my belly and then hide the amount I was eating and what I was spending on it from my family. God had nothing to do with it. It’s not that he didn’t want to show me the way. I just wasn’t letting Him in.

In the fall of 2005, I enrolled in my church’s RCIA program. That acronym stands for the Right of Christian Initiation for Adults. For nine months, I was immersed in study about the Catholic faith, I studied everything: Why Catholics believe what they believe, what all the rituals of Mass are all about, and – this was the biggie for me, the match that lit the fire in my heart – the concept of redemption, WHICH I needed. I had some fun along the way. On the first Sunday of Lent everyone in RCIA does what is called the Right of Election. We take buses to the Holy Cathedral in Boston and sign our names in a book. Cardinal Sean O’Mally presided over the ceremony. It was particularly cool because he had JUST been made a cardinal. Everyone was called to stand in front of the alter in alphabetical order, by name and by parish. Since MY parish starts with an A – All Saints – and my last name starts with a B, I got to be front and center, three or four feet in front of Cardinal Sean. I noticed him dozing off as the proceedings went on, and I chuckled. The poor guy was probably on his third big ceremony of the day, he had just been made a cardinal and he must have been toast by that point.

That was a powerful lesson. Service can be a tiring thing. It GIVES energy, but it TAKES energy as well. And even a bishop gets worn out. Because of that realization, the Right of Election was all the more special for me. I FELT LIKE JESUS WAS STANDING NEXT TO ME, TAPPING ME ON THE SHOULDER AS I CHUCKLED AT THE DOZING CARDINAL, REMINDING ME THAT WE ARE ALL HUMAN.

In April 2006 I was Baptized a Catholic. I had the crazy idea that this meant I’d be happy forever after. Nope. My deepest period of study has been in the time since then.

I’ve heard it said that when a junkie gets clean from their addiction, it doesn’t mean they instantly become a good, functioning member of society. Having been there, I know it’s true. But for me it can also be said that being Baptized DID NOT instantly make me a good Catholic. I still had too much baggage in my head to let Jesus in with complete abandon.

As the years have progressed, I’ve grown deeper in my Faith because I’ve been more open to studying everything around me.
God continues to put people in my path to HELP ME LEARN. I also believe he gave me the struggles of addiction and OCD to help me a long. Five years ago I would have seen these things as a cruel lesson. But that was before all the joys that have since come my way.

I needed the 12 Steps of Recovery to get me through that addiction and find my way. I can think of few areas of study that are as powerful and effective. THE 12 STEPS ARE BUILT ON CHRISTIAN PRINCIPALS. FROM THE VERY BEGINNING, I HAD TO LEARN TO SURRENDER MY WILL OVER TO THE CARE OF JESUS AND TRUST THAT HE WOULD LEAD ME OUT OF THE MESS I HAD CREATED.

The act of going back to people you’ve hurt and people who have hurt you back and mending the rifts, that is powerful stuff. It’s the Holy Spirit in action, and I’ll tell you something else: It’s like lightening in a medicine bottle.

My teachers are the people in program. JESUS WORKS ON ME, TEACHING ME NEW LESSONS EVERY DAY, THROUGH THESE PEOPLE. They are the people in church. And just as it’s been in the beginning, my wife is my homeroom teacher. I look at how she lives her life and it makes me want to be a better man.

My kids are teachers too. My kids blow me away with acts of kindness every day. It’s almost like they are there to remind me to do my prayers, get to church, get to those 12-Step meetings. WHEN THEY WERE SMALLER, THEY WOULD HAVE ME READ THEM THE CHILDREN’S ILLUSTRATED BIBLE AT BEDTIME. IT MAY SEEM CRAZY – OR MAYBE IT DOESN’T – BUT THAT CHILDREN’S BIBLE WAS A HUGELY IMPORTANT STUDY GUIDE FOR ME AS WELL. I SOMETIMES GET LOST IN THE DENSITY OF BIBLICAL LANGUAGE, ESPECIALLY THE OLD TESTAMENT. BUT WHEN THE BIBLE IS LAYED OUT FOR YOU IN THE LANGUAGE OF A CHILD, A LOT OF THINGS BECOME CLEARER.

They are guardian angels.

THAT CHILDREN’S BOOK HAS OPENED ME TO A DEEPER STUDY OF SCRIPTURE AS WELL. I WILL ADMIT THAT THE NEW TESTAMENT SPEAKS TO ME MORE CLEARLY THAN THE OLD. BUT ONE OF THE GIFTS OF BEING A LECTOR AT MASS IS THAT I HAVE TO STUDY AND READ 2 READINGS – ONE FROM THE OLD TESTAMENT AND ONE FROM THE NEW. THEN I NEED TO PAY CAREFULL ATTENTION TO THE HOMILY, WHICH MOST OF THE TIME WILL TIE THE TWO READINGS TOGETHER.

I ALSO HAVE A GROWING APPETITE FOR EVERY READING I CAN FIND ON ST. PETER, THE ROCK OF THE CHURCH. HE MADE MANY BAD DECISIONS IN HIS LIFE BEFORE GETTING IT RIGHT IN THE END. BOY DO I IDENTIFY WITH THAT.

Our pastor just DIED OF cancer, BUT BEFORE CALLING HIM HOME, JESUS USED HIM TO MAKE a permanent mark on me.

It’s not that he was a brilliant Homilist. He’s WASN’T ALWAYS. It’s not that all his decisions as pastor WERE perfect. They WEREN’T. But he set the ultimate example and gave me the ultimate education in honesty and striving to be better. I’ve met many priests, some good and some not-so-good. People criticize priests because they’re athiests or they’re angry about the sex abuse scandal. Father Dennis Nason made a believer out of me by coming clean about his own sins.

HE LAID HIS SINS BARE AND ACCEPTED JESUS’ LOVE AND FORGIVENESS.

You would have to be sick in the head NOT to be outraged by the sex abuse, and especially of the cover-up. In the end, though, people forget that priests are human, with all the sin-making embedded into their genetic code just like the rest of us.

When a priest is able to lay his own flaws bare for all to see, I think it takes an extra level of courage, since there has to be a lot of pressure around the lofty standards they are held to. BUT THEY ARE LIKE THE REST OF US. THEY NEED JESUS’ LOVE AND GUIDENCE. THE KEY IS IN ACCEPTING JESUS’ OUTSTRETCHED HAND.

Father Nason rose to the occasion.

I met Father Nason about 11 years ago. He took over our parish, All Saints, when several other churches were closed down and consolidated into the All Saints Community.

He had a lot of angry people on his hands. One’s church becomes home, and when you close it and force them to go someplace else, trouble is inevitable.

Then the priest sex abuse scandal burst open like an infected sore, shaking the Faith of a lot of people like never before.

I started going to All Saints regularly in 2001, the year my oldest son was born. It would be another five years before I chose to convert, but by then the church had become a source of comfort at a time where my mental health was starting to snap off the rails.

At one point over the summer, Father Nason vanished. Few knew why.

Then at one Mass, the deacon read an open letter from him.

In the letter, Father Nason revealed that he was in rehab for alcoholism. It would be several months before he emerged from rehab, and while he was there the sex abuse scandal really began to explode. The Sept. 11 terrorist attacks also happened around that time, and people’s souls were tested like never before.

Once he did emerge from rehab to rejoin his parish, there was a new sparkle in his eyes. It was like a weight had been lifted. Then another weight dropped on him. It turns out one of the priests in our parish was one of those sexual predators we had read about in the papers.

Something like that would test the sobriety of anyone forced to come in and deal with the mess. Father Nason met it head on.
He was angry with his archdiocese over the fact that pedophile priests had been enabled for all those years; cases swept under the rug like dust. You could hear the anger in his voice and see it in his eyes. He would rage about it in more than one Homily.

His reaction is a big reason I stuck with the church instead of bolting.

Around that time we also had trouble hanging onto the other priests. One left after less than two months, apparently freaked out by the amount of work this parish demanded of him.

Through it all, Father Nason kept it together and brought his parish through the storm.

I don’t always see eye to eye with him. Sometimes I think his administration is disorganized and that his Homilies are all over the place; though when he nails it, he really nails it.

But those are trivial things. When he came clean about his addiction, it hit me deep in the core. At the time, my own addictions were bubbling in my skull and preparing to wipe out what was left of my soul. I just didn’t know it at the time.

His honesty kept me going. And now that I’ve spent the last few years getting control of my own addictive behavior, I have a much better appreciation for what he went through.

God gave me another teacher, and to show you God has a sense of humor, it happens to be someone who came to me for help. He needed a sponsor in Overeater’s Anonymous, and there I was. But he has probably taught me more than I’ve taught him.

In 12-Step programs anonymity is a big deal, especially in OA, because there’s an extra level of awkwardness that comes with being a binge-eating addict. So I’m changing this friend’s name to Dan.

I first talked to Dan on the phone a few months ago. He got my number from someone else in program and called me out of the blue. I picked up the phone and heard the following:

“Hiya Bill. My name’s Dan and I’m a compulsive overeater!”

The exclamation mark is appropriate, because that’s how he said it.

He proceeded to tell me that he needed a sponsor and I was it.

“Uh, ok,” I said. I had just started sponsoring and this guy was asking for help, so in I went.

The first time I met him in person, I was picking him up for a Saturday-morning OA meeting. He needed help getting the seatbelt on. His legs were purple from diabetes.

“This guy is going to be a lot of work,” I thought.

Then, at the meeting, I start to realize that he knows a lot of people there. He was greeting and hugging people like it was old home week. It turned out that he had been in OA before.

What’s more: He was a 20-year veteran of AA. He had done it all. He was once a drunk and a drug addict. He shot heroin. He had lost just about everything. After kicking booze and drugs, he turned to the food. He needs a truck scale to weigh himself and last time he did, he was an even 400 pounds.

But it didn’t matter. He was and still is one of the more cheerful people I’ve ever met.

And since then, of all my sponsees, nobody works the program as hard as he is. We talk every morning. Sometimes we talk several times a day. He’ll bend your ear for hours if you let him. Sometimes, it can get exasperating.

Here’s the problem: I can still be selfish AND egotistical. It’s not hard for me to think I’m better than other people. I’m pretty sure that’s why God put Dan in my life. That’s what He does, I know: put people in MY life who will help ME, but he sneaks them in as people who need MY help.

Ever see “It’s a Wonderful Life?” It’s like the angel Clarence. He dives in the water and acts like he’s drowning so George Bailey, who is standing on the bridge contemplating suicide, will jump in and save him.

I guess you could call what I’m experiencing the Clarence Syndrome.

Dan, you see, is teaching me a lot more than I’m teaching him. I may be his OA sponsor, but he’s my own Clarence. 

So for me study hasn’t been about burying my head in a pile of books. It’s been a study of people. To that end, each of us is a book to be studied.

I’d like to conclude by sharing some of the things I’ve learned through my studies. This is something I wrote for the 2010 RCIA class at my church. I was trying to drive home the fact that Faith is all about study – every moment of every day. I focused on the things I’ve learned SINCE becoming a Catholic:

1. Don’t Succumb to “Happily-Ever-After” Syndrome.
Even though I knew deep down that it wouldn’t be the case, I approached the days leading up to my conversion in a high of sorts; feeling like it would be happy forever more once I was Baptized. In some ways that is how it turned out. But for me, things got a whole lot worse before they got better.

The sins I had accumulated up to that point were forgiven that night, but the demons remained a few steps behind me, ready to trip me into another garbage can. I continued to suffer from the paralysis of OCD. I continued to give in to my self-destructive impulses. I continued to indulge my over-sized ego and stay absorbed in all things me. Oh, yes: Some of my most self-destructive, addictive behavior took place AFTER my Baptism.

It turns out school was still in session, and the lessons could be a real STRUGGLE.

2. Peace IS NOT The Absence of Chaos. It’s a State of Mind
My own world used to be pure chaos. Self-loathing dripped from my pores and I had a craving for peace. I wanted all the violence and worry to go away. It didn’t. But that’s OK.

I’ve learned that peace is a state of mind, not the absence of chaos. It’s a feeling and mental clarity that comes over ME as MY Faith deepens. It didn’t just smack me in the back of the head one morning.

It’s a state of mind that slowly grew over time, with lots and lots of study about the church and the people I knew who were living an active Faith life. Learning that also meant I had to shut my mouth and listen to what the priests were telling me.

3. What I Get is Only As Good As What I Put In
Here an open secret: spiritual well-being isn’t just handed to ME like an entitlement or a birthday present. I have to work hard at it everyday.

Working it takes many forms. Service is a big one. Getting to Mass every week is important. But I have to do more. I have to go on retreats like Cursillo, which will be as life-changing an event for those who go as the Baptism was.

I’ve been on two retreats since my conversion: Cursillo and an ACTS retreat the year before that. The soul searching and sharing I do on these weekends is priceless. It is study in the purist form. Then there are programs like ARISE, where I keep studying Scripture and discussing it in a group, in context with my daily life struggles. I’ve gotten a lot from lectoring as well.

By getting up in front of everyone and doing the readings, I’m better able to actually understand what the readings mean. And when I actively participate in the Mass, I’m less likely to fall asleep. And I go to Confession often.

I can’t believe how good it feels to get rid of the mental trash until I do it. In purging MY sins, I learn a little more about yourself and God’s love.

4. Plan to Fight the Good Fight to Your Dying Breath

I’ve come a long way in my spiritual growth. With God’s help I’ve overcome crippling addiction and depression and I know more peace today than I ever have.

But boy, I can still screw up with the best of ‘em. Each screw up is another lesson, not that I’m trying to justify my bad decisions as a pursuit of study. Truth is, I usually learn a lesson without setting out to do so.

My most destructive addictive behaviors are under control, but I’m always tap dancing from one habit to another. There are still days where I come to church with a crappy attitude.

My mind will be on everything else but God. I still let my ego get the best of me especially in my career as a journalist. I’m easily distracted by shiny objects. They are all things I need to work on. I can do so much better than this. But I used to be a lot worse.

In summary, it’s a life-long journey. We keep making mistakes.

But if we keep our heart and head in the right place and stay in school, so to speak, everything else will fall into place.

ENDING SONG: “Holy and Anointed One.” Performed by Robbie Barton


Posted on

Gone Fishing (Sort Of)

I’m going on a little sabbatical in a couple hours. A weekend Catholic retreat, actually. I’m part of the team putting it on. Which means this is the last post from me until Sunday night or Monday.

Mood music:

[youtube=http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=k0FP0JSvdHY&fs=1&hl=en_US]

It’ll be the longest I’ve stayed off the grid in a very long time. Well, I will have the BlackBerry nearby, but that’s just in case of emergencies.

For new readers, this is probably a good time to catch up on the older posts, which I’ve put in a nice little bundle below. I hope they’re of use to you. Have a great weekend and wish me luck!

The Long History of OCD

An OCD Christmas. The first entry, where I give an overview of how I got to crazy and found my way to sane.

The Bad Pill Kept Me from the Good Pill. How the drug Prednisone brought me to the brink, and how Prozac was part of my salvation.

The Crazy-Ass Guy in the Newsroom. Think you have troubles at work? You should see what people who worked with me went through.

The Freak and the Redhead: A Love Story. About the wife who saved my life in many ways.

Snowpocalypse and the Fear of Loss. The author remembers a time when fear of loss would cripple his mental capacities, and explains how he got over it — mostly.

The Ego OCD Built. The author admits to having an ego that sometimes swells beyond acceptable levels and that OCD is fuel for the fire. Go ahead. Laugh at him.

Fear Factor. The author describes years of living in a cell built by fear, how he broke free and why there’s no turning back.

Prozac Winter. The author discovers that winter makes his depression worse and that there’s a purely scientific explanation — and solution.

Have Fun with Your Therapist. Mental-illness sufferers often avoid therapists because the stigma around these “shrinks” is as thick as that of the disease. The author is here to explain why you shouldn’t fear them.

The Engine. To really understand how mental illness happens, let’s compare the brain to a machine.

 

Rest Redefined. The author finds that he gets the most relaxation from the things he once feared the most.

Outing Myself. The author on why he chose to “out” himself despite what other people might think.

Why Being a People Pleaser is Dumb. The author used to try very hard to please everybody and was hurt badly in the process. Here’s how he broke free and kept his soul intact.

The Addiction and the Damage Done

The Most Uncool Addiction. In this installment, the author opens up about the binge-eating disorder he tried to hide for years — and how he managed to bring it under control.

Edge of a Relapse. The author comes dangerously close to a relapse, but lives to fight another day.

The 12 Steps of Christmas. The author reviews the 12 Steps of Recovery and takes a personal inventory.

How to Play Your Addictions Like a Piano. The author admits that when an obsessive-compulsive person puts down the addiction that’s most self-destructive, a few smaller addictions rise up to fill the void. But what happens when the money runs out?

Regulating Addictive Food: A Lesson in Futility. As an obsessive-compulsive binge eater, the author feels it’s only proper that he weigh in on the notion that regulating junk food might help. Here’s why the answer is probably not.

The Liar’s Disease. The author reveals an uncomfortable truth about addicts like himself: We tend to have trouble telling the truth.

Portable Recovery. Though addiction will follow the junkie anywhere in the world, the author has discovered that recovery is just as portable.

Revere (Experiences with Addiction, Depression and Loss During The Younger Years)

Bridge Rats and Schoolyard Bullies. The author reviews the imperfections of childhood relationships in search of all his OCD triggers. Along the way, old bullies become friends and he realizes he was pretty damn stupid back then.

Lost Brothers. How the death of an older brother shaped the Hell that arrived later.

Marley and Me. The author describes the second older brother whose death hit harder than that of the first.

The Third Brother. Remembering Peter Sugarman, another adopted brother who died too early — but not before teaching the author some important lessons about life.

Revere Revisited.

Lessons from Dad. The author has learned some surprising lessons from Dad on how to control one’s mental demons.

The Basement. A photo from the old days in Revere spark some vivid flashbacks.

Addicted to Feeling Good. To kick off Lent, the author reflects on some of his dumber quests to feel good.

The lasting Impact of Crohn’s Disease. The author has lived most of his life with Crohn’s Disease and has developed a few quirks as a result.

The Tire and the Footlocker. The author opens up an old footlocker under the stairs and finds himself back in that old Revere basement.

Child of  Metal

How Metal Saved Me. Why Heavy Metal music became a critical OCD coping tool.

Insanity to Recovery in 8 Songs or Less. The author shares some videos that together make a bitchin’ soundtrack for those who wrestle with mental illness and addiction. The first four cover the darkness. The next four cover the light. 

Rockit Records Revisited. The author has mentioned Metal music as one of his most important coping tools for OCD and related disorders. Here’s a look at the year he got one of the best therapy sessions ever, simply by working in a cramped little record store.

Metal to Stick in Your Mental Microwave.

Man of God

The Better Angels of My Nature. Why I let Christ in my life.

The Rat in the Church Pew. The author has written much about his Faith as a key to overcoming mental illness. But as this post illustrates, he still has a long way to go in his spiritual development.

Absolute Power Corrupts Absolutely. The author goes to Church and comes away with a strange feeling.

Running from Sin, Running With Scissors. The author writes an open letter to the RCIA Class of 2010 about Faith as a journey, not a destination. He warns that addiction, rage and other bad behavior won’t disappear the second water is dropped over their heads.

Forgiveness is a Bitch. Seeking and giving forgiveness is essential for someone in recovery. But it’s often seen as a green light for more abuse.

Pain in the Lent. The author gives a progress report on the Lenten sacrifices. It aint pretty.


Posted on

The Gratitude List, Part 3

Yesterday was another reminder that there’s a lot to be grateful for. I’m surrounded by so many people that have helped me heal and keep me clawing the way forward. Here are more examples.

Mood music:

[youtube=http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=t43VgJ4U9_Q&fs=1&hl=en_US]

First, I should flag the rest of my list in two earlier posts: The Healers (Adventures in Step 9) and The Gratitude List.

Here are the latest additions to the list:

Theresa and Rich Arel: The Arels are friends from church. Each Wednesday night for the last couple years, they’ve offered up their home for Arise gatherings. This past year has been tough for them. But they continue to give. Last night I had the pleasure of meeting Rich’s mom. I asked her for the dirt on Rich as a kid, but she kept it close to the vest. I’ll get it out of her someday. They have four beautiful daughters and a faith that can cut through the roughest of times. They love unconditionally, and I want to thank them for that.

The Peabodys: Renee and her family also go to my church. They’re going through tough times as well, because their Uncle, Father Nason, passed away earlier this week. They are one of the most loving families I’ve ever met, and yesterday, when I was obsessing about this upcoming weekend, Renee wrote me a beautiful note that set my mind at ease. Thanks, Renee.

Grace Rubenstein. Grace is a former colleague from The Eagle-Tribune. I was her night editor and we had a hell of a lot of fun working together. She lives in the San Francisco area now (she grew up there) and works as a writer and editor for the George Lucas Educational Foundation (Edutopia is the specific publication). Grace has made this jaded editor proud a few times since moving back west. She helped start a newspaper in her hometown, and now she has dedicated her writing to the advancement of education. But here’s what makes me proudest of all: She has started a new blog called Crazy Love, about mental health issues and matters of the home and heart. She’s going to kick ass with this blog. She’s not so sure about that, but you just watch. 

Sean Marley: I’ve written a ton about Sean in this blog. His life and death are a huge part of my story. But this week would have been his 44th birthday and it occurred to me that I’ve never actually thanked him for being there at a critical point in my life. Thanks, Sean.

New friends: I’ve made quite a few of them since starting this blog. They comment on my posts all the time and help keep me honest. Thanks for reading.

Posted on

The Inconvenience of Death

It happens whenever someone dies. After the initial shock passes, you start thinking about when the wake and funeral will take place — and whether it will get in the way of your work-family-entertainment plans. It’s a sucky way to be, but it’s human nature.

Today’s mood music is very appropriate:

[youtube=http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=W2FX4aYo3dE&fs=1&hl=en_US]

My great-grandmother died hours before my 25th birthday. Her daughter — my Nana — died on Columbus Day weekend in 2003. Papa died the day before a major relaunch of the newspaper I was working for at the time. So yes, I’m one of those jerks who got caught up in the inconvenience of death.

Sometimes, I grin as I think of how the granparents were probably getting back at me for not visiting them often enough. They could be deliciously devious that way.

So here I am again thinking about the inconvenience of death. Poor stupid me.

This time the inconvenience is the death of my pastor, Father Nason. He didn’t have a devious bone in his body, so I know he didn’t pick his time of death to mess with my head. He was one of the greatest men I’ve ever had the pleasure of knowing, and I’m down about his passing, as is EVERYONE in All Saints Parish.

My former employer, The Eagle-Tribune, has this very well-done report on Father Nason today. Thanks for the write-up, Mike LaBella.

So here’s the inconvenience: His funeral is this weekend, when I will be away on a Cursillo retreat, a leader on the team. Saturday morning I’m scheduled to give a talk. So the conflict in the brain goes something like this: Do I duck out of the Cursillo and pay my respects, or stay at St. Basil’s and put my full soul into the proceedings?

On the advice of Father Martin, leader of St. Basil’s, I’m doing the latter because, as he put it, that is where Father Nason would want me to be, doing God’s work.

Father Nason’s big question to everyone was always about how we get more people to come to church. Cursillo is one of the answers.

I hope the rest of the parish will understand.

Posted on

The Pedophile, Part 3

My father-in-law read my posts on the pedophile and posted a heated note on my Facebook page:

“OK, YOU put this out there and say YOU have concern and wish to warn people he is on facebook. YET appear to be FEARFUL of naming this person for those of us who don’t know of whom you speak. If he is what you say then naming him will do no harm. Homeless, jobless? Where is he gaining computer access? The library? Where countless children gather?”

I’ll freely admit it: A lot of times, my father-in-law is right. And yes, the guy has been getting Internet access from the library.

This guy was thrice convicted of sexually abusing a minor. His record is on the Internet for all to see. I guess I kept his name out at first because, believing as I do that NOBODY is beyond redemption, I wanted to give him a chance to get on with his life.

That was my mood when I wrote The Pedophile, Part 1.

Then I saw him friending scores of teenage girls from remote parts of the globe on Facebook and my heart and mood hardened. So I wrote this follow-up.

I’ll leave you to click those links if you want to know my full feelings about this fellow. It’s complicated, because we grew up together in the Point of Pines, Revere, Mass. He was my friend.

But we all have hard times in life, and the choice of which direction to take is ultimately up to us. He chose poorly. I don’t consider myself better than him. I could have easily made choices that would have landed me in jail. I was lucky and probably had a lot more love and support along the way. He did what he did, and the bottom line is that he is a danger to society. He doesn’t want to be. He’s told me as much. But he is, and so people need to be warned.

His name is Mark Hedgecock. He grew up on Bateman Avenue. He attended the Roosevelt School for grades K-6, Paul Revere for 7 and 8 and he went to the Voke in Wakefield for high school. We we both in the drafting shop and graduated in 1989.

Here’s the rap sheet. My best advice is to pray for him, because it’s never too late to turn it around. But if you see him on Facebook, steer clear. I forgive him for what he did, but when you do the crime you gotta do the time — in jail or out.

MARK HEDGECOCK

Address:00 HOMELESS/DOWNTOWN BOSTON CHARLESTOWN MA 02116 Race:White Sex:Male Height:5’08”  Weight:170 lbs.  Eyes:Brown Hair:Brown Age/DOB:39

Posted on

The Sponsor’s Lament

I’ve gone from sponsoring four people in my OA 12-Step program to two, and one of them only e-mails once in awhile. I’m perfectly fine with that.

Mood music:

[youtube=http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=l9jX1KAKp78&fs=1&hl=en_US]

I was a reluctant sponsor in the first place. I can barely take care of myself, after all.  Some days, it takes every ounce of my strength to keep from sliding off the wagon.

But people in program came to me for help. I couldn’t say no.

Let me tell you a bit about these folks. To preserve their anonymity, no names are mentioned.

The first guy I sponsor never calls. Once in awhile he e-mails me his food plan for the day. He’s never really listened to me, but having me on standby makes him feel better.

The second sponsee has become a dear friend. He can be a real pain in my ass, but he’s worth it. He was 400 pounds when we met and, because of diabetes, goo oozed from his legs like tree sap. He’s down 20 pounds and just reached 90 days of back-to-back abstinence from binge eating. He works the program hard and I’m proud of him.

He’s also taught me a lot about some of the people in AA. Every 12-Step group has it’s fair share of dysfunction. We wouldn’t need a program in the first place if we weren’t fuck-ups. But when someone who has been sober for a few years turns to OA because they’ve developed a binge-eating addiction, it can be a bitch.

We have the big things in common. We developed addictions that made our lives unmanageable. Having found recovery, we latch onto each other pretty tight.

But something’s different.

In OA, there’s a tight fellowship in meetings and on the telephone. But the AA crowd really sticks together. It’s more like a gang. Recovering addicts often live together, several in a house. Not a halfway house. They just live together, watching out for each other.

It’s cool to see. But I’ve also found that there are some real animosities among the AA crowd. This brings me to the next sponsee:

She’s an OA drop-out for now. She spent a lot of time telling me about how I shouldn’t trust this person or that person because one likes to tell lies and the other likes to steal money. The lying part didn’t shock me. All addicts lie. She is a battle-scarred AA veteran who has had a tough life. She would call me throughout the day, each call a crisis. She finally decided she couldn’t handle OA.

The next sponsee dropped out of OA for the same reasons. He couldn’t handle the honesty and discipline required. I don’t knock him for that. Clean living is very hard. He also has some severe mental illness going on. Our phone calls would consist of me listening as he spilled out all his pain. Controlling the addiction had little to do with it.

So now there are two, and it’s a much more manageable load for me to handle.

I didn’t want to cut anyone loose because I felt like I’d be doing something cruel. But the truth is that when you sponsor people who don’t want to put their full faith in the program, it can put your own recovery in danger.

If you let them slide a little, you start thinking it’s OK to loosen up your own program.

I can see how it’s hard for someone to go from AA to OA. In AA you have your sponsor and go to meetings, but once you’re sober you can use those tools on a more as-needed basis. In OA, because food is the problem, you have to talk to your sponsor every day and tell that person what you plan to eat for the day. We have to do it that way because food is everywhere and we need it to survive. It’s not like drugs and alcohol, which you don’t need for daily existence.

The extra discipline of OA can be a shocker. It certainly was for me, and I didn’t come to the program from AA.

The OA crowd looks freaky to those who go to that first meeting. I thought everyone in the room was crazy and that they had a little cult going on.

Now I know better.

This stuff is hard. But God doesn’t give you more than you can handle.

I guess He was helping me out by sending two sponsees away.

This stuff is hard. But it’s worth it.

Posted on

The Trouble With Wanting It All, Part 2

Overcoming fear and anxiety has been a beautiful thing. But it has not been without trouble along the way. In recent months I’ve taken on too much and I’ve paid a price. I’m entering a new phase of recovery where my ambitions are readjusted so they gibe with reality.

Mood music:

[youtube=http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=hCzkT5H7Udg&fs=1&hl=en_US]

I got into some of this stuff in last week’s “Say Hello to My New Limit” post. But when I wrote that, I was feeling emotionally raw and was going through mood swings. This weekend I’ve had time to put it into perspective.

Here’s what I’m thinking and feeling now:

I have definitely taken on too much lately, partially because of my hunger for new experiences. I want to be of service to people who are going through what I’ve gone through. I want to soak up as much time as I can with people I ignored far too much over the years. And I want to continue to work my security beat hard, because I just won’t have it any other way.

But I need to give the best of that energy to Erin, Sean and Duncan. And that means dialing it back a bit.

My dilemma has been how to do that without retreating from the world again, because I really don’t want to do that. And besides, there’s really no turning back.

So this weekend, I pondered how to achieve the right balance.

First, I should mention that I don’t regret a thing about the last few months. To be a team leader for this weekend’s Cursillo retreat is a huge honor and I know it will only make me a better person. And it’s been worth every minute spent writing the talk I’ll be giving. Traveling around to different security events has also been well worth it, because I’m a true believer that you can’t do this job well unless you get out from behind the desk.

I don’t have to stop doing any of this stuff, nor should I. But I CAN learn to say no once in awhile. Saying no is something I’ve always sucked at and it has almost always gotten me into trouble. I’m realizing that the recent mood swings were partly due to my realization that the next part of recovery must be about learning to say no without going back into full retreat.

Maybe that means passing up a few more security events than I’d like. Maybe it means cutting back on my 12-Step sponsorship of people — continuing to be there for the two sponsees I have but saying no to new requests for now.

The learning curve for this is going to be pretty steep. I admit that I don’t really know where to start.

I’ll figure it out, and at the other end I’ll be better for it.

I hope.

Posted on

43 Years Through The Minefield

Today is my sister Wendi’s 43rd birthday. I can’t think of a better way to celebrate the day than to explain what she’s been through and how far she has come.

Mood music:

[youtube=http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=MceneYWgPc4&fs=1&hl=en_US]

A Sister’s Battle with Depression

This blog is chock full of my own experiences with depression and addiction. I even hint here and there about how the addictive behavior runs in the family. But I’ve avoided the story of depression among siblings until now. This post is about my older sister, who had it much harder than me.

I haven’t mentioned it up to this point because it’s her story and her business. I didn’t want to violate her privacy. But recently I’ve realized her story is an important part of my own. So I sought and received her permission to tackle it head on. Hopefully, this post validates the trust she’s putting in me.

Since this blog focuses on my own experiences, I’m not always effective at pointing out other people’s success stories. But Wendi is a success story, whether she realizes it or not.

Growing up, me, Wendi and Michael had our individual problems. I had the Crohn’s Disease, Michael had the asthma that eventually killed him, and Wendi had the misfortune of catching abuse from a mother flustered by all the chaos.

I remember the routine at 22 Lynnway well. Early in the morning, before school, Wendi was required to do a lot of chores. I particularly remember the sound of the vacuum. To this day, I get rattled by the sound of a vacuum because of the memories it brings up. If she missed a spot on the rug, she caught my mother’s physical and verbal wrath. Because me and my brother were sick so much, we also got a lot of the love and attention while Wendi was off on the side trying not to piss my mother off.

When my parents divorced in 1980, things seemed to get worse. When my brother died, things got worse still. In my mother’s defense, there was a lot of hell and heartbreak she had to live through, and to be honest I’m not sure I would have handled it much better if I were in her shoes. Mental anguish makes you do stupid things.

When my stepmother came along, my mother’s jealousy grew worse, and so did the abuse. Wendi caught the brunt of it.

Like me, Wendi had a lot of ups and downs with weight. Like me, she tried to control it through reckless means.

Sometime around 1991, things started coming to a head for my sister. She started plunging into deep depressions. Between 1991 and 1998, I can remember three occasions where this led to her hospitalization. She talked openly about wanting to kill herself. One such occasion, in 1998, was a couple months before my wedding. Since it was only two years after Sean Marley’s suicide, this made me more angry than anything. My anger was a selfish one. How dare she get suicidal and hospitalized and put me through this all over again. And how dare she do this while I was getting ready for my wedding.

I realize something now that I didn’t realize back then: Depression and the collateral damage it causes to others is never really in the sufferer’s control to stop. And it can care less about timetables. Mental illness doesn’t take breaks for holidays and weddings, for the convenience of others. Given my own battle with depression in subsequent years, I get it now.

I’m sorry for getting angry with her back then.

There’s something else I feel sorry about: Because of my own mental turmoil, I chose to avoid situations that made me uncomfortable. Wendi’s depression made me very uncomfortable. The result is that I wasn’t the helpful younger brother I should have been.

In 2003, Wendi caught a bizarre infection the doctors couldn’t make sense of. She spent a couple weeks in ICU and pumping her full of antibiotics didn’t seem to help her much. A couple times we were certain she wouldn’t make it. But since then, things have gotten better for Wendi. Not easier. Maybe not even happier. But better.

A couple years earlier, she had announced to the family that she was gay. It took some family members by shock, but not me. When I thought about a couple of the more “normal” relationships she had tried to nurture in past years and the depression she went into when things didn’t work out, it all made perfect sense to me. She was trying to live a life that didn’t gibe with her true nature.

When she came clean about that, her life didn’t get easier. But I suspect, because she found a way to be truthful with herself, that some things got easier to deal with. She’s been through her ups and downs since then. A marriage didn’t work out. She suffered some nasty complications from gastric bypass surgery. But she has moved on from those difficulties much more quickly than in past difficulties.

Like I said, dealing with one’s issues doesn’t mean you live happily ever after. Putting up with difficult people doesn’t get any easier. Peace is never an absence of conflict.

But when we get better at facing those challenges, life in general becomes a little sweeter.

That’s what I’ve learned from my own struggles. And I think that’s what Wendi has learned as well.

I know a lot of people who have fought the demons and gotten bloodied and grown a hell of a lot stronger in the process.

Wendi is one of them.

HAPPY BIRTHDAY!

Posted on

The Saturday Morning Ritual, Part 2

Saturday morning ritual, as Sean calls it, is when the kids hang out with Dad stupid early while Mom sleeps.

Mood music:

[youtube=http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=ubZjbmA1Id0&fs=1&hl=en_US]

We used to watch Sesame Street. Now me, Sean and Duncan are staring at our individual computer screens. The sounds of video games waft through the living room.

I used to spend this time dreading all the things I had to do that didn’t include lying on the couch and shutting off my soul. Now I’m not thinking about much of anything. That’s progress.

I got a lot to do this weekend. My Cub Scout kids have to get in uniform and go door to door selling popcorn. I have to rewrite my Cursillo talk and e-mail the final version to the retreat planners.

And I’m fine with all of it.

It’s a Blessing to be able to do the routine things in life without fear and anxiety burning you to a cinder.

And as a bonus, the sun is coming up after hiding behind thick clouds these last few days.

Hell, yes.

Seize the day.

Posted on

Why This Day Will Kick Ass

People get all happy when Friday arrives. I’m more indifferent about it. It’s the day of the week where I’m too fried to get much done. But today’s going to be good. Here’s why:

Mood Music:

[youtube=http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=jiLIJlVa3J0&fs=1&hl=en_US]

–I’ve been sitting next to the happy lamp for one hour and haven’t broken into flop sweats yet.

–I finally woke up realizing what I need to do to get the mood swings under control. More on that later, but it has something to do with finding my new limit.

–I have a beautiful wife and two precious kids. That’s why even on the suckier days, life kicks ass.

–I’m on a writing roll lately with the security stuff. This always makes me happy.

–I’m going to have time to rewrite the talk I’m giving during the Cursillo retreat next weekend.

–I have God, and I have metal.

–I have friends. Lots of them. There was a time when I didn’t.

–I have coffee. It is strong and bitter, just the way I like it.

Today might be rainy. I might be tired. But I won’t be plowed under.

Seize the day.