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Beauty And Gratitude In Every Bad Thing

In the battle to manage OCD and all its byproducts, I’ve learned something that’s helped me a lot: To always see the blessings hidden within the bad stuff.

Mood music:

http://youtu.be/X0jHPRO98lM

–When I lose people close to me because of death or resentment, I try to remember the good stuff we got to share and how lucky I was to have known those who eventually left me.

–When I feel my addictions starting to creep up on me and I’m forced to start over, I try to remember that it’s still so much better than the days I binged at the drop of a hat.

–When I feel the depressive effect of shorter days that come with summer’s end, (I’m prone to depression from a lack of daylight) I try to remember that the longer days will eventually return and that there are still things to look forward to in the coming seasons.

–When my children get loud and their chaos invades my personal space, I easily remember that my life is so much fuller and beautiful with them in it. I also remember, when they start talking, that a lot of funny shit comes out of their mouths. Some examples here.

–When my three-year-old niece is here and she’s in a foul mood, I try to remember that she’s still so stinkin’ cute.

–When a day at work doesn’t go as I wanted it to, I remember that it’s still the best job I’ve ever had.

–When my obnoxious instincts kick in and I take the needling of others too far, I try to remember that most of those around me forgive me every time and give me another chance.

–If I’m stuck in bed with a migraine or the flu, I can take comfort in knowing it could be — and has been – so much worse.

–If I’m feeling depressed — and my OCD ensures that I will from time to time — I can take comfort in knowing it doesn’t cripple me like it used to and I can still get through the day, live my life and see the mood for what it is — part of a chronic condition.

–When I stare into the mirror and see all the scars and wrinkles, I try to remember that another year of aging is another year life didn’t beat me down.

–When I look in the mirror and see that I’m thick in the middle, I try to remember that I used to be HUGE in the middle and that the former is better than the latter.

–If I’m feeling down about relationships that are on ice, I can take joy in knowing that there’s never a point of no return, especially when you’re willing to make amends and accept forgiveness.

–When I come home fried from a few days of travel, I try to remember that I used to fear travel and now it feels routine. It’s a step in the right direction.

–When I think I’m having the shittiest year ever, I stop and remember that most years are a mix of good and bad and that gives me the perspective to cool off my emotions.

–When something really bad happens, I know that people are always going to show up to help, and that it’s an extension of God’s Grace in my life.

–When I’m angry about something, I can always put on headphones and let some ferocious metal music squeeze the aggression out of me.

–If I feel like people around me are acting like idiots, I can recognize that they may just be having a bad day themselves and that it’s always better to watch an idiot than be one.

Bad stuff happens every day. But if you squint into the darkness and stare a little longer, a little light always appears.

Photo by John Vantine. Check out more of his work here.

38-serrano-canyon-hiking-homestead-hope-springs

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Be Yourself, And Let The Chips Fall Wherever

If someone doesn’t like you, too bad for them.

Mood music:

From the good folks at “Choose Happiness” — something to keep in mind when people get all snotty and hypocritical about who you are and what you do:

You are a person, not a Facebook status. Other peoples "like" is not needed. Everyone isn't going to like you and that's ok. Just make sure YOU like you...
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Paranoia Was My Destroyer

There’s a particularly insidious side of my OCD that I have to fight hard to contain, because it’s the thing most likely to destroy me. This is a story about paranoia.

Mood music:

http://youtu.be/_WJ6FbcWYRU

Let’s start with a definition from Wikipedia:

Paranoia is a thought process believed to be heavily influenced by anxiety or fear, often to the point of irrationality and delusion. Paranoid thinking typically includes persecutory beliefs, or beliefs of conspiracy concerning a perceived threat towards oneself.

Anxiety and fear once played a major role in how my OCD manifested itself. I would become so full of fear about people, places and things that I would see conspiracies against me around every corner.

My time as night editor of The Eagle-Tribune is a perfect example.

Working the night shift and then waking up after only a couple hours of sleep each night to spend time with the children eroded my sanity to the point where I was absolutely convinced that the day staff was conspiring against me.

I’d sit at home working the scenarios over and over in my head. I was certain that anything that went wrong with the morning deadline cycle would be blamed on me because of something I may or may not have done the night before. That turned into a constant feeling that a conspiracy was afoot to get me fired.

I would think about it day and night, ruining God knows how many precious moments with my wife and kids. I was right there with them at home or on family vacations. But mentally I was somewhere far away and dark.

Going further back to my late teens and early 20s, I would grow obsessed about what people thought of me: how I looked, how I talked and walked. I lost a lot of sleep worrying about something I took as a certainty: that people were talking about me behind my back, making fun of my mannerisms.

My mind would spin and spin until I was too much of a wreck to do anything but sleep.

I haven’t suffered with this stuff nearly as much in recent years because of all the work I’ve done to get my OCD under control. I’ve faced a lot of fears and killed them in the process. That has made me far less anxious, which in turn has made me far less paranoid.

But once in awhile, especially if my sleep is off, some of it will nudge its way back into my head. Not fear or anxiety, but a nagging feeling that somewhere people are talking about me, complaining about something I may have said or did.

I have to be on constant alert for those moments. You could say I have to be paranoid of the paranoia.

I’ve found some valuable weapons in the fight against this demon:

–I try most nights to be in bed as soon as the kids are in bed, so I can read or just fall asleep. When I get enough sleep, a lot of the wreckage in my head is cleared out.

–I hang on tight to a diet devoid of flour and sugar. The main reason is to control a binge-eating disorder. But as a pleasant byproduct, the absence of these things from my body has also had a clarifying effect.

–I’m always working at prayer. I don’t do it nearly as much as I should, but when I do, God finds a way to set my mind at ease.

–I make time to talk to fellow addicts and mental illness sufferers because when I help them sort out their emotions, I have less time to drown in my own mental juices. Besides, a lot of people do the same for me and giving it back is the least I can do. This is a double-edged sword though, because when you let enough people vent their emotions on you, the load can get heavy indeed.

–I have regular visits with my therapist, though I often suck at remembering when my appointments are.

What I’ve just mapped out isn’t perfect. Sometimes it’s very easy not to do the things I know I should do. In fact, that’s happened more in recent months.

But it’s like any kind of self improvement. You don’t have to perfect everything all at once. You can take baby steps and get to where you need to be.

The paranoia, like one’s addictions, will always be doing push-ups in the parking lot.

Sometimes, it will sneak up behind you and kick your ass.

But if you kick its ass more than it kicks yours, you’ll be winning the war.

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Let’s Stop Calling It Ground Zero

I’ve written a lot about 9-11 in this blog. How could I avoid it? Nothing has fueled the fear, anxiety and depression of a nation like that terrible day. Whenever I’m here, I visit Ground Zero.

Part of it is a need to pay my respects to all who died there. Some of it is an obsessive-compulsive impulse. A lot of it is that whenever I see the construction workers hauling ass down there, it inspires me.

Mood music:

I’m here for my company’s annual Security Standard event in Brooklyn. Before setting my sights on the work at hand, I dumped my luggage and sprinted over the Brooklyn Bridge to Lower Manhattan.

Last year at this time, you couldn’t really see the scene taking shape at the WTC site from the bridge. Now you can. Walking over the bridge and looking to the left, there it is, rising up like a middle finger in the Manhattan sky:

One World Trade Center is taking shape. They’ve made major progress on it since I was here last September.

We’ve all been calling this Ground Zero since 9-11, but I don’t think it’s appropriate any longer. Too much life has returned to this place to keep calling it that.

I find the site extremely symbolic of the human condition at the heart of this blog.

We go through parts of our lives walking tall and feeling indestructible, just like we once thought the Twin Towers were impervious to life’s cruel twists of fate. Then something unexpected happens and we end up in ruins.

Then we have a choice to rise from the ashes and start over, or just go away.

I’d like to think I rose from the ashes of my earlier years. Crohn’s Disease and mental illness have taken their best shots at me and I’ve been reduced to rubble more than once. But I got up and I’m still standing.

I’m no special case. We all take our blows and most of us get back up.

Terrorists took their best shot and knocked those buildings to the ground, snuffing out thousands of precious souls in the process. But this city got back up and started over. Now new buildings are rising up, hopefully stronger than what was there before.

It’s like that Metallica song. We rise, we fall, we’re down and we rise again.

Perhaps I have a hyperbolic brain. But when I visit this place, that’s how it makes me feel.

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A Relapse Isn’t The End Of The World

When a person relapses back into addictive behavior, it seems like the end of the world. Everything they’ve worked for is in ashes, and they embrace their old demon with reckless abandon.

It shouldn’t have to be that way.

Mood music:

[spotify:track:1JKiRbc7uA6B9QrO3I1zZH]

I’m thinking hard about this because I came close to a relapse recently, and a friend now finds himself in a full, free-falling backslide.

A lot of people have a hard time seeing compulsive binge eating as an addiction on par with alcohol and heroin. But it’s just as effective at destroying a man’s life and health as those other things. And since you still need to eat to survive, there’s a lot of fear around this type of relapse, because it seems to suck us in deeper more quickly.

Anyway, this post isn’t meant to convince the skeptics. It’s directed specifically at those who have relapsed to their addictions, whatever the substance. It’s the same message to be had in today’s mood music, from the Sixx A.M. “Heroin Diaries” soundtrack:

You know that accidents can happen

It’s OK, we all fall off the wagon sometimes

It’s not your whole life

It’s only one day

You haven’t thrown everything away.

The best thing to do is accept the relapse and start over. But when the feeling of failure overwhelms you, it’s easier said than done. The point was brought home to me the other day when talking to my friend who relapsed.

He noted that this is his third relapse, and that he wasn’t sure if he could return to the halls of Overeater’s Anonymous. He correctly noted that there are some people in the program who look at relapse cases as pariahs. Most people will embrace you and try to help you regain your footing. But the ones who look at you like an exploded zit can be overwhelming and keep you from going back.

Shame takes on a lot of insidious forms for the relapsed soul.

Talking to this fellow makes me realize just how lucky I was this time. I came to the brink and started getting sloppy. But I pulled myself back before falling off the cliff and going on a binge. A lot of good people aren’t so fortunate.

I really feel for my friend. He’s stuck down the hole and doesn’t know if he can ever find his way back out. He says he’s knee deep in the food and won’t leave his house because he’s putting on weight so fast that he doesn’t want to be seen.

That is one of the shittiest things about compulsive binge-eating: You can’t hide it because your behavior is obvious in the fast weight gain. This disease hangs off our belly like a sack of shit. And when it keeps you from leaving your house, you are in a very bad place. I know, because I spent a lot of years avoiding people because I didn’t want them to see the mess I’d become.

Hell, in my journey to a near-relapse, I didn’t gain weight but still felt bloated and didn’t want to be around people.

In the week since I realized how far to the edge I’d come, I’ve tightened the bolts on my program considerably. I’m starting to feel better, and I’m close to having a new OA sponsor. Like I said, I was lucky this time.

But I feel a little anger toward some of the people in this program for making my friend feel so ashamed. We’re supposed to help each other up when someone falls, not treat this like some powder puff popularity club where the folks with long term recovery are rock starts and the fallen are zeroes.

I shouldn’t feel the anger, though, because that kind of behavior is just another part of this disease. None of us were playing with a full deck to begin with, and even in recovery, it can be hard not to be an asshole.

But as I told my friend: “Fuck them. It’s not about what they think. It’s about what you do to get better.”

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Before You Punch That Guy In The Teeth, Play These

Like any human being, I have days where my attitude sucks and I want to punch someone in the teeth. I never really would, but I can see how easy it is to cross the line.

Today is one of those days. It’s been a tough week, though it has been highlighted by some beautiful moments. When a week is rough, Thursdays are usually the day lava starts pouring from my eyes and ears.

That’s when I turn to some heavy, intense rock to squeeze out the anger. So take my advice: Before you smash the asshole next to you in the head with a cafeteria tray, play these songs. You’ll feel better afterward.

If you don’t, go take a nap.

Let’s start with Pull Trouble From The Fire. I’m a bit biased in favor of this band because I’ve known a couple of its members for many years. I care about them deeply, in fact. When I heard of their band, I wasn’t sure what to expect. But ever since their songs became available, I can’t stop playing ’em. What’s not to like about lyrics that involve planting a seed up an insect’s ass and watching a tree sprout from its back? This isn’t that song, but it’s a good anger-squeezing song and a nicely-done video from Bill Fennell:

This soundtrack would not be complete without something from Pantera, a band I always turn to when I’m good and pissed off — which seems to be a lot lately. I listen to Dimebag’s guitar shredding and mourn over the music we’ve been denied since his murder in 2004.

http://youtu.be/_7EQlfprV9E

Henry Rollins speaks my language, and this is one of my favorite examples of that:

http://youtu.be/louQ7s1ZkGU

Let’s end with another local band, The 360s. I have friends in this band as well, especially singer-guitarist Audrey Clark. She has told me this blog is helpful to her. I’m glad, because her music is certainly helpful to me.

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I Miss The Fighting

In yet another sign that I’m not playing with a full deck, I realized this morning that I miss the fighting between my best friend and his father.

Mood music:

It’s another stray memory that came to the surface as I went to the wake and funeral for Al Marley. Al and Sean used to have some blistering arguments at the dining room table over religion and politics, appearances — you name it.

At the funeral this morning Father Dick mentioned how he used to have a lot of conversations about faith with Al. One of those talks was about Sean’s tendency to dye his hair multiple colors. Al was conservative and dressed that way. Sean was the opposite. Father Dick said it took a few conversations to convince Al that Sean’s hair dye was no big deal.

Erin suggested I have a sick sense of humor — which I do — because it takes a sick person to enjoy a situation where two people are erupting into anger.

But here’s the thing: To me, it was always a lovable anger, the kind you might identify with friends and couples who bicker constantly but hug and smooch afterward.

Al and Sean used to have a battle of wits. Did they often get angry at each other? Absolutely. But their love and respect for each other was always there on the surface.

One afternoon during the 1988 presidential election season, Al looked at me with those intense, sparkling eyes of his, took a drag on one of the many cigarettes he’d smoke in one sitting, and warned that Michael Dukakis would be as disastrous a president as Jimmy Carter.

“Carter didn’t do what he had to do during the hostage crisis,” Al said. “He just sat there in the Rose Garden wringing his hands.” Al rubbed his own hands together for emphasis.

“That’s total bullshit,” Sean bellowed from the other side of the table. “You have no idea what you’re talking about.”

I don’t remember the rest of the conversation. But the next hour they were hugging, laughing and bantering about something else. They always made up.

The arguing was always over meaty subjects. Religion was another one they would get into intense debate about. Al was a traditional Roman Catholic, but Sean liked to challenge all the traditional beliefs. He just loved to pick an argument over the deep stuff.

Looking back, I think that sitting there watching the arguments made me smarter. It definitely inspired me to do a lot of research and challenge conventional wisdom. Watching two sharp guys go at it is a good educational experience. It’s one of the many gifts those guys gave me.

I’ll bet they’re going at it right now, and loving every minute of it.

I hope so.

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A Vision of Death And Rebirth

At the wake for Al Marley yesterday, Father Richard C. Messina gave a stirring description of what he thinks the afterlife might look like.

Mood music:

http://youtu.be/ZADcJdFY-0w

He described how people get excited when a baby is on the way.

“The baby will be here soon!” friends and family will say. Then the baby arrives and the aunts, uncles, grandparents and family friends come to meet the little tyke. It’s the beginning of life.

That, Father Dick said, is what it must be like in Heaven. Everyone who went before you is up there saying, “Al is almost here! We’ll see him soon.” Then you die, and everyone up there excitedly comes to greet you.

“I have no doubt Sean was there to grab him by the arm and pull him to the other side,” Father Dick said.

I know he’s right. In the room in the funeral home where they show a slideshow of the deceased’s life, there were some pictures of Sean I hadn’t seen in a long time: Sean, with a jet-black mohawk, cutting his father’s hair, wedding photos, family trips to the beach in the 1970s and 1980s.

Buried in the slide deck was another picture I hadn’t seen in a long time. It’s my brother Michael and Al, sitting on a log. They appear to be doing something with a fishing line. Both have big smiles on their faces.

Of course they did. They were both madly in love with the sea.

Seeing that picture was probably the closest I came to losing it. But I never lose it in public.

I know Michael was there with Sean to greet Al. I can picture them getting on a boat and sailing into the clouds. It makes me smile.

Everything is going to be fine. Better than fine.

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Deal With It, Get Over It And Get Out Of My Way

It’s been an emotional few days. I came to the edge of a relapse. A father figure died. Then there was the 9-11 anniversary. This stuff can burn a person down to nothing. But I don’t burn like I used to.

Mood music:

It’s funny how people react not only to their own adversity, but that of others. Some people become incapacitated with grief when a pet dies and some of us want to say, “Fuck, man. It’s a pet. Get over it and stop crying in front of everyone.” But that’s just us judging someone without all the facts.

When I come up against difficult things, I write about it. One now-former reader lamented that my blog is “soooo depressing” that she can’t read it anymore. That suits me fine, because she was the type that had all the answers and told you how you should live. She was an expert in everything, but she never really understood the purpose of this blog, which is to stare the horrors of life in the face, describe it honestly and deal with it. Life is full of depressing things, but when you can face those things head on, there’s a ton of joy and beauty on the other side. That’s my experience, so I try to share it without telling you what to do.

And that’s what this post is about. Dealing with adversity and learning to get over it.

Yeah, I came close to a relapse last week. I did what every addict does — I reached a point in my recovery where I got so comfortable and felt so in control that I started getting sloppy. It’s funny how this happens, because when we feel in control it usually means things are falling apart behind the scenes. In my case, my father having three strokes tired me out enough that I started forgetting to do the things a person in recovery is supposed to do.

I went to a 12-Step Big Book study last night and the chapter of the night was perfect for me. It was about people who relapse because they think they have their addiction licked. They have that one weak moment that sends them back down to hell.

Going to a meeting the night that chapter was on the table was a classic case of God trying to tell me something. That something goes like this: Life is full of the good and bad. Deal with it and get over it. And, above all, don’t binge over it.

I write this stuff down and share it because we all have moments where we need that kick in the ass. My ass stings pretty good right now, but I’m feeling very grateful for it.

When you become paralyzed by the hole in your soul, the thought of dealing with it is terrifying. But when you finally take that next step, it’s one of the best, natural highs out there.

Last week I started to deal with things. I told my wife about my sloppiness and decided to declare myself in breach of abstinence and sobriety. I decided to tear it down and start over.

Yesterday I left my sponsor a message telling him I was sorry for being such a lousy sponsee. Now we’ll see if he wants to stick with me or if I need to find someone else. At least I took that step.

This evening I’m going to go to the wake for a man I looked up to, and it will be with a sense of celebration, not sadness. He lived his life as we all should: To the full. He earned a ticket straight to Heaven, and that makes me happy. I’ll admit I’m a bit nervous about seeing his wife and daughter for the first time in many years. They haven’t been happy with me in that time and tonight probably won’t change things. I don’t want to be an uncomfortable presence. I’ll just do the best I can.

I have all the coffee I need and I packed three abstinent meals for the day. I guess you could say my pistol is fully loaded and I’m ready for what comes next.

I have a busy work day, and I couldn’t be happier about that. I do, after all, love what I do.

I have to deal with my feelings about ending the estrangement with my mother. This week, I’m going to talk to Erin and carve out an action plan.

If you see me twitching and talking to myself, don’t worry. I’m dealing with life and getting over things I can’t control or undo.

Out of my way.

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He’s With Sean Now

I write a lot about my friend Sean Marley in this blog because he helped shape the man I became and the struggles I face. Right now, I’m thinking of his dad, Albert J. Marley.

Mood music:

Al died a couple days ago. I got the word from one of the Marley cousins, who told me, “Al is with Sean now.” I’m sad, but more than anything else, I’m grateful — grateful that he was such a big part of my formative years.

This post is a tribute to Al. I practically grew up in his house and he treated me like one of his own.

My fondest memories with him involve the sea. We lived on Revere Beach, but he’s really the one who taught me to appreciate it. The Marley home was a cozy, loving place in the 1980s and early 1990s. I spent so much time there because it was a happier place than my own home two doors down. At least that’s how it felt to me at the time.

The Marley house was steeped in seaside decor, especially the sun porch. I loved that porch. In the summers I’d sit there sucked in as Al told me one story after another about his ocean experiences. He was a captain in the U. S. Coast Guard and a past commodore of the Pleasant Park Yacht Club in the neighboring town of Winthrop. He was an Army veteran. He loved to tell me stories about those days as he sat in his chair and chain smoked.

He always had a story. One day their Irish Setter Shannon was busted after finding and devouring a box of doughnuts. They found the box and a trail of powder that led under the kitchen table where the dog was hiding. This reminded Al of the time a previous Irish Setter they had tore into a roast beef on the counter while they were all at Mass.

Like any good Irish-American sailor-storyteller, he embellished every detail — how much he was looking forward to the roast beef as he sat in church, how they came home to find pieces of the roast all over the house and how the dog cowered under the kitchen table, just like Shannon did after demolishing the donuts.

Al was in his element on the water. He would take me and anyone else who wanted to go in his small boat on a tour of the outer Boston Harbor islands. And nothing made him prouder than when Sean took the wheel of the boat. Whenever Sean took the helm, Al would glow with pride and give his son a kiss on the cheek.

He meant the world to my brother, Michael, too. He gleefully taught Michael everything there was to know about the sea, fishing, and oceanic culture. He eventually got Michael a job at the Pleasant Park Yacht Club. He was devastated when Michael died.

After Sean’s death, I didn’t see the Marley family much. Everyone moved to different towns and moved on.

But the family will always hold a place deep in my heart. By now the reader knows how much Sean meant to me. Now you know how much Al meant to me, too.

—

MARLEY, Albert J. of Winthrop, and Ft. Meyers, FL, formerly of Point of Pines, Revere, passed away on September 8, 2011. He is the beloved husband of Barbara A. (Indresano) Marley. Son of the late Albert E. and Mary E. (McMackin) Marley. Devoted father of Grace (Marley) Cloutier and her husband Jeffrey of Freeport, ME, and the late Sean J. Marley. Cherished granddad, of Marley, Maxine, and Samantha Cloutier. Dear brother of Mary L. Andrews of Falmouth, MA, and the late Elizabeth Marley and Paul Marley. Also survived by many nieces and nephews. Funeral from the Maurice W. Kirby Funeral Home 210 Winthrop St. WINTHROP, on Tues, Sept 13, at 9am. A Funeral Mass will be held at St. John the Evangelist Church at 10am. Relatives and friends are invited. Interment will be private. Visiting hours are Mon. only 4-8pm. In lieu of flowers, donations can be made to the West Roxbury VA, c/o Voluntary Services, attn. Cardiac Unit, 1400 West Roxbury, MA, 02132, or to St. John the Evangelist Church 320 Winthrop St. Winthrop, MA, 02152. Albert was a retired Insurance Broker and the owner of A.J. Insurance Co. He was a graduate of Merrimack College, a U.S. Army Veteran and a Captain in the U. S. Coast Guard. He was also the Past Commodore of the Pleasant Park Yacht Club and a member of the Mass. Bay and Commodore’s Club of America. For guestbook and directions, go to www.mauricekirbyfh.com.