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Sorry, But You’re Wrong

I got a lot of response to yesterday’s post about possibly killing this blog (Thanks for all the support!). Everyone asked that I continue, but supported my idea of expanding the topics.

I still have decisions to make, but y’all gave me some great ideas on how to take this forward.

I did get one message to the contrary, though. And because I disagree with the writer’s point, I’m going to share it with you. I’ll keep the person’s name out of it, of course.

Mood music:

The writer said:

All I will say is that a blog like this is probably not doing you any favors.

When you know a person for business purposes, you dont want to know about their psychological disorders. If you want an extension of our writing, great. But a blog titled like this makes people who know nothing about you have predisposed notions that there would be something off about you.

That could be ignorance on their part, but why put something out there that is otherwise none of their business, when it shouldnt be an issue in dealing with you?

Blogs like this have got people denied jobs and all. Ignorance? Probably. But either way, how does a blog named for this subject otherwise help you? I cant see a single way it would unless you want to prove the ADA should apply to you.

My thoughts:

–I don’t write this blog for favors, and certainly not for sympathy votes. I write it because good people have been screwed over because of the stigma, which you actually describe quite well. I reached a point in my life where speaking out and sharing what I’ve learned was more important than what people might think of me.

–I knew I was taking a risk when I started this. Fortunately, everyone I work with supports me. The simple reason is that I proved my worth long before I came out with these stories.

–You’re absolutely wrong to say no one wants to know about this stuff. Within days of starting the blog, the vast majority of feedback came from people in the security community who have their own demons and were grateful that someone was talking about theirs. Depression, anxiety and addiction run deep in our community, and when people have a place to talk about it and find ways forward, it makes them better contributors to the industry, does it not? I think it does. By the way, a lot of the folks I speak of are in upper-level jobs — the kind you do business with.

–Part of doing this blog is to help people see that they need not be held back by adversity. That too is good for our community.

–I do agree that I risk being viewed only through the prism of what I write about. That’s why I’m considering changes. But that change isn’t going to be to reverse course. I continue to believe openness is the best approach.

Thanks for the feedback.

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Playing Chicken With The Wedding Train

It’s a common pain in the ass when a couple is planning their wedding: Someone threatens to boycott the event unless so-and-so is uninvited.

Mood music:

In the run-up to my wedding in 1998, a close cousin pulled this when he got into a fight with my aunt — his mom. She went to the wedding and he skipped it. I haven’t seen or heard from him since then. Erin and I were paying for most of the wedding ourselves and were determined to keep the guest list small. That led to all kinds of hurt feelings about this one or that one being invited while someone else was excluded.

At my sister‘s wedding in 1996, a whole section of the family — led by my mother — boycotted the event because they were not fans of the groom. That they were ultimately right about the guy is beside the point. They could have given her love and support anyway, but chose not to. I don’t really fault them in the end. We’re all human and our emotions often get the better of us.

But to the couple getting married, this sort of bullshit is the stuff of terrible anxiety and lost sleep. They’re trying to make their loved ones part of their special day, then someone decides to make it about them and start dictating the terms of their attendance.

A bright exception was my cousin’s wedding last summer. A lot of family members who aren’t on speaking terms stuffed their attitudes in their pockets and behaved on what turned out to be a wonderful occasion. At the time I gave my mother a lot of credit for being cordial on that day.

After the wedding my mother called and asked if we could try to heal the rift between us. Since then I’ve invested a lot of effort and emotion into doing so. Along the way, I unblocked her from Facebook. Trust me: It took a lot for me to do that.

She found this blog, as I intended. I knew it would be hard for her to read, but I was hoping she could get past some of the more unpleasant childhood memories I shared and see the bigger picture — that I had forgiven her and taken responsibility for my own mistakes; and that my head was in a much healthier place then it was the year our relationship crumbled. That’s the whole point of this blog, really, that a person can overcome a lot of ugly emotion and turmoil and discover real joy.

Unfortunately, she missed all that stuff and zeroed straight in on what she saw as my distorted picture of her. Over several conversations and blog posts directed right at her, I tried to steer her toward the right perspective.

But like she has done so many times before, she emerged with a picture of herself as the victim of someone else’s torment. First she unfriended me on Facebook. Then she called me and suggested that I was a deeply disturbed mental case in need of emergency treatment.

And now we’ve come full circle:

My sister is getting married again and my mother has threatened to skip the wedding unless me, my wife and kids are excluded.

Like so many times before, she is making it about her grudge instead of someone else’s happiness.

It’s sad. I feel for her, because I want her to be in a better mental place. But I guess that’s not going to happen.

I’m going to have to put this relationship back on ice. I don’t regret trying, though. It’s better to try and fail then to do nothing.

Still, the whole thing is sad.

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To Those Who Can’t Stop Trollin’

“Fact: Energy powered by asshole fumes is unsustainable.” — Bill Brenner

I get self-righteous in how I look down on people for trolling — throwing cryptic statements on the social networks that beg for attention. But I’m guilty of it, too.

Mood music: 

I can’t help but think of the Stooges song “Trolling” — especially these lyrics:

You can’t tell me this is not a suave thing to do
You can’t tell me ’cause I know you’d do it too

I’m trollin’
We’re trollin’
Baby I’m trollin’
Baby we’re trollin’

When it comes to feeding the egos of people who lack self confidence — or have an overabundance that needs constant stroking — social networking is as addictive as any other narcotic.

I tend to look down on people for doing this stuff, especially when they make these kinds of statements:

“Unbelievable.”

“Well, my day just turned to shit.”

“Some people need to get a fucking life!”

The deliberate lack of information on who is sparking this emotion and why ensures that the poster will get a flood of comments from the curious. There’s some debate over whether the above statements technically fit the definition of trolling, but to me they fit the criteria of people dropping a fishing line in the water hoping someone will bite.

On further reflection, I realize that headlines are designed for the trolling effect. Since I write many headlines a day as a writer and editor, I have to take responsibility for that. Some headlines are designed to grab your attention and make you curious enough to click on the link. It’s Journalism 101 stuff. But it can be as bad as the cryptic attention-seeking posts.

Also annoying but universal are the posts that involve inflammatory, bomb-throwing statements designed to spark a furor.

Let’s stop for a second and look at some definitions. First, this definition from Wikipedia:

In Internet slang, a troll is someone who posts inflammatory, extraneous, or off-topic messages in an online community, such as an online discussion forum, chat room, or blog, with the primary intent of provoking readers into an emotional response or of otherwise disrupting normal on-topic discussion.

Actually, I prefer this definition from Urban Dictionary:

Being a (expletive deleted) on the internet because you can. Typically unleashing one or more cynical or sarcastic remarks on an innocent by-stander, because it’s the internet and, hey, you can.

Guy: “I just found the coolest ninja pencil in existence.”
Other Guy: “I just found the most retarded thread in existence.”

When is it useful to be a troll and when is it not? Here’s how I see it right now: Going on a tirade about a particular company or individual isn’t bad in itself. Some entities won’t do a thing to improve their behavior unless they become the focus of negative torrents of tweets. It’s sad, but that’s the reality. But trolling gets ugly when it involves name-calling and attacking a person’s character.

After reading a draft of this post, my wife noted that the dictionaries she consulted put an almost universally negative spin on the word.

The poisonous trolling is like porn: You know it when you see it.

I went looking for examples of good trolling vs. bad trolling, with the hope that we all might learn something.

I spent a long time going in and out of different forums where people opined about good trolling vs. bad trolling, but found all the usual responses. A good troll puts things out there to make us think about how to do things better. A bad troll is just someone who tears people down to get a reaction.

Those examples probably oversimplify the two sides, though.

The best “good troll vs. bad troll list” came from a site I had never heard of before. As far as I can tell, the site is about body building.

Since that’s a different topic and culture than what I cover here, I was reluctant to use their example. But despite the ridicule I’m probably opening myself up to, I like this list quite a bit, so here you have it — some of the examples from a website called Testosterone Nation:

(1) A good troll causes readers to think, or to laugh.
(2) A bad troll makes people mad for no reason.
(3) A good troll makes people mad for a good reason, usually by challenging their cherished beliefs.
(4) A bad troll never works out.
(5) A bad troll uses personal insults instead of wit.
(6) A good troll is very subtle, so that people are not quite sure if the thread/post is genuine or trolling.

This post won’t do much to change online behavior, including my own. But who knows — maybe it’ll make us think a little bit more about what we’re saying before we hit “post.”

Or it’ll just force us to admit that we’re all trolls.

Or, equally useful, it’ll make us revisit how we define all this stuff.

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Me And My Facebook Unfriend Finder

Yesterday Mashable had an article about a new plug-in that alerts you when someone unfriends you, de-activates their page or ignores your friend request.

Mood music:

“That would be bad for my mental health,” I told myself, seconds before hitting the “install” button. I was reminded of the Black Flag song where Henry Rollins screams:

You say you don’t want it
You don’t want it
Say you don’t want it
Then you slip it on in

When I told Erin about the plug-in she scolded me with the very words that came to mind right before I installed it: “That would be sooooo bad for your mental health.”

So why did I install the thing, knowing what I know about my compulsive tendencies? To be honest, I was curious.

I’ve written before about Facebook Unfriend Syndrome: That nagging feeling you get when someone unfriends you. You wonder if you offended the person and want to ask them why they left. It’s a stupid state of mind, to be sure. But having OCD is partly about developing stupid compulsions.

Indeed, I have offended people over things I’ve written in this blog. A close friend got mad at me for something I wrote and ditched me, though she recently added me back. My own mother defriended me because she couldn’t handle my version of past events. I long ago accepted that I’m going to lose people along the way. That’s life, especially when you’re the outspoken type.

With all that in mind, any sane person would prefer not to know who unfriended them. I never claimed I was playing with a full deck.

An hour after I installed it, I got a message, just like any notification you get on Facebook, saying so-and-so deactivated their profile. An hour later, someone else deactivated theirs.

“Hmm,” I thought. “It is good to know when someone kills their account.”

Now I almost find myself wanting someone to unfriend me just so I can watch this new toy do its thing.

It’s crazy, I know.

There are arguments for having this kind of tool. Seeing the types of people who leave can give you an indication of who is more or less likely to want your content. If a relative does it, it’s good to know so you can try to fix whatever you did to bruise them. Of course, sometimes family members deserve to be bruised.

In the final analysis, though, I’ve decided to uninstall it because, as Erin said, it’s dangerous for my brand of OCD. I also realize people have a right to unfriend without telling people.

It’s a personal and private action.

Also, as I’ve noted before, sometimes unfriending is the right thing.

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Fear Plus Stupidity Gave Us The Patriot Act

My friend Mike Spinney made an interesting statement on Twitter: “If only we’d been as outspoken against the #PatriotAct as we are against #SOPA.”

Mood music:

I feel the same way, but the cause and effect is less of a mystery to me:

The Patriot Act passed at the height of our hysteria over 9-11. At the time, a lot of us thought we were seeing terrorists holding vials of smallpox and suitcase nukes at every street corner. We were so freaked out over the next potential attack that we gave government the keys to do anything it wanted if they would just keep us safe.

We get stupid when fear drives us. I can testify to that because back then I was one of the fear-laden souls who wanted the government to do whatever it took to prevent more attacks.

Fear made me refuse to get on a plane to Arizona to attend a cousin’s wedding a couple weeks after 9-11. When I finally had to get on a plane to Chicago for work in 2004, I was terrified.

Under the spell of fear, anxiety and depression, I was afraid of my own shadow. I chose staying indoors over living. I had a mental illness that was undiagnosed and out of control. But you didn’t have to have a mental illness to be in a stupor during that period of American history.

I eventually found treatment and lost the fear and anxiety. Since then I’ve been in overdrive doing the things I was too scared to do back then.

Of course, one person overcoming his demons isn’t the same as a nation undoing a bad law passed in a moment of national fear. Also, once you give any government emergency powers, it doesn’t like to give it back.

For me, given my own history, that’s probably one of the reasons I’m speaking out so loudly against SOPA and PIPA. I’m not willing to cower in the corner while Congress gives the government even more power to violate our freedom. Not again.

In fact, if we allow the current bills to become law as written, it will be worse than the circumstances that gave birth to the Patriot Act.

Back then, such a law was possible because people were in fear and wanted security.

If SOPA-PIPA passes, it will have been made possible because corporate money was more of an influence than common sense.

You tell me which motivation is worse.

AmericanFlagSpy

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I Don’t Care About Your Bra Color, Where You Put Your Purse Or Where You’re Going for 15 Months

I’m all for raising awareness. Cancer. Mental Illness. People understand little about these and other maladies. But telling us your bra color isn’t going to help.

In the last couple of years, we’ve seen these awareness campaigns where women throw some cryptic message on their Facebook pages. One time it was listing a color. Another time it was where they put their purse. The message would be something suggestive like this: “I like it on the desk, or in the closet.”

The idea is to have a little fun at the expense of men. Men look at their female friends’ status updates and go nuts wondering what they are talking about. Then, at the end of a day or week, the punchline is revealed.

Here’s an example of one such campaign:

Okay pretty ladies,

It’s that time of year again…support of Breast Cancer Awareness!! So we all remember last year’s game of writing your bra color as your status? Or the way we like to have our handbag handy? Last year, so many people took part that it made national news and the constant updating of status reminded everyone why we’re doing this and helped raise …awareness!! Do NOT tell any males what the statuses mean…keep them guessing!! And please copy and paste (in a message) this to all your female friends! It’s time to confuse the men again (not that it’s really that hard to do ;]) The idea is to choose the month you were born and the day you were born. Pass this on to the GIRLS ONLY and lets see how far it reaches around. The last one about the bra went around all over the world.

Your status should say: “I am going to________________for___________ months.”

The day you were born should be for how many months you are going.

This one was particularly bad because someone’s mom or dad or best friend is going to freak out on learning that their loved one is going away for more than a year. It’s in bad taste.

Here’s the problem with these campaigns in general: It first assumes that men are clueless about breast cancer. If you are the spouse or parent of someone with breast cancer, you’re pretty damn clued in. It also ignores that men can get breast cancer too. One of the more famous male victims is Peter Criss, original drummer in KISS.

All the bra color and purse placement campaigns did was leave men picturing lady friends in their bras or having sex on a desk or in a closet. I can assure you, breast cancer awareness was the last thing on their minds.

As someone who has tried to raise awareness in this blog on the risks and remedies for addictive behavior, mental illness and Crohn’s Disease, I know I’m not going to make anyone smarter by announcing the color of my underwear. In fact, that would just be gross.

To me, raising awareness is about sharing your personal experiences, medical studies and tips for something like minimizing the side effects of chemotherapy (if that’s even possible). When you take people on a personal journey, they walk away with a much better understanding of what they can do to help.

I’ll end with what I think is the best example of this — a book by my friend Penny Morang Richards called “My Breast Cancer Sally.” There’s also a blog called “My Breast Cancer Chronicle.”

There are many other blogs out there that raise awareness for everything from breast cancer to sexual addiction.

Seek out those sources. And keep your bra color to yourselves.

My Breast Cancer Sally

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Two Wombs, Two Vaginas And A Lot Of Balls

Joke all you want. In my opinion, Hazel Jones, a woman with two wombs and two vaginas, (the condition is called uterus didelphys) has more balls than many of us ever will.

Mood music:

http://youtu.be/yxOHm8M8BcQ

Jones opened up about her condition on the This Morning show, and The Huffington Post ran this article, which says in part:

Embarrassing Bodies health expert Dr Dawn Harper explained on the show that Hazel’s condition occurred because the uterus tube septum failed to break down when Miss Jones was a baby, meaning two uteruses formed instead of one.

Uterus didelphys, more commonly known as ‘double uterus’ happens when a woman’s uterus forms differently and goes on to develop into two uteruses (wombs). While the condition itself is not uncommon, having two separate vaginas is extremely rare.

”The two tubes have made two separate uteruses and two vaginas and two cervixes. And although it’s relatively common to have a septum within the uterus, to actually have two separate uteruses is much rarer – one in a million,” explained Dr Harper.

MIss Jones first discovered something was wrong when she reached puberty and started her periods at 14.

“That wasn’t fun. I used to suffer from horrendous cramps and my periods could be very heavy. I now know that my periods were worse because I have two wombs,” Hazel explained. “It wasn’t nice. I had friends and I tried explaining to them I was having problems and they had no idea what I was doing wrong.

“I always noticed there was this thing there,” said the 27-year-old.

She also revealed that she had to lose her virginity twice as she had two hymens – the thin membrane surrounding the external vaginal opening – to break.

She explained: “If you are not aware that you have got this, it can be really uncomfortable as I thought I was having cystitis and urine infections from a young age when I was tearing the middle septum.”

I’ve read a lot of comments about this and the vast majority of them are stupid jokes about the horror of this woman having two periods, thus making life doubly miserable for the men around her. The rest of the jokes are all testosterone-driven.

The jokesters fail to give her credit for having more balls than they ever will.

To publicly talk about something so embarrassing, sensitive and painful takes courage. I’ve read that her condition is not uncommon. Those who suffer from it must feel an enormous amount of shame. It must ruin their lives in a lot of ways.

Now that Jones has spoken up, the others will not feel so freakish and alone anymore. I’m not just talking about other women with her condition. I’m talking about all the “embarrassing” maladies people live with.

I’ve often been asked why I choose to “flay” myself in this blog, as one fellow put it. I do it in part to let others know that they are not alone and that they don’t have to let their demons win.

Jones doesn’t deserve ridicule. She deserves thanks.

Hazel Jones Two Vaginas

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Traci Foust Talks OCD on NPR

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.”Nowhere Near Normal: A Memoir of OCD

I recently connected with Traci on Facebook and she’s a great resource for understanding the disorder.

Do yourself a favor and listen to it HERE.

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.

Annabelle RcAs 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.

Enjoy, and be better for it.

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Do I Think About My Disease 24-7?

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.

Am I pulling that off?

I guess that’s a question only others can answer.

"Obsession" by Bill Fennell