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One More Thing About Being Depressed and Gay…

A lot of folks have left comments on my post about homosexuality and depression. All of them are excellent, thoughtful responses and I hope you’ll check them out. But there’s one response I’m puzzled over.

Mood music:

[youtube=http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=dOx37_h0UH8&fs=1&hl=en_US]

It came from David Nedlin, operations manager at Beyond the 12 Steps. He left the following comment in the “Mental Health and Addiction Specialist” forum on LinkedIn, where I sometimes post my blog entries: “Ridiculous post – I thought this was a somewhat serious web site.”

Now, I’m familiar with Nedlin’s work with recovering addicts and I have enormous respect for him. I sent him a message asking what his issue is with the post, and for all I know it’s a good reason.

Whatever the reason, his reaction reminded me that I occasionally have to clarify what this blog is about. With that in mind:

–I tackle various issues around mental health and addictive behavior based on MY OWN PERSONAL EXPERIENCES. I am not a medical professional, nor have I ever claimed to be.

–Like anything that’s based on one’s personal impressions, you should never take what I write as Gospel. Everything I write is based on my perceptions, which can be as flawed today as they were a decade ago.

–I figured this would be of service to some people because I reached the point where I can open up about embarrassing things I’ve done, so others may see it and realize they are not freaks and, more importantly, that there is light to be found at the end of the hellhole if you’re willing to walk toward it.

–The subject of homosexuality will always be a charged issue. I dove in because I’ve seen up close the pain friends and relatives experienced before they chose to come out of the closet.

–I also had to address it because it’s something that comes up a lot in my Catholic community. In one of the comments in Saturday’s post, a fellow named Nick put the matter in words that I think come closest to nailing it on the head.

All I know is this: I’m not sorry for tackling the subject, and those who don’t like it don’t have to come here.

One more thing: You’ll notice a lot of people wearing purple ribbons or posting pics of them on Facebook and Twitter. That’s in memory of the six gay boys who committed suicide in recent weeks/months due to homophobic abuse in their homes and at their schools.

If you think harassing someone for their sexual orientation is an example of God’s love, you’re an idiot.

If you dismiss these kids as wasted souls because they committed suicide, I don’t agree. When pain and fear remove your sanity and sense of logic, a mental illness has taken hold and you are more likely to do things you know are wrong. It’s not as simple as going against God. I’ve seen suicide cases up close.

We’re all guilty of going against God at various points in our lives. But some are lucky enough not to get so far away that death is the result.

It’s a tragedy that these kids were pushed over that line.

My prayers are with them and their families, and with anyone who is going through the pain right now.

I’m sorry if this has been a preachy post. But I said what I felt I had to say.

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Maybe People Pleasing’s Not So Dumb After All

One of the more popular posts I’ve written in this blog is about how stupid it is to be a people pleaser. Lately, I’m having a small change of heart.

Mood music:

[youtube=http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=nFl0nlHaWa4&fs=1&hl=en_US]

I still stand behind much of what I said. When it comes to trying to please the overlords of corporate America or the abusive parent in hopes that you won’t get hit again, people pleasing IS futile.

Here’s the dark side of people pleasing — at least from personal experience:

I wanted desperately to make every boss happy, and I did succeed for awhile. But in doing so I damaged myself to the core and came within inches of an emotional breakdown. Actually, looking back, I crossed the threshold and broke down more than once.

It caused me to work 80 hours a week, waking up each morning scared to death that I would fall short or fail altogether.

You know what? No employee ever gets back 100 percent of what they put in from 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. That doesn’t make them evil. It’s just a reality where it’s impossible to have an intimate understanding of every toil of every employee.

I learned this the hard way at Community Newspaper Company, where the pay was criminally low, and at The Eagle-Tribune, where the pressure on everyone was so intense back then that it was every man and woman for themselves. Some excellent people have worked there, and still do. But we all behave in strange ways when we’re staring down the nose of a gun. I was no different to those below me who wanted to keep me happy with their work efforts. I’m certain I hurt some people along the way.

I wanted to make every family member happy. It didn’t work, because you can never keep everyone happy when strong personalities clash. That’s not a swipe at the family members. It’s just a fact of life.

To this day, my relationship with some family members is on ice. Part of the problem is that I failed to keep them happy and take care of others I needed to be paying attention to. I reached a breaking point that has caused a lot of pain on all sides. I’m not happy about it, but it’s how things have to be right now.

So when did I reach the moment of truth? It’s hard to pinpoint the exact moment. I don’t think there was one defining event. It was just a gradual realization that if I kept trying to please everyone, I wouldn’t be alive much longer. I would have had a complete breakdown and plunged into my addictions until they killed me with a heart attack or a blood clot to the brain. 

To put it another way, this was a simple matter of survival.

If I’m trying to please every boss, friend or family member, I can’t be present for my wife and children. And I certainly can’t be present for God.

That last point is what brings me to this follow-up post. Everything I’ve just said fits my personal truth. But as I live each new day, I start to realize that sometimes IT IS OK TO BE A PEOPLE PLEASER.

I want to please my wife and children because I want them to be happy. I still want to please people at work, but it’s different now. I don’t want them to think I’m the golden boy who can do everything. But I DO want to do the best work I can for readers who need to tap into what we know. And, because I work with so many stellar people, I want to return the favor and be stellar to them. I guess it’s more about paying it forward than people pleasing.

Even with this sense of clarity, I know there are going to be times where I’ll fail at the good kind of people pleasing. And even when the feeling is there, pleasing someone who may deserve your love isn’t the right answer at the time.

I’ll just have to keep trying.

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Cut the Drama, Rage Boy

My old friend Clarence liked the post I wrote about him awhile back and jokingly asked me to write another one. OK, buddy, but you’re not gonna like this one.

Mood music:

[youtube=http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=72rWAe0pUdQ&fs=1&hl=en_US]

Note: I’m keeping your true identity out of this, so your anonymity is preserved.

I meant everything I said in that post. In fact, I cherish your friendship a lot more than I did even then. But you have a special challenge I have a little experience with (a lot of experience, actually). I’ve tried to explain it to you in person and on the phone, but I’m not doing a very good job at it. So I’ll do what I always do in situations like that and put it in the written word.

You carry a lot of rage inside of you. An old priest I used to know described it as Irish Alzheimer’s Disease — you forget everything but the grudges.

You talk a lot about how this friend has betrayed you or that friend is driving you to the point where you want to “rip his f-ing head off.” You describe these verbal rages as “taking moral inventory.”

It’s good to take moral inventory. The problem is that your taking inventory of other people’s morals instead of your own.

Taking inventory is probably not the best way to describe it. I used to have to take inventory of shoes in my father’s warehouse and all it did was bore me and make me do stupid things like chainsmoke and talk trash about others.

I used to spend every waking hour stewing over everyone I felt had wronged me that day, week or year. I call it my angry years. Stewing is an exhausting activity, and nothing good comes of it. Build up enough resentment over time and it’ll eat you alive before you have time to feel the teeth going in.

I had one hell of a temper when I was younger. To call it a byproduct of OCD, depression and addiction would be a stretch, because I think the temper would have been there even without the mental illness.

Some of the more colorful examples of my temper:

– Hurling a fork or steak knife at my brother in a restaurant on New Years Eve 1979 because he made a joke I didn’t like. The more dramatic among my family members say it was a steak knife, though I’m pretty sure it was a fork.

– Lighting things on fire out of anger, including a collection of Star Wars action figures that would probably be worth a fortune today. I would pretend they were kids in school who were bullying me. Never mind that I bullied as much as I got bullied.

–Throwing rocks through windows, especially the condominium building that was built behind my house in the late 1980s.

–Yelling “mood swing!” before throwing things around the room at parties in my basement. It came off as comical, as I intended, and nobody got hurt. But there was definitely an underlying anger to it. I was acting out. 

– Road rage. Tons of it. I was a very angry driver. I would tailgate. I would speed. In the winters I would intentionally spin out my putrid-green 1983 Ford LTD station wagon in parking lots during snowstorms. While in college, I nearly hit another car and flipped off the other driver while my future in-laws sat in the back. Traffic jams would infuriate me. Getting lost would fill me with fear and, in turn, more anger.

I could go on, but you get the picture, Clarence.

You gotta drop the rage because it’ll never make you feel better. It certainly won’t help you deal with the relationships that give you the rage.

Focus on your own betterment instead. You ARE doing that and you’ve made a ton of progress.

But that rage will hold you back from your full potential as a human being, so cut the bullshit and move on.

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Broken Souls, Emotional Breakdowns

I’ve been in a strange place lately. I’m fine and all, but I’ve been around a lot of broken people, and that has an impact on you after awhile.

Mood music:

[youtube=http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=3px0m1Y9Tuc&fs=1&hl=en_US]

I can’t get into the stuff that has brought these friends to the brink, but I can say there’s been a lot of crying. Given my own trouble with tears, it’s rather funny that I’d be in this position. But I’ll do anything for my friends, so it’s all good.

The reason I bring this up is because it reminds me of the emotional breakdowns I’ve suffered over the years. I’ve mentioned before that I’ve hit bottom several times, but the emotional breakdown is a slightly different beast in my eyes. Hitting bottom meant reaching a point of stinging clarity that I couldn’t go on as I was. The emotional breakdown takes it a step further.

I experience powerful anxiety attacks to the point where breathing is a struggle. My chest takes on the feeling of burning rubber, and I’m ready to bawl my eyes out. But as I’ve mentioned before, the bawling doesn’t really happen. I feel it in every way except the tears running down my face.

One of the worst breakdowns was around 2005, the week of Erin’s birthday. I was about six months into some hard-core therapy for OCD (though I was still about a year away from the official diagnosis).

It got so bad I had to call my boss. I know Anne Saita is a special woman because here she was, supervising me at work, and despite all my efforts at being the golden boy with ice-cold blood in the eyes of my bosses, I fell apart on the phone while she was on the other end. I did it calmly. But I did something I had never done before: I had confided in a boss that maybe — just maybe — my issues were going to fuck with my work performance.

I exposed the weakest part of me, and I felt it for days. If you read this, Anne, I just want to thank you again. I will never, ever forget what you did for me.

Going back 20 years, there was another emotional breakdown, and this time I exposed my most raw emotions to Sean Marley. He helped bring me out of it. It’s a painful irony, because six years later I utterly failed to do the same for him.

Last December, when I started this blog, I kind of felt the same rawness. I was starting to spill my guts publicly. And I felt a bit unstable and wobbly.

But in all of these cases, the rawness, the wobbly knees and the shame passed, and each time I came back stronger than before. Not perfect. Not healed for life, but better. 

I just felt the need to mention that to my friends who are hurting. You might feel a little ashamed and embarrassed right now, but it’s good. This stuff happens because you were in need of a good humbling, as I was back then.

Whatever happens with your individual struggles, you will get past what you feel now. And you will be much stronger for whatever happens next.

That’s how it happened with me, at least.

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Joe Zippo Throws a Party

Some thoughts on the benefit show last night for Joe Zippo…

Mood music:

[youtube=http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=jbr2PxWUMLM&fs=1&hl=en_US]

The best part of the night was meeting Joe’s parents. It was an honor, really. You can really see Joe’s personality and heart in them.

It was great to see so many old friends. I saw Christian Campagna for the first time since we worked at Rockit Records. We’ve kept in touch through Facebook, but it’s not the same as seeing people in person.

It’s always great to see Greg Walsh. I’ve always been blown away by the guy’s energy.

He’s been a drummer in multiple bands, most notably Pop Gun, he’s been an editor at The Boston Business Journal for years (we met when we were both working for The Swampscott Reporter), and he has a very busy family life. As if all that and three kids weren’t enough, he even started taking in foster kids at one point. Seeing Pop Gun play live was my way of capturing some of that energy in a bottle — and making some age jabs at the man.

It was a nice surprise seeing one of my oldest friends, Mike Trans. It’s hard to believe I’ve known the guy for 21 years now. I think we pretty much owned the North Shore Community College smoking room on the Lynn Campus back then.

The benefit show was crawling with people I remember from Salem State. Many of them look pretty much the same as they did back then.

Why write about a benefit concert in a blog about overcoming addiction and OCD? Simple:

In the late 1990s when I was isolating myself and doing everything I possibly could to destroy myself with junk, I lost touch with people I shouldn’t have lost touch with. It happens. That’s life. But it reminds me of some of the things I lost in those years where I struggled most.

It also reminded me of the healing power of friendship. Friends have helped me along and still do, and when I see people like Mike, I’m reminded of that. Not much has changed between us. The second I see his face I start lobbing insults at him. He returns them in rapid succession. That’s something I call New England affection: When you like people, you make fun of them.

Another lesson from last night: Even in death, the people who make an impact on us continue to do so in death. 

Sean Marley does it to me all the time. Some of my deepest friendships today, he made possible. Joe made a lot of friendships possible, too, and proof of that was abundant last night.

I have only one regret from last night: Not getting to see Matt Affannato. He was Sean’s brother-in-law for the two or so years Sean was married to his sister, Joy. He was always a great kid full of positive energy.

He left me a Facebook message last night asking if I’d still be there around 9:30 so we could catch up. I didn’t get to see him, which is a bummer because the last time I saw him we were sitting next to each other at Sean’s funeral.

Sorry ’bout that, Matt. We’ll have to catch up soon.

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Depression and Being Gay

One of the big debates that has always irked me is about whether homosexuals are born that way or if they just wake up one morning and decide to be that way.

Having a gay sister, aunt and cousin-in-law, I have something to say about that.

I’m sure there are a few people who decide to give it a try as a lifestyle choice. That’s their business. But every gay person I’ve ever met didn’t just wake up on day and decide they were going to be gay. They had some serious internal struggles that brought them to the brink.

There was drug abuse. In my sister’s case, severe depression.

When she was a kid she badly wanted the whole fairytale family existence. She wanted THE wedding, THE husband and kids. She might tell the story differently, but I think the worst of her depression hit upon realizing she wasn’t that kind of person.

My cousin dove into years of serious drug and alcohol use.

Whatever the motives, I can tell you this: Only when they came out of the closet were they able to move forward and start living full, productive lives. Only then did the worst of the depression start to lift.

I don’t think a person who goes through that kind of hell just wakes up one day and decides they are going to be gay.

It’s in them at an early age, they try to keep the feelings at bay and become “normal” people. Hiding from your true self always comes with a price. 

I think some of the priests who went on to sexually abuse parishioners entered the priesthood in the first place to escape who they were. A life of celibacy would surely do the trick, right?

Wrong.

This has always been a sensitive subject for me. I’m a devout Catholic and there are people in the church who like to go on about the sin of homosexuality. It always makes me think of the people I know who are gay.

I’m not sure what else to say about the matter, except that I choose to love people based on WHO they are, not WHAT they are.

Having experienced depression myself, I don’t wish it on anyone.

My faith tells me we have to accept people for who they are, even if we don’t get it. I can like the individual even if I don’t like their sins. Hell, I’m the last one on this planet who is in a position to judge someone else’s sins.

I have enough of my own to contend with.

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Rock It For Joe Zippo

Rarely do I use this blog for an announcement like this, but Joe Zippo was a special guy and he’s worth the exception.

Tomorrow is the Joe (Kelley) Zippo Memorial Show in Salem, Mass. I usually avoid Salem this time of year because of all the touristy Halloween mania. But for him I’m going in. So should you.

Mood music:

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

All of the show’s proceeds will go towards Joe’s headstone and plot.

Details:

Time
Saturday, October 16 · 5:00pm – 11:00pm
Location St.John’s cafeteria

32 St. Peter St. (across from Salem Cinema – the place with the giant BINGO sign).)
Salem, MA

I never played in a band with Joe and we fell out of touch in recent years. But I’ll always appreciate the friendship he extended to me at Salem State.

I’m looking forward to seeing some old friends. I hope you are among them.

IPB Image

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Dysfunctional Love Songs

I’ve had love on my mind this week. Some of that comes from the Cursillo weekend I just experienced. Some of it might be that I’ve been letting myself love other people in ways I never thought I could. 

That doesn’t make people any easier to love. Truth is, some of the people I love the most make me want to push my head through a glass door. In keeping with the advice of a good friend, I choose to put the fun in dysfunction. These songs are the soundtrack.

For the family member who brings you down, even when they don’t mean to:

[youtube=http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=BPfkK7bcyfE&fs=1&hl=en_US]

For the friend who helps you pick up the pieces while driving you insane at the same time:

[youtube=http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=gjto02iDNZA&fs=1&hl=en_US]

For the family member who insists on covering the living room furniture in plastic:

[youtube=http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=h0YECbEz6ws&fs=1&hl=en_US]

For the people in your life who bring you closer to God:

[youtube=http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=EGBNa0L41Zc&fs=1&hl=en_US]

For the significant other who sticks around even though you push ’em to the brink:

[youtube=http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=blfrmZfVH74&fs=1&hl=en_US]

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Looking for Grace

In church we hear the word Grace a lot. But it’s taken me a long time to get what it really means. I’m still working on that. But here’s what I got so far.

Mood music:

[youtube=http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=puGGaFdyx5g&fs=1&hl=en_US]

I like to think of Grace as the treasures I don’t deserve. I have many of those.

If you want to get technical about it, Grace is a gift from God, freely given. It’s a gift people refuse to accept every day.

When I was holing myself off in my room, weaving angry thoughts about the world around me, I refused the gift.

When I was busy hating myself and those around me for all the bad things that happened to me earlier in life, I refused the gift.

When I went looking for solace in a binge, I refused the gift.

When I swaggered around high on myself, thinking I was better than those around me, I refused the gift.

ACCEPTING THE GIFT

When I finally hit the lowest of lows, my pride crumbled and I started accepting the gift without realizing it.

When I started going to therapists and actually started acting on what I learned from them, I accepted the gift.

When I took a leap of Faith and gave Prozac a try, I accepted the gift.

When I started letting family and friends help me instead of trying to go it alone, I accepted the gift.

When I decided to finally do something about the food addiction and entered the doors of OA, I accepted the gift.

When I started sponsoring people in the 12-Step program — something I really didn’t want to do at first, I accepted the gift. 

When I started approaching my work as something to do well for the sake of the people who read it and not for the sake of being seen as the golden boy in the eyes of my bosses, I accepted the gift.

God works on me through the people around me — my wife and kids, our friends, people I work with and people in Program. When I really learned to love these people instead of seeing them as a barrier to my freedom — freedom to destroy myself slowly, to be specific — I accepted the gift.

Do I live in a complete state of Grace? I highly doubt it. But I’m trying to get a little closer every day.

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Do it for the Kids

When I was a kid my parents were always trying to get me to join different organizations: The Jewish Community Center off of Shirley Ave. in Revere, Camp Menorah, etc. I rebelled against all of it. Now here Erin and I are, pushing Sean and Duncan into the Cub Scouts.

Mood music:

[youtube=http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=zt7exeJblR0&fs=1&hl=en_US]

My parents were right to push these things on me. I was in the fourth grade and they had just gotten divorced. It was a bitter, hate-filled, fight-infested divorce. They just wanted there to be someplace we could go to take our minds off the pain and focus on something positive.

The counselors at these places tried their best to make it happen. But I was a punk and treated them all with contempt. I especially hated Camp Menorah (my much younger sister, Shira, loved it there and was a counselor when she got older.). I didn’t get along with anyone and I felt they were robbing me of the freedom to roam the streets of the Point of Pines. The home neighborhood was safe enough and was surrounded by the ocean. I just wanted to hide in the tall grass behind Gibson Park.

Looking back, I feel bad for being such a rotten kid to these people.

Fast forward 30 years. Sean and Duncan are now old enough for the Cub Scouts, and we pretty much made them join. The dynamic is much different. We’re not trying to keep them from home to shield them from pain. We just see it as a great character-building opportunity. Besides, a lot of their friends are Cub Scouts.

Their grandfather paid for their uniforms (Thanks, Dad) and off they went. Duncan is loving it. I think Sean is, too, but he’s trying hard not to admit it.

Last night I took Sean to his den meeting and just sat there taking it all in.

The den leader, Mr. Connor, does a great job with them. He’s patient but doesn’t take any crap. To my amusement, the kids sent a lot of crap his way. The focus last night was on why we have laws. Asked what happens when we break a law, one kid shouted, “We get sent to Juvie!”

Each kid drew a poster that symbolized people obeying the laws. Sean drew a guy paying his taxes. The taxpayer tosses money at the monster-like tax collector, who is covered in dollar bills. The taxpayer also had a gun in one hand. Sean said he just wanted to do something funny. I clearly have my parental work cut out for me. 

I bring this up because it’s funny to me that we are doing this stuff with our children, because I was never that type of guy. I do give most of the credit to Erin, who pushed the scouts more vigorously than I did. I don’t call her my better half for nothing.

As a kid, my father pushed such activities more than my mother did. He was all about us building up a work ethic and a sense of responsibility. He didn’t succeed with me back then. But it would appear he did succeed in the end. It just took an extra 30 years for me to get it.

Now the lesson is used to mold our children into better people than we used to be.

Since all parents strive to raise children that are better than they were and have more than they did, I’m chalking this up as a win.