Today is the wake and funeral for Jessica Cormier, the girl who worked for my parents and was murdered last week.
I was at the family business Saturday and you could tell everyone there is devastated by the loss. I’m told she could handle any task around there. Having worked there as a teenager and early twenty-something, I can tell you that’s no small feat.
I’m sorry I never got to know her, but I’m grateful to her for helping the family as she did. For those who want to pay their respects, here’s the wake and funeral information, from the Boston Herald death notice:
CORMIER Jessica Barbara Rose of Everett, January 3rd, at 20 years of age. Devoted daughter of Walter and Barbara (Melesciuc) Cormier. Beloved sister of Nicole Cormier and her fiance Lee Thomas and his son Samuel Thomas of Everett. Granddaughter of the late Stephen and Barbara Melesciuc and Walter and Catherine Cormier. Also lovingly survived by many aunts, uncles, cousins and friends. Family and friends are kindly invited to attend a Funeral Service in the Smith Funeral Home, 125 Washington Avenue, CHELSEA, on Monday, January 9th, at 12:00 Noon. Visitation will be held prior to the service beginning at 10:00 A.M. Services will conclude with interment at Holy Cross Cemetery, Malden. In lieu of flowers, donations in her name may be made to any cause or organization that assists families that lost a loved one to a violent crime. Smith Funeral Home 617-889-1177 www.smithfuneralhomes.com
My brother died Jan. 7, 1984. On this anniversary, I find myself grateful that he was in my life. He left a positive mark on me and left plenty of amusing family stories.
Mood music:
I’ve already written plenty about the darker side of dealing with his death. You can read about it in “Death of a Sibling” if you’re interested. In this post, I just want to celebrate a few things:
2.) My kids are at an age where they can appreciate stories about their uncle Mike, including the yarn about how he switched the hot and cold water pipes in his hospital bathroom during one of his asthma attack stays because he was pissed at the medical staff.
3.) I’m at a point in life where I no longer have to obsess about how his death shaped the man I became. I’m fine with who I am and how I got here doesn’t matter as much anymore. The important thing is what I do with the future.
I do think he would have been amused as hell by my attempts to copy him after his death.
He probably would have been amused to find me hanging out with Sean Marley and listening to Motley Crue and Def Leppard. He would have noticed my widening girth and got on me about it. Despite his asthma he was a fanatical weight lifter. He’d be on my ass to join a gym. Just not his gym. Me hanging around his gym would have been gross.
Right after he died, I did join his gym, Fitness World. It was just down the street from our house, a short walk down a side alley. I wasted no time trying to be him, and lifting weights in Fitness World was as good a place as any to start my charade. I lasted maybe a week. Everyone there expected me to be him. I should have figured out then and there that there could only be one Michael S. Brenner.
Later in my teen years, he might have punched me in the face or broken my other middle finger (he had broken one of them in the back of my father’s van one day when I flipped him off) for wearing his leather jacket. It was a true biker’s jacket, with the zippers on the sleeves and scratch marks from a few falls he had off his motorcycle. He was one cool-looking motherfucker in that jacket. But when I put it on, it was two sizes too small. I wore it anyway.
He might have been jealous of the palace I made out of the basement apartment at 22 Lynnway. At the time of his death the place was being renovated and the plan was for him to move in there. Instead, my father rented it to a guy who was nice enough but always seemed to be fighting with his girlfriend. Since my bedroom was in the basement level at another end of the house, this often pissed me off. Sometimes I heard the make-up sex, and that pissed me off even more. It’s hard to get lost in your quiet, dysfunctional mind when people are making a racket on the other side of the wall. The guy moved out by late 1987 and I moved in.
He might have been annoyed when I decided not to pursue a career in drafting. I wanted to be a writer instead. The poetry I was writing at the time would have sent him into fits of laughter. It would send you into fits of laughter, too.
He was going to be a plumber, and he might have shaken his head back and forth in disgust at my inability to do anything useful with a set of tools.
What he would have thought of me in the 1990s, or of Sean Marley, for that matter, is probably not worth exploring. Had he lived a lot would have been different. I don’t know if Sean and I would have gotten as close as we did, and had that been the case, his death in 1996 wouldn’t have sent me into the self-destructive nosedive I found myself in.
He probably would have been pleased to see me get my demons under control in the last decade. He might even appreciate my decision to be open about it in this blog. But he might not have told me so.
One thing I’m pretty certain of: He would have loved his nephews, and they would have loved him.
Today, I’m the luckiest guy in the world. I’m blessed with the best wife and kids a guy could have. In my work they pay me to do what I love, which is pretty rare. I have many, many good friends.
Michael is probably staring down, approving of it all.
“This is a horrific and senseless case in which we allege that the defendant fatally stabbed the young victim numerous times, causing her death,” District Attorney Leone said. “Our thoughts are with Jessica’s family, who have lost a young woman dearly beloved by her family and friends.”
Authorities say Berry and Cormier knew each other and the violent attack occurred outside on Pearl Street, not from the victim’s home.
On Tuesday, a family member had heard screaming, went downstairs to the apartment’s foyer and found the victim on the floor.
Police searched Berry’s residence in Chelsea and evidence was recovered. Preliminary testing on some of the evidence tested positive for human blood.
Berry will be arraigned Monday in Malden District Court.
I hope this starts the process of justice and healing for Jessica’s family and friends.
I didn’t really know Jessica Cormier. I met her a couple times in passing. But to my father and stepmom, she was important.
Mood music:
I was very sad to learn that Jessica was murdered earlier this week — stabbed in the heart by some deranged punk. A life cut short far too young. She was only 20 years old.
I met her a couple times in my father’s wharehouse, where she worked. She helped out a couple times at my parents’ condo, where my father has been recovering from a stroke. My stepmom, Diane, always spoke glowingly of Jessica, and she’s taking this loss pretty hard.
I hope the cops find the guy who did this soon, before he gets the chance to extinguish another young life.
I hope her parents find peace and solace in knowing that their daughter is now an angel in Heaven, impervious to anyone who would try to hurt her again.
This is one of those events where you stop and wonder why God lets these things happen. I used to ask myself about that a lot.
My relationship with God has gone through changes in recent years. I no longer pray for the safety of everyone I know. I just pray we’ll all have the wisdom to live our lives the way we’re supposed to for whatever length of time we’re going to be around. I’ve come to see life’s body blows not as a punishment but as situations we’re supposed to work through to come out stronger.
Jessica Cormier, 20, graduated from Everett High in 2009.
EVERETT – Growing up in a big extended family, Jessica Cormier was “the quiet one,’’ a soft-spoken girl who liked to keep to herself or blend into the crowd.
After graduating from high school in 2009, she worked several jobs while living at home with her parents, saving money for a place of her own.
But on Tuesday evening, the 20-year-old was fatally stabbed outside her parents’ home, in an apparently targeted attack that left those who knew her grief-stricken and grasping for answers.
“She was so sweet, so good,’’ her aunt, Susan Melesciuc, said through tears. “She had her whole life in front of her.’’
Melesciuc said she could not imagine who would want to hurt her niece, and described her as a “good kid’’ who spent much of her time at home. Cormier’s parents were at home at the time of the attack, she said.
The Middlesex district attorney’s office said investigators do not believe the attack was random, but otherwise provided no details about a possible motive. No arrests have been made.
Authorities declined to say whether police had previously visited the home or whether Cormier had taken out a restraining order.
Neighbors said Cormier was stabbed in the doorway to the three-family home around 6:45 p.m., and that her screams sent several people rushing to her aid. They wrapped her in a sheet and applied pressure to her wounds, but could not stop the bleeding.
“She lost a lot of blood,’’ said next-door neighbor Nicholas Riggin, whose son ran to Cormier’s side. “The poor girl was just minding her own business. She was a nice girl. She didn’t bother nobody. It’s very sad.’’
Riggin and other residents on Pearl Street said they did not see the perpetrators or hear any disturbance before Cormier’s screams.
Cormier was transported to Massachusetts General Hospital, where she was pronounced dead.
Cormier graduated from Everett High School in 2009. In her senior yearbook, which included a baby picture of her wearing a Red Soxhat, she wrote that she had “made it on her own’’ and loved her parents, sister, and family forever.
She listed her nicknames as Kiwi and Little One.
Louis Baldi, the principal of Everett High School, expressed his “deepest sympathies and prayers’’ to Cormier’s family.
Melesciuc said her niece had worked a variety of jobs in recent years, and to her knowledge was not dating anyone.
She said that the family had just spent the holidays together and that Cormier seemed happy. She said she did not believe that Cormier was mixed up with a bad crowd and speculated that she was robbed.
She had learned about the slaying from Cormier’s sister, who she said is devastated by her death.
“I can’t imagine what she is going through,’’ she said.
Neither Cormier’s parents nor her sister could be reached for comment.
Yesterday morning, a young man lay flowers on the front steps of the home.
After getting no answer at the door, he sat on the front step, covering his head with the hood of his jacket and his face with his hands.
For more than 10 minutes, he sat there, tears running down his face.
Erin is playing me an NPR broadcast about OCD. I went looking for the link to include here and tripped over another good NPR segment. This one is an interview with Traci Foust, author of “Nowhere Near Normal: A Memoir of OCD.”
I recently connected with Traci on Facebook and she’s a great resource for understanding the disorder.
While we’re on the topic, it’s also worth checking out “A Life Lived Ridiculously” by Annabelle R. Charbit, about a girl with obsessive compulsive disorder who makes the mistake of falling in love with a sociopath.
Both writings work so well because of how the authors use humor. Of course, my humor falls on the dark side, so take that comment with a grain of salt.
As for that other OCD segment on NPR, here it is. It’s about how art can be used to raise a person’s understanding of the disorder.
Me and the happy lamp Erin bought me to combat winter depression aren’t seeing eye to eye. Everyone I talk to who uses one says it works. But here’s my problem…
Mood music:
http://youtu.be/UXFUnnoSphY
As I stare at the florescent glow that’s supposed to simulate sunlight, a nagging thought dogs me: “It’s just not the same as real sunlight,” I keep telling myself.
There’s something about genuine sunlight — how it bounces off trees and houses, how it shoots through windows and lights a room — that you just can’t capture in a box.
When the happy lamp is on, it just seems like I have my face extremely close to one of those florescent ceiling lights.
I’m not blind to the fact that part of the problem is me. Knowing that it’s not the same as real sunlight, I have a hard time giving it a chance. That’s really not fair to those who have to live in the same house with me, I realize.
I bring all this up because I suspect I’m not the only one whose skepticism — or is it cynicism — gets in the way of the scientific benefits of light therapy.
Light therapy is a way to treat seasonal affective disorder (SAD) by exposure to artificial light. Seasonal affective disorder is a type of depression that occurs at a certain time each year, usually in the fall or winter.
During light therapy, you sit or work near a device called a light therapy box. The box gives off bright light that mimics natural outdoor light. Light therapy is thought to affect brain chemicals linked to mood, easing SAD symptoms. Using a light therapy box may also help with other types of depression, sleep disorders and some other conditions. Light therapy is also known as bright light therapy or phototherapy.
Reading further, I can see how I haven’t exactly been doing it right. I turn on the box and don’t keep track of time. I’m inconsistent about the time of day I use it. My mind gets caught on visuals: what I want the light to look like vs. the scientific effect. Here’s how the Mayo Clinic says to do it:
Three key elements for effective light therapy Light therapy is most effective when you have the proper combination of duration, timing and light intensity:
Duration. When you first start light therapy, your doctor may recommend treatment for shorter blocks of time, such as 15 minutes. You gradually work up to longer periods. Eventually, light therapy typically involves daily sessions ranging from 30 minutes to two hours, depending on your light box’s intensity.
Timing. For most people, light therapy is most effective when it’s done early in the morning, after you first wake up. Doing light therapy at night can disrupt your sleep. Because light therapy seems to work best in the early morning, you may need to wake up earlier than you normally would to get the most benefit from treatment. Your doctor can help you find the light therapy schedule that works best.
Intensity. The intensity of the light box is recorded in lux, which is a measure of the amount of light you receive at a specific distance from a light source. Light boxes for light therapy usually produce between 2,500 lux and 10,000 lux. The intensity of your light box affect how far you sit from it and the length of time you need to use it. The 10,000 lux light boxes usually require 30-minute sessions, while the 2,500 lux light boxes may require 2-hour sessions.
Finding time for light therapy Light therapy requires time and consistency. You may be tempted to skip sessions or quit altogether because you don’t want to spend time sitting by a light box. But light therapy doesn’t have to be boring. It can be time well spent.
You can set your light box on a table or desk in your home or in your office. That enables you to read, use a computer, write, watch television, talk on the phone or eat while undergoing light therapy. Some light boxes are even available as visors that you can wear, although their effectiveness isn’t proven.
Getting the most out of light therapy Light therapy isn’t effective for everyone. But you can take steps to get the most out of your light therapy and help make it a success, including:
Be consistent. Sticking to a daily routine of light therapy sessions can help ensure that you maintain improvements over time. If you simply can’t do light therapy every day, take a day or two off, but monitor your mood and other symptoms — you may have to find a way to fit in light therapy every day.
Time it right. If you interrupt light therapy during the winter months or stop too soon in the spring when you think you’re improving, your symptoms could return.
Get the right light box. Do some research and talk to your doctor before purchasing a light therapy box. That way you can be sure your light box is safe, the right brightness and that its style and features make it convenient to use.
Include other treatment. If your symptoms don’t improve enough with light therapy, you may need additional treatment. Talk to your doctor about other treatment options, such as psychotherapy or antidepressants.
I got a call from my mother this morning. She says she’s been reading every post in this blog and that she’s very worried about me.
“You have a beautiful wife, two healthy kids and a wonderful job, yet I read your blog and see someone who is very unhappy and disturbed,” she told me. Incredibly, she was worried that I might try to hurt myself someday.
Nothing is further from the truth. Which brings me to this post.
She commented on my last post, suggesting I’m still suffering the effects of massive doses of Prednisone during childhood. She wrote:
“When you were really sick in the hospital you were put on one of the highest doses of prednisone they give. Low doses make people have ocd tendencies while on the drug. High doses are 100 times magnified. Thus your many loud memmories. Ask any doctor what this drug can do. Having said that I will note that we are all very happy you came through the physical problems. However I think this drug is still making you sick. Even though you have not taken it for a very long time. I have taken moderate to high doses (not nearly what you took) and came home from the hospital like a crazy just let out of the mental hospital. I cannot even imagine what it did to you. But I am not convinced that this drug ends with the end of the prescibed dosage.”
There’s a lot of truth in there regarding the lingering effects of Prednisone, but that’s a topic best saved for the next post.
For now, I want to tell my mother that the reality of this blog is the complete opposite of what it’s really about. In an effort to set her straight, I’m asking her to read the following posts…
First, some words about how having the occasional bought of depression doesn’t mean a person is unhinged or even unhappy. Depression has it’s emotional components, but a lot of it is about basic science and brain chemistry: things that can be managed with the proper awareness and treatment.
“The Engine” where I compare mental illness and the treatments do the engine of a car.
Next, some words of encouragement I try to send people, especially kids, going through what I’ve experienced, the goal being to give them hope and inspire them to take command of their lives — not sink deeper into despair:
Finally, read these posts because they are all about me making it through the rough stuff and reaching a point where I am a much happier person who loves to experience things I used to fear:
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.
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.
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.
Hopefully, you’ll walk away with a new perspective. This thing is really about overcoming obstacles and learning to put ongoing challenges in their proper place.
If you don’t feel that way after more reading, we’ll simply have to agree to disagree.
Someone recently asked if I think about my disease 24-7 and, if so, whether doing so is perilous to those around me. In this case, the disease is OCD and the addictions that go with it.
Mood music:
Let me try to take a stab at addressing that:
I don’t think my disease should define me and keep me in a box. But it’s also a major part of who I am and how I tick. Writing a blog that focuses on that probably amplifies things. But I see some necessity in it all.
Like any person with an addictive personality, I have to have it on my mind around the clock because if I stop thinking about it I forget it’s there. That’s when I get sloppy and sink into the bad behavior.
The OCD part is a little more complicated and maybe even a little contradictory.
Since OCD is largely a disease that triggers destructive over thinking, you would think that the goal is to teach yourself not to think so hard. In some respects, that is the goal. But it’s about not engaging in thinking that snags your brain like the scratch in a CD does to the laser. It’s about never forgetting that the disorder, like addiction, is nearby doing push-ups, ready to kick your ass when you get too comfortable.
I’ll admit that I’m not even close to having this stuff in balance. But to those who think I focus on my disease at the expense of all else, I disagree. The me of today is a deeply flawed animal. But go back and meet the me of five or 10 years ago and you’ll meet a monster. A wounded monster. Everyone is probably better off with me as a flawed animal. I’m less harmful that way.
That doesn’t mean I should tell everyone to fuck off and carry on with no regard for the needs of others.
I need to keep working on being a better husband, a better father, a better friend and colleague. I’m never going to be perfect. But I can be better. If I have to think about my disease 24-7 to keep getting better, so be it.
I also think it’s necessary to remember my disease so I can be be more helpful and supportive of other people dealing with their own diseases — not necessarily cancer and the like, but everything from work stress to a loss of identity.
I’ve tried hard to demolish the wall I hide behind when my mind isn’t right. But whenever I think I’ve made progress, shit happens and I find it’s taller and thicker than ever.
Mood music:
My latest mood swing has me thinking hard about how I allow this to happen. Far as I can tell, I do make progress, but then I take my eye off the wrecking ball and the wall rebuilds itself when I’m busy internalizing everything.
For all the sharing I do in this blog, sometimes it’s still ridiculously hard to open up to those closest to me. One reason is that I’m still a selfish bastard sometimes. I get so wrapped up in my work and feelings that it becomes almost impossible to see someone else’s side of things.
I also don’t like to be in a situation where there’s yelling. There was plenty of that growing up, and I tend to avoid arguments with loved ones at all costs. Putting up a wall can be a bitch for any relationship, because sooner or later bad feelings will race at that wall like a drunk behind the wheel of a Porsche and slam right into it. Some bricks in the wall crack and come loose, but by then it can be too late. Relationships are totaled.
I’m starting to believe this is a chronic condition hardened by my early history. But that doesn’t mean I’m going to sit here and accept it.
When I stop talking, it hurts my wife, my kids and my larger family. But how do I calm the restlessness so that I’ll stay buckled into the bulldozer with my hands firmly on the controls, pounding the wrecking ball through the wall until only dust remains?
Therapy helps, and I have that regularly. But somewhere between the therapist’s office and the rest of my life, the action plan goes missing.
Maybe the problem is that I dance around it in therapy and I’m really not leaving with an action plan in hand.
Maybe the height and thickness of the wall increases and decreases on a set schedule and I just have to be more watchful. It definitely seems to grow more impenetrable at the start of winter, which is where we are now.
But maybe it’s always there, the same size and thickness, and I just happen to ignore it until someone forces me to remember its existence.
If all that sounds like bullshit, perhaps it is. I try to be as honest as possible in this blog, but let’s remember that I’m an addict and addicts are skilled at lying to themselves and others.
My mind is clear about one thing right now: I’ve slid backward and need to regain my footing. The best place to start is by making a real action plan, right here, right now:
–At my next therapy appointment, I need to make my communication troubles the focus of the appointment instead of letting the therapist run down the broader checklist.
–I need to be more disciplined about using the happy lamp I’m supposed to sit in front of during the winter. Truth be told, I’ve resisted it because in the end, I look at the florescent glow and grouse to myself that it’s just not the same as real sunlight.
–I need to reassess my diet. I’m pretty disciplined about following a strict, OA-approved food plan. But I’ve had trouble getting up the mood to eat the vegetables that are a staple of the program. So I fall back on my OA-approved breakfast at other meals. I tell myself the end goal is not to binge eat and that’s true. But messing with the food could also mean I’m messing with my mind.
–I need to get better at letting people yell at me sometimes. Yelling from anyone inevitably sends me back under my mother’s roof. Maybe Ma doesn’t yell anymore but she did back then, and a raised voice goes in my ears and hits the brain like gunshots. But avoiding arguments doesn’t make problems go away. They just sit patiently in the corner waiting for the next opportunity, which is always there.
–I need to get better at talking back. This might seem strange to those who think I’m pretty good at speaking up. But that’s just in writing form. Verbally I still suck at it. I don’t want to say things that might be hurtful and, at the least, uncomfortable. But sometimes others need a talking to for their own good. I need to be more helpful in that regard.
–I need to start walking again. I used to walk compulsively, then a few years ago I stopped. Perhaps I need to work 20 or 30 minutes two or three times a week back into the mix, so I can use the time to process my thoughts. I used to use walking time to do that and I was still a mental mess. But I’ve made a lot of progress since then and maybe the walks will be more useful for organizing thoughts now that it’s not a game of spinning worries and anxieties around in my skull.
Is any of this realistic? I don’t know. But it’s time to try more radical wall-demolishing activities.
I’ve had some sharp mood swings in recent days. Now that it seems to be leveling off, I can write about it.
Mood music:
I made it through the usual Christmas blues in one piece and even enjoyed the holiday once it arrived. A week of vacation followed, and we Brenners did something we rarely do: Sit around like slugs. We needed it. We must have needed it really bad, in fact, because God sent the whole family a stomach bug to force a couple days of inactivity. I escaped the bug myself, but pretty much stayed under the quilts anyway.
The mood swings started around Thursday. I’d feel happy and at peace for a couple hours, then miserable, angry and agitated for a few hours, then back and forth. I didn’t mention it to my family, though I’m sure it was obvious. New Year’s Eve was especially brutal. I walked around in a fog all day, even as we did stuff as a family. We enjoyed a trip to the Museum of Science but much of the time my head was someplace else — someplace darker.
I carried on that way into the evening, feeling deep sadness over things I couldn’t quite put my finger on. Then, as we got further into the evening, my spirits lifted. After Duncan and my niece went to bed, Erin, Sean and I watched TV and Sean and I played a game of Battleship. It felt good.
Yesterday was a good day overall. I had enough energy to go on a housecleaning spree before church. In the afternoon Duncan and I worked on a craft involving Plaster of Paris and, while the plaster dried, we watched some Harry Potter.
I ended the day dozing off in my favorite living room chair next to the Christmas tree lights, and was feeling content about it.
A couple items worth noting:
–The worst of my mood swings coincided with some dreary weather outside. No snow, but lots of clouds and a fair amount of rain. That kind of weather always tampers with my mood.
–Yesterday, New Years Day, the sun lit up the day brilliantly. I always do better when the sun shines.
The weather is always a factor for those who are prone to depression this time of year, when the days are short and the trees are bare.
I’m feeling good this morning. All in all, it was a good, restful vacation but I’m ready to get back to the work I love. I used to dread the end of vacation, so that’s a big plus.
I cherished the time I spent with family, even if my flawed side sometimes surfaced to make a mess of things.
I’ve learned to expect this stuff at the beginning of winter. That means I’m able to recover more quickly.
Thank God for that, because nothing sucks more than a slow, downward spiral you can’t pull yourself out of.
"Darkness and Light" -- check out the "Four Lease Ranch" blog where I found this. Good stuff.
As for that other OCD segment on NPR, 
