The OCD Diaries

January 7, 2013

The Shame a Binge Eater Feels

As a recovering binge eater, I don’t necessarily see my own habits reflected in a recently released University of Alabama at Birmingham (UAB) study about the weird concoctions food addicts ingest. But I relate to the emotions study participants describes all too well.

Mood music:

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The study says food concocting — making strange food mixtures like mashed potatoes and Oreo cookies; frozen vegetables mixed with mayonnaise; and chips with lemon, pork rinds, Italian dressing and salt — is common among binge eaters. The full study was published in the International Journal of Eating Disorders, but here’s an excerpt from the UAB site:

According to the study, people who concoct are more likely to binge eat than those who overeat without bingeing. Those who concoct reported the same emotions as drug users during the act; they also reported later feelings of shame and disgust, which could fuel an existing disorder.

Mary Boggiano, Ph.D., associate professor in the Department of Psychology and primary investigator of the study, said study participants self-reported their emotions while concocting. The answers revealed a vast majority felt “excited” and “anxious” during the process.

“While they are food concocting and binge eating they report being excited, in a frenzy, and high, but afterwards they feel awful about themselves,” said Boggiano.

I never thought of the junk I craved as weird concoctions, but I also never made the kind of mixtures described in the study. I went for the traditional junk, the sweet stuff. I’d go in a gas station and buy a mix of Hostess cake products and a variety of candy, particularly Reese’s Peanut Butter Cups and Twix. In the same binge, I’d go for the salty stuff, including chips and fast food.

I always considered those choices normal. In hindsight, I guess eating all those things in one sitting fit the concocting mold. In fact, some of the mixtures described in the UAB report sound healthier than what I would consume.

One thing is for certain: The excitement and shame study participants described fit me perfectly. There was always a certain thrill in hunting down and obtaining my fix. I’d feel a short period of intoxication during the act of eating. Then it would all be followed by intense, even debilitating feelings of shame.

Not because I ate a massive quantity of weird shit, but because I had thoroughly lost control of my mind and actions. I let an invisible demon possess my mind and body, too weak to do anything to stop it.

Read more about what the process is like in “Anatomy of a Binge.”

I eventually did gather up the strength to stop binging. Doing Overeater’s Anonymous and treating the behavior like the addictive impulse it is helped a lot. Giving up flour and sugar and measuring all my food has also helped.

But a recovering binge eater is always one bite away from being reclaimed by the demon, and I’ve had my share of close calls in the last four years.

All you can do is fight it one day at a time.
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January 4, 2013June 1, 2015

Defending Joe Biden (Updated June 1, 2015)

Updated June 1, 2015: The Vice President, who has suffered a lot of loss in his life, has more character and depth beneath his outward image of buffoonery than most people know. With news that his son Beau has died of brain cancer, I’m remembering the post below, originally written in 2013. I also recommend this column from Ezra Klein on Biden’s grief perspective.

I’ll surely get a boatload of criticism for what I’m about to do: defend Vice President Joseph Biden.

As you know, the man who’s a heartbeat away from the presidency tends to run his mouth a lot and get into trouble. During the signing ceremony for Obamacare in 2010, the mics were on as he told President Obama that “This is a big fucking deal.” During the 2012 presidential campaign, Biden told a Virginia audience that “we won North Carolina in 2008 and we can win it again.” That was the same event where he told everyone that the Republicans “want to put you back in chains.”

The vice president also has a habit of violating the personal space of those he’s talking to. Yesterday, as he swore in new senators, he embraced the wife of Maine Sen. Angus King a bit long for the comfort of some. He also told the husband of North Dakota Sen. Heidi Heitkamp to “spread your legs, you’re going to be frisked.” Biden said this after the photographer asked them to drop their hands for the photo. “You say that to somebody in North Dakota they think it’s a frisk,” Biden joked. “They think you’re in trouble, right?” (The Atlantic Wire has more on these incidents.)

People like to call him Uncle Joe, and not in a good way. One of my friends compared him to the crazy, creepy uncle everyone tries to stay away from during family gatherings. If you’re a Democrat, he’s just a lovable old-timer who has no verbal filter. If you’re a Republican, he’s an idiot and borderline sexual predator.

I agree the guy runs his mouth too much and gets in a bit too close to people. President Lyndon Johnson used to do the same thing. It’s famously known as The Johnson Treatment.

But I also think people make a bigger deal out of Biden’s antics than what’s deserved. A lot of politicians get in close during hugs and handshakes, especially the older folks. He’s also not the first politician to forget which town he’s in during a speech. When you travel all the time, that’s going to happen.

But here’s the main reason I’m going to defend the man: He’s been through a lot in his life and has worked his ass off despite it all. Whether you agree with his politics or not, take a look at his history, and you’ll have to admit he’s done some inspirational things in his life:

In 1972, a few weeks after he was first elected to the Senate, Biden’s wife and one-year-old daughter were killed in a car wreck while Christmas shopping. Biden’s two sons, Beau and Hunter, were critically injured in the accident but made full recoveries.
To keep close to his kids, he commuted from Delaware to DC every day by train — 90 minutes each way. He did that his entire 35 years as a senator.
In 1988, the same year he first ran for president, Biden suffered a series of aneurysms and at one point was given last rites. He recovered and continued to work tirelessly as a senator in the years that followed.
As senator he led the fight to pass the Violence Against Women Act of 1994. That law had several measures and provided billions of dollars to help women suffering from domestic violence and other gender-based crimes.
He was also among the first to call for action when a genocide was unfolding in the Balkans. Specifically, he fought to get Bosnian Muslims weapons and training to defend themselves against the mass slaughter taking place. Those policies eventually helped end the Bosnian war.

Having been through plenty of adversity myself, I have a soft spot for people who overcome devastating personal setbacks to make a positive mark on the world.

Call him Crazy Uncle Joe if it makes you feel better. In my opinion, his good points far outweigh his lack of filter.

Joe-Biden1-e1344976178397

January 3, 2013

Partisan Politics Is a Mental Health Threat

Like everyone else, I’ve watched the debate over the so-called fiscal cliff with a combination of disgust and anxiety. I can’t remember a time when the nation’s economic health was so threatened by political partisanship.

Mood music:

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It threatens our jobs and our ability to feed our families. And it’s a threat to our mental health.

I feel fortunate that this shit is happening now. Up until a few years ago, this type of thing would have left me lying in a fetal position on the couch, with so much anxiety and fear over economic calamity that I’d be unable to function. I’d eventually get up from the couch and go to work, but my brain would continue spinning and I’d carry on like a zombie.

I’ve made enough progress on my mental health in recent years that I can put my worries on the shelf and carry on with life. I enjoyed the holiday break with my family instead of brooding in a corner the whole time. I’m grateful for that.

But I won’t bullshit you: I checked the various news sites online a lot more obsessively than I have in a long time. I worried about this a little bit more than other recent political battles, including the 2011 debt ceiling fiasco.

When there’s this much drama and suspense in Washington, it can’t help but fuck with your psyche after a while.

I can still get on with life, but I have no doubt there are plenty of people out there who can’t. They feel like their very lives will depend on what happens in Washington. I remember that feeling all too well.

I feel for those people, and I pray for them.

But more than anything else, right now, I feel anger. And I suspect that most other Americans do, too.

Unfortunately, I don’t have an answer as to what we can do about this national threat to mental health. One easy answer would be to throw all the bums out, but we keep re-electing the people who cause the problems. Another easy answer would be to crack down on the special interest groups that corrupt politicians with money, but where do you start?

The best way to deal with it is to control what we can control in our daily lives. I got help for my addictions and mental defects, and that at least gets me through these storms.

I truly think that’s about all you can do.

December 21, 2012

But I Made All These End-of-the-World Plans

Here I sit at 6 a.m. on December 21. We’re all still here as I expected we would be, despite all the end-of-Mayan-calendar, end-of-the-world talk we’ve been listening to for what seems like an eternity. I’m actually a little disappointed, because there were a few things I was looking forward to, such as:

Mood music:

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Avoiding the age-old problem of two kids who refuse to get out of bed on time during the school week but who come running downstairs at 5:15 a.m. on their first day of Christmas vacation, hounding me to let them use their electronics.
Not having to see any more of those stupid zombie apocalypse memes that flood my Facebook feed.
Enjoying a few glasses of wine in the afterworld. Now I have to keep staying sober.
Not having to fold laundry or buy groceries.
Not having to wrap Christmas gifts.
Gaining the ability to levitate.
Getting out of jury duty.
Not having to get up and dressed.
Getting to meet Jim Morrison, Dimebag Darrell and John Belushi.

Truthfully, though, I’m happy to have some extra time to get life right. I’m not there yet.

Carry on.

December 20, 2012

One Good Thing About Westboro Baptist Church

The Westboro Baptist Church (WBC) hates homosexuals. In fact, its members hate pretty much everybody. When terrible tragedy strikes, they praise it as God’s retribution for all the things they’re against.

Mood music:

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That alone is reason for me to hate them back. But these people take it to even lower levels by picketing the funerals of fallen soldiers. Now they’ve threatened to picket funerals for the tiny victims of Friday’s Sandy Hook Elementary School massacre.

But I’m not going to hate them back, because even a filthy group like this serves a purpose.

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Here’s the one good thing about WBC: Their hateful actions bring out the good in others. They inspire people to take a stand for what’s right.

The best example this week: police, firefighters and others from neighboring states have come to Newtown, Conn., to form massive human walls at the funerals, blocking the Westboro picketers from the mourners’ view.

It goes to show that for every hateful action, there’s a loving reaction to overpower the bad. In this case, the WBC picketers were scared away.

God is good.

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December 19, 2012

My ADD Ran Over My OCD

As I struggle to get through all the stuff to be done at work and home before Christmas, something is occurring to me: My ADD runs over my OCD this time of year.

Mood music:

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I guess I’ve understood what happens for a while now. It’s all part of the seasonal depression that whacks me upside the head come Christmastime. For most of the year my challenge is to control my OCD, to keep it from overtaking my mind and sending me into physical overdrive. But earlier this year, I learned from my doctors that I also have ADD. It feeds into the winter pattern where I’m much more easily tired and forgetful.

Unfortunately for me, December isn’t a time where I can kick back, enjoy my December-itis and let the world float by on pretty clouds. At work, we’re busy finishing up some big projects we’re using to kick off January. At home, there are appointments and Scouting activities to drive the boys to. There are gifts to wrap, laundry to fold, groceries to buy, homework for the kids to finish up and a house to clean.

I’m like Luke Skywalker after he escapes the wampa cave on Hoth in The Empire Strikes Back, flailing around and stumbling in the snow.

So what am I sitting here thinking about? I’m feeling whiny because the damn OCD doesn’t surface when I really need it. As insidious as the disorder can be, it’s pretty damn handy when there’s a lot to do. It gives you a drive other people don’t have.

In recent years I’ve had a lot more success harnessing that piece of it while keeping the darker traits locked away. But when winter roles through, the ADD kicks in and spoils everything.

Funny how this works. It’s like the person who longs for summer heat waves in the dead of winter, then pines for winter’s icy grip when he’s sweating through July and August. In the summer I want to be a little more mellow; in December I need the overdrive to get everything done.

What to do?

Fight it, of course.

Erin’s worried I’m not going to get done everything I have on my plate. I’m out to prove I can get it all done.

What could possibly go wrong?

ESBWampaCave

December 18, 2012September 1, 2015

To the Siblings in Sandy Hook

To the people of Newtown, Conn., particularly the surviving children of Sandy Hook Elementary School:

I have no idea what it’s like to lose a child, and I pray to God I never will. But I’ve lost a sibling and know how that feels. So I’m hoping, nearly 30 years after my brother’s death, that some of what I’m about to say will be of some comfort to you.

We all experience the death of relatives and friends. Usually, it’s our grandparents and great-grandparents. It hurts, but it’s the normal circle of life. There are younger people in our lives who suffer and succumb to disease. That hurts, too, but there’s at least some comfort in the fact that they’re no longer suffering.

The sudden, unexpected death of a sibling is something quite different, as you’ve unfortunately discovered. My brother had asthma, a serious condition but not one we typically consider fatal. And yet just one major attack took him from us. Our family had been through the pain of divorce and dysfunction, but we had survived it. Our lives imploded with my brother’s death.

The manner in which your brothers and sisters were taken from you must feel 1,000 times worse. Though I can’t imagine how that feels, I’m hoping I can make a few points based on my own experiences.

My advice to you:

Don’t be afraid to cry. When I was a kid I never cried in front of others unless it was family. I thought it would make me look weak and stupid. I was wrong. No one — and I mean no one — will hold your tears against you. In fact, people will be relieved that you’re able to let the tears out. When tears are suppressed, you feel worse. The longer you go without crying, the worse it gets. Let it all out.
Remember that for every evil event in this world, there are countless good people around to help you through it. They will make sure you’re not forced to linger in the cold darkness. Mister Rogers described it this way: “When I was a boy and I would see scary things in the news, my mother would say, ‘Look for the helpers. You will always find people who are helping.’ To this day, especially in times of disaster, I remember my mother’s words, and I am always comforted by realizing that there are still so many helpers — so many caring people in this world.” Those people won’t disappear when the TV news crews go away and the funerals are over. They will always be there, and you will never be alone. That’s why good always wins out over evil in the end. Good people never give up or give in.
Be patient with your parents and give them all your love and help. Burying a child is the absolute worst thing a parent must do. It’s the greatest fear of every parent. After my brother died, I rebelled hard against my parents, partly because I lost patience with them as their grief made them stumble. It’s one of my big regrets. Don’t let it happen in your house. Help your parents and be very patient with them, and they will be able to function again. They’ll always carry a sadness, but they’ll also learn to experience new joys. You can be a big part of that.
Take your greatest dreams for the future and make them come true. Your brother or sister won’t get to experience the big moments of adulthood. It hurts knowing that. But they will be watching you from Heaven. Make them proud. No dream or goal is too big for you. If you keep studying and don’t give up when the going gets tough, you’ll be able to do anything you set your sights on. If anyone tells you a certain career is too hard to get, don’t believe it. I’ve managed to make a long, satisfying career out of writing. I’m not rich, but I’m happy.
If you find yourself laughing and smiling, don’t feel guilty about it. A few months after my brother died I went to see a movie. It was a comedy and I laughed hard. Then I felt horrible for laughing because I thought you weren’t supposed to laugh ever again. But that’s not true. It’s not only OK to laugh, it is essential to your survival. Humor will help you through all the difficult times ahead. Embrace it.

You will feel better in time. You’ll experience more difficult moments in your life, but that’s OK. We all have to go through the difficult times to truly understand and appreciate the good times. It may not make sense to you now. But in time, it will.

May God Bless you, your family and friends.

— Bill
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December 17, 2012January 6, 2016

Sandy Hook Lesson: Be the Change, One Soul at a Time

Like most of you, I’ve spent a good part of the weekend thinking about the lives lost at Sandy Hook Elementary School in Newtown, Connecticut. We all want specific solutions that will prevent more of these tragedies, but what we’re dealing with is too big and too gray for that.

A lot of people are debating gun control. Some people think the world would be safer if every law-abiding citizen had a firearm. Others say they support the Second Amendment but that there’s no reason for anyone other than police and soldiers to have access to weapons that can fill a body with scores of bullets in the blink of an eye.

A lot of people are also debating what this tragedy says about how we should treat the mentally ill. Some people think the mentally ill should be locked away. Others cry out for better services and educational tactics to drive disturbed individuals away from the the path Adam Lanza took when he grabbed his mother’s guns, killed her and headed to Sandy Hook Elementary School, where he stole the lives of 20 precious children and six heroic adults who died saving the children who made it out alive.

Would stricter gun control prevent future massacres like this? I doubt it. Would giving every school principal a gun prevent it? I doubt that, too. I believe in the right of citizens to bear arms, but I don’t see how that makes it OK for people who aren’t soldiers or cops to carry handheld weapons of mass destruction. A hunting rifle for hunting and a handgun for self-defense when a home is invaded is one thing. High-powered rifles are something else entirely.

It shouldn’t come as a surprise that on the subject of mental illness, I agreed with those who said we need better treatment and counseling to reach troubled youths before they become murderers.

Maybe I’m biased because I was one of those troubled kids. People made fun of me in school and I could never seem to get the hang of sports and other things that might have made me more socially acceptable. There were times in my youth when I’d occasionally think of how sweet it would be to grab a rifle or a knife and tear into the bodies of those I felt were oppressing me. Luckily for me, there were enough positive influences in my life to make the difference.

I know one kid who has a lot of emotional issues and has been through every kind of therapy and drug treatment known to man. He’s doing well, but a paper-thin line separates the sweet side of his soul from the side that could send him on a rampage. The more positive influences he has now, the better.

As for those who suggest we simply lock up the mentally disturbed: who do you think qualifies for the cage? You’ll likely point to the troubled guy who walks down the street shouting obscenities at everyone he crosses paths with, but that doesn’t mesh well with the profiles of those who went on to shoot up schools and movie theaters. This latest gunman had no criminal record and was described as a fairly docile person by family and neighbors. Charles Manson’s most blood-thirsty followers were model students and athletes in high school.

At some point their minds became twisted and sick, but outward appearances wouldn’t have indicated that they should be locked up. That’s something else I have firsthand experience with. During some of the worst periods of mental illness in my life, I was able to put on a smile and calm exterior. I could function in society, but inside I was a time bomb.

You want an easy fix for this problem? You can’t have one. It doesn’t exist.

The answer is much more difficult but worth the effort: If you know a young man or woman who goes through periods of depression, rage or self-imposed isolation, someone who struggles to fit in, try to spend time with them. Show them love and kindness. Mentor them.

Doing so has a better chance of preventing the next school massacre than more or fewer guns. We can’t catch every troubled soul and turn them around. The task is simply too big for any of us to handle.

But if we can guide one or two of them, that’s huge.

Sandy

December 14, 2012

Heartbroken and Praying

This is not a post about whether we need more guns or fewer. This is not a post about what makes a man sick enough to fire a weapon at innocent children. It’s just a post to say how heartbroken we are in the Brenner house.

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We don’t know any of the victims in Newtown, Connecticut. But we have children under this roof and couldn’t even begin to understand what so many families in our neighboring state are going through right now. I want to hug my kids and never let go, though I know I can’t shield them from every danger out there.

We’re praying hard for the victims and their families. At last count, CNN said 20 children, 6 adults and the shooter were dead. These kids were between the ages of 5 and 10. Precious children with full lives ahead of them. That this has happened before Christmas makes it all seem all the sadder. From here on out, a lot of people in Newtown will forever dread the holiday season. It’s all too much to take.

A while back I wrote about something Mister Roger’s mother once told him about terrible tragedies. “Look for the helpers. You will always find people who are helping,” he once recalled his mother saying. “To this day, especially in times of disaster, I remember my mother’s words, and I am always comforted by realizing that there are still so many helpers — so many caring people in this world,” he said.

I know the helpers will be there in this case. And that’s how I know that God is good, even when we want to hate Him. God has a plan. We have no idea what it is and many times I sure don’t like it. But when the helpers arrive, I firmly believe that’s Him in action.

Since the shootings, I’ve seen a lot of traffic coming to this blog, particularly to the post about Mister Rogers’ mother. I sure hope it helps the good people of Newtown find some comfort, however small.

God bless every one of you.

“Mister Rogers’ Mother Was Right”

“Why Does God Let This Happen?”

“I Accept God’s Plan, But I Don’t Have To Like It”

December 14, 2012

People Who Talk About Themselves and Those They Torture

I admit I haven’t always been the best listener. God knows I try, but sometimes my dysfunctional brain shuts down after more than 15 minutes of someone telling me about everything happening in their lives.

I look like I’m listening, but I’m only quiet and staring at you because I’m numb.

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I’ve invested a lot of time and energy into changing that. I took a class about ways to stay in the present moment. I’ve kept on top of my anti-depressant medication, getting adjustments as needed. That helps keep my OCD under control, which in turn makes me a better listener. Some days are better than others.

But there are still certain people out there that I’ll always have trouble listening to. That’s because they’ll talk about themselves for hours and show little interest in letting the other people around them talk. You know the type: a friend that bends your ear on the phone, going on about all their problems while you’re forced to sit there in silent torment. The person at a party who corners you and waxes poetic about all the important work they’re doing and how awesome they are. Or how awful everyone and everything is until you want to leave the party so badly that you’re willing to fake cardiac arrest.

Those people are so oblivious to the fact that they do this that they may read this post and not realize that it’s about them.

I admit straightaway that it’s hypocritical of me to point a finger, because I have a history of being a better talker than listener. I could tell you I’m not talking about myself and am instead gifting my victims with juicy historical facts and stories so funny they drop their glass from laughing so hard.

But that would be bullshit.

I’m like anyone else who talks more than he listens. I’ll tell you about what’s going on in my life and leave you little room to do the same.

Knowing that I can be that way has actually made me more tolerant of other over-talkers. I also try to remember what my therapist says every time this comes up: “There’s no greater gift you can give another person than your time and attention.”

I could end this by suggesting other over-talkers try doing the same. I could suggest they take a mindfulness class or go in a church and sit quietly for 30 minutes. But it’s not my place to do that.

All I can do is work on myself and be the better listener.

And if there are people that are too obnoxious to listen to, I can simply avoid them.

Yip Yip Martians