The OCD Diaries

April 2, 2014

EddieTheYeti: Art as Mental Therapy

I sucked at a lot of things as a kid, but I could draw. It was the one thing that always got me compliments from people who otherwise ridiculed me.

Those drawings were an exercise in emotion. There were pictures of my favorite rock stars, recreated scenes from my favorite movies (particularly the violent ones) and doodles that captured my frustration during school and periods of depression. A good example of that is the Paul Revere Owl of Rage I wrote about a while back.

Writing eventually replaced drawing, though I’ve maintained a life-long appreciation for art that captures emotion. Which brings me to Eddie Mize, also known as EddieTheYeti.

Mood music:

http://youtu.be/xQvuZvrH0Yw

Eddie is a master at capturing the human element. His latest works, “Faces of Defcon,” are a prime example. He made these images from ink, lime juice, soy sauce, wine, coffee, tea, pencil, acrylic, and water. I know many of the people he captures. They are hackers and other security practitioners who have a burning intensity for their profession. They throw their souls into the work, and you can see it in their eyes.

Eddie has done a lot of rock ‘n’ roll artwork as well, and you can see the influence in his security professionals work.

Much has been written about Eddie’s history with bipolar disorder and depression. He’s been an outspoken advocate for art as a powerful mental health tool.

In a 2010 article on the Mood Letter website, he explains:

My acrylic work is usually the result of mania; the digital darker art is usually created during my depressive phases. People who know me know how I’m doing by the qualities in the work.

Music, art and writing have been critical tools in my own effort to manage mental health, and I appreciate the hell out of people who share their work publicly, where it can then help other people climb out of whatever mental holes they’ve fallen into.

Thanks for all you do, Eddie.

Unibomber by EddieTheYeti

April 1, 2014

The Semicolon As Anti-Suicide Symbol

I’ve never been a fan of the semicolon. I always identify it as punctuation used by people clinically incapable of writing the short, crisp sentences I prefer. Who knew it would become a symbol of hope — a battle cry to resist suicidal thoughts and get on with life.

Mood music:

That’s the mission of The Semicolon Project: to turn a piece of punctuation into something new and powerful. A Tumblr blog explains:

The semicolon is used when a sentence could have ended, but didn’t. The movement is for anyone who has ever self-harmed, has a personality disorder, or has tried to commit suicide. The semicolon is a sign of hope. Your sentence is not over yet. If you have ever harmed yourself, attempted suicide, or just want to support the cause, put a semicolon on your wrist or wherever you feel would mean the most. Every time you see it, think of something that makes life worth living.

The movement appears to be catching on, with people even getting the punctuation mark tattooed to wrists and other body parts.

I believe in symbols. They are no replacement for therapy and, as needed, medication. But symbols do something just as important, if not more so: They give the suffer something positive to fixate on, shapes that are as powerful as entire sentences and songs. When life kicks you in the nuts, the right symbolic image seared into the brain can steer you back toward the will to live.

For myself, the Superman S has always been a powerful symbol. The image has surfaced in my mind’s eye whenever I’ve reached low points and realized it was time for a turnaround. I love how, in last year’s Man of Steel movie, Jor-El specifically describes it as the symbol of hope.

But as symbols go, this semicolon idea is growing on me. And I only heard about it a couple days ago.

So here it is, the image to picture when you are at your lowest. May it inspire you to keep your sentence moving.

semi-colon

January 24, 2014

Wherein I Run Afoul Of The U.S. Secret Service

My resolve against the inner demons is tested regularly.

Some are little tests, like being put in a room with all the food and alcohol I once binged on daily to see if I can resist the temptation.

Some are bigger tests, like getting lost en route to Washington D.C a few years ago with my wife and kids in the car. Getting lost in a car used to be the stuff my anxiety attacks were made of.

Then there are the huge tests, like the time I got an unexpected grilling from two U.S. Secret Service officers — incidentally, the day after getting lost on the interstate somewhere in New Jersey.

Mood music:

[spotify:track:3ckQ5LMB0ORA45X0ozu9eR]

I wrote a full account of the encounter for CSOonline.com in “What it’s like to be grilled by the Secret Service,” so I won’t repeat it all here. That column captures it from a security perspective.

Here I’ll focus on the emotional part.

First, the gist of what happened: I was taking photos from my BlackBerry of Marine One (with President Obama aboard) taking off from the White House South Lawn. I guess I lingered there for too long, because the Secret Service thought I was taking surveillance photos. Two Android smartphones later, I’m amused they found BlackBerry-quality photos threatening.

One of them was pretty tough and didn’t believe my honest protests that I was just taking pictures and walking around there because I’m a White House history buff. One officer played bad cop, grilling me as if I were just caught red-handed robbing a bank. The other guy played the reassuring role. “We’re just going to get one of these for our records,” he cooed as he snapped a picture of my unshaven face.

Apparently nobody ever showed them the picture of the Brenners visiting the West Wing three months earlier. They did note that I was texting a lot as I walked, and they wanted to know who I was texting. When I told them it was Howard Schmidt, President Obama’s then-cybersecurity advisor, it knocked them off stride. I told them I was making dinner plans with Howard, that I was buying him dinner to thank him for giving me, the wife and kids the West Wing tour.

“Why didn’t you tell us that in the first place?” the meaner of the two cops asked.

As I told Howard what happened over burgers that evening, he had a good laugh.

I didn’t fault the Secret Service cops at the time. It’s not their job to know these things. It’s their job to nail terrorist activity when they see it. Could he have been a bit nicer to me, given that I was doing nothing wrong and all? Sure. But I try not to hold grudges.

It does say something about how much of a police state we’ve become in the decade-plus since 9-11, though. I also admit that if I could do it again, I’d be more belligerent. Government’s excessive reach into our lives has been laid bare since then. If I knew then what I know now, I would have been far more outraged.

Truth be told, the experience did freak me out. My back went into spasms and my hands shook for hours after. As they were in my face accusing me of running a terrorist surveillance mission, I was thinking to myself, “If these assholes haul me in, it’s really going to screw up the work I had planned for this afternoon.” I’m a typical OCD case, worrying that getting arrested will screw up the work day.

But it’s all good.

I didn’t go back to my hotel room and order $80 worth of food and a bottle of wine to comfort myself. A few years ago, a friendly encounter with Secret Service would have made me do that.

My mind wasn’t paralyzed, either. I got a lot of work done back at the hotel, even with the headache.

And hell, I got a pretty good column out of the experience.

December 4, 2013

All I Want for Christmas Is to Get Through It

So here we are at that time of year when everyone is supposed to be happy and glowing with Christmas spirit. As for me? This time of year really fucks with me.

Mood music:

[spotify:track:1kh2KHdYc1xCejan0h5ZUv]

This has traditionally been a time of year when bad things have happened to me. The suicide of a friend at the start of one holiday season. The death of sibling at the end of another. Several childhood hospitalizations in between. An emotional meltdown during the 2004 season.

For the definitive story on why the Christmas season throws me for a loop, read one of my first posts on this blog, “An OCD Christmas.”

The holidays have been far kinder to me in more recent years, though not without its occasional bumps. There’s the seasonal depression that throws me off balance every year and the struggle that comes with being a recovering binge eater at a time of year when my drug of choice is all around me.

My story isn’t special. It’s pretty typical, actually. I’ve talked to many people who struggle at the holidays for a variety of similar reasons.

All is not bleak, however. Over the years, I’ve worked hard on changing my Christmas attitude for the better. Some examples:

I work to keep my eye on the big picture, specifically the fact that this season is truly about celebrating the birth of Christ. Since I’m a believer, that one has kept me increasingly grounded.
Prozac and Wellbutrin go a long way in keeping my brain out of the dark, ice-encrusted gutter.
Family and friends have always been a crucial ingredient in seeing the joy of the season. It just took a long time for me to appreciate that.
If more bad things happen during the holidays, I know that family and friends are always there to soften the blow.
I have a thicker skin than I did back when holiday pressure was beating me into rubble.

And with that, I enter the 2013 holiday season full of hope that this year will be better than previous years.

Bad Santa

September 10, 2013

Flying on September 11

One of my biggest moments of shame came a week after September 11, 2001, when I scrubbed a planned trip to Arizona for a relative’s wedding. I was terrified to get on an airplane, and fear won out. Not only did I miss an important day in a loved one’s life, I also deprived my wife of the same thing. I didn’t want her flying, either.

Mood music:

I’ve talked to many people over the years who have similar stories and whose fear of flying lasts to this day. I got over the flying fear several years ago and love doing so now. But it’s always been hard to fault people who have vowed not to get on a plane if it’s the anniversary day of the attacks. For some, it’s not even about fear and superstition. The memories of that day are simply too much to take, and nothing will make you fix on such a thing like being on an aircraft on the anniversary.

But last year I flew on September 11. And it was one of the most peaceful flights I had all year.

I was coming home from the CSO Security Standard. I was managing editor of CSO at the time, and the Brooklyn event was a favorite, because it always coincided with the anniversary. New Yorkers showed us how to stare down adversity during and after the attacks, and there’s something special about being in NYC around that time of year. But I never managed to fly on 9/11 until last year. I always left on September 9 or 12.

Truth be told, I didn’t think much about the anniversary when I went to the airport. I was too tired to think about much of anything after a super-busy few days. I was also more focused on being annoyed with the third-world experience that is LaGuardia Airport. But once we took off, I looked out the window and could see Lower Manhattan, with the Freedom Tower rising up next to where the Twin Towers once stood. I could clearly see the two memorial pools built in the footprints of the towers as well.

It brought my mind right back to the anniversary. But it also inspired me in a major way, which suppressed any feeling of dread or sadness I might have otherwise had.

I’ve been to the site many times. But on the ground it can be hard to get the full appreciation of what’s taking shape there. It is, after all, a large construction site with all the noise and barriers that drive a person to distraction. It’s also not easy to get a clear view of the memorial unless you’re right there, behind the fencing, boards and signage. Seeing it from above was quite a trip, indeed.

It wasn’t an exercise in banishing fear, since I had already overcome the fear of flying years before. But it was one of those moments that marks you forever.

In this case, it’s a mental mark I’m happy to have.

World Trade Center

September 9, 2013

12 Years After 9/11: Six Grief Survival Suggestions

Like everyone else, 9/11 had a profound impact on me. I live in Massachusetts, the departure point for the two planes the terrorists hijacked and crashed into the WTC, and I work in the security community. Through those two worlds, I know many people who lost loved ones or were called into action that day.

Mood music:

This isn’t about where I was and what I was doing that day. You can read that post here. This is about six lessons I’ve taken from my own experiences of losing loved ones. May it offer you some measure of peace, whether you’ve suffered from the impact of 9/11 or lost people under more natural circumstances.

Let it suck. Don’t be a hero. If you’re feeling the pain from losing your grandmother, let it out. You don’t have to do it in front of people. Go in a room by yourself and let the waterworks flow if you have to. Don’t worry about trying to keep a manly face around people. You don’t have to pretend you’re OK for the sake of others in the room.
Don’t forget the gratitude. When someone dies, it’s easy to get lost in your own grief. There’s even a self-pity reflex that kicks in. Try to take the time to remember how awesome your loved one was. Share the most amusing memories and have some laughs. You’ll feel more at peace when you remember a life that was lived well.
Take a moment to appreciate what’s still around you. Your girlfriend. Your friends. If death teaches you anything, it’s that you never know how long the other loves of your life will be around. Don’t waste the time you have with them.
Don’t worry yourself into an anxiety attack over possible loss. Yes, God could take your loved ones at any moment. He holds all the cards, so it’s pointless to even think about it. Just be there for people, and let them be there for you.
Take care of yourself. You can comfort yourself with all the drugs, alcohol, sex and food there is to have. But take it from me, giving in to addictions is nothing but slow suicide. You can’t move past grief and see the beauty of what’s left if you’re too busy trying to kill yourself. True, I learned a ton about the beauty of life from having been an addict, but that doesn’t mean I’d ever wish that experience on others. If there’s a better way to cope, do that instead.
Embrace things that are bigger than you. Nothing has helped me get past grief more than doing service to others. It sounds like so much bullshit, but it’s not. When I’m volunteering for my kids’ school and Scouting events or taking time to talk to people who have read this blog and have their own issues to sort through, I’m always reminded that my own life is so much better than I realize or deserve.

This isn’t a science. It’s just what I’ve picked up from my own walk through the valley of darkness. I’ve learned that Life is a gift to be cherished and used wisely. I’ve also learned that it hurts sometimes, but that’s OK.

9/11 Memorial

September 7, 2013September 11, 2017

Songs That Mattered After 9-11-01

Like so many other times in my life, music made the difference between sanity and insanity. I focus a lot on the metal. But in the weeks after 9-11, I turned to a broader group of musicians to help me along. They did their jobs well, helping us all see that it was OK to go on living.

Let’s start with Neal Young, whose version of John Lennon’s “Imagine” was both haunting and inspiring:

Nothing said “fuck you” to terrorists like this P.O.D. song, which begame something of a hit after the attacks:

The Foo Fighters weighed in with this song, which wasn’t necessarily about 9-11 and the aftermath. But the lyrics somehow worked for me:

During that same 9-11 tribute concert where Neal Young played “Imagine,” Bon Jovi did this powerful version of “Living on a Prayer.”

Finally, there’s Bruce Springsteen, who put out an entire album inspired by 9-11. Yesterday’s post included a live performance of “The Rising” but this song also resonated for me:

Peace be with you all this 9th anniversary of the attacks.

Everyone has a memory of that day. I wrote about mine yesterday. Today, on the actual anniversary, I choose to sit back and let the music do the talking, especially that last refrain of “Come on Rise Up” from the Springsteen song above.

Firefighters raise a flag late in the afternoon on Tuesday, Sept. 11, 2001, in the wreckage of the World Trade Center towers in New York. In the most devastating terrorist onslaught ever waged against the United States, knife-wielding hijackers crashed two airliners into the World Trade Center on Tuesday, toppling its twin 110-story towers. (AP Photo/The Record, Thomas E. Franklin) MANDATORY CREDIT — Firefighters raise a flag late in the afternoon on Tuesday, Sept. 11, 2001, in the wreckage of the World Trade Center towers in New York. In the most devastating terrorist onslaught ever waged against the United States, knife-wielding hijackers crashed two airliners into the World Trade Center on Tuesday, toppling its twin 110-story towers. (AP Photo/The Record, Thomas E. Franklin)

September 6, 2013

Four Symptoms and Attempted Remedies for Nixon-itis

When my OCD was at its worst, fear, anxiety and paranoia crippled me. People who didn’t share my ideas were enemies out to destroy me. It was never true, but a damaged mind concocts crazy shit.

Mood music:

http://youtu.be/IQHqJiebKKA

I call this Nixon-itis. Richard M. Nixon trusted no one. He saw conspiracies everywhere. Opponents were enemies to destroy before they could destroy him. It’s the stuff the enemies lists and the Watergate cover-up were made of. A favorite book on the subject is Nixonland: The Rise of a President and the Fracturing of America by Rick Perlstein.

Here are four personality traits of Nixon-itis and ways I try to fight it.

Inanimate objects attack when I enter the room.

Whenever my car broke down or I stubbed my toe walking into a chair, those objects were, in my eyes, sentient beings out to fuck with me. My solution has been to yell at the objects or punch them. I put quite a dent in the roof of my first car, a 1983 Ford LTD station wagon with a constantly flooded carburetor.

Attempted remedy: These days, when a device malfunctions or I stub a toe, I remind myself that these aren’t living things and therefore can’t possibly be out to hurt me. There are still days I forget, but only momentarily.

Co-workers are back-stabbing SOBs.

Work environments all have their stresses, and when colleagues are tasked with competing objectives clashes happen. If you work in sales or marketing at a newspaper, for instance, goals often conflict with the ethics drilled into editorial people. Or you might work for a tech company and come up with an idea that your bosses shoot down. Over time you see these folks as co-conspirators out to make you fail.

Attempted remedy: When someone goes against me in a work setting, I try to look at their own pressures and mandates and realize they’re not out to get me. They’re simply trying to fulfill their own tasks. By seeing their side of things, I find ways to compromise with them. Then we all get something accomplished.

The government’s out to get me.

When life sucks, it’s easy to blame the government for your every misery. You can’t make it because they make you pay taxes. Regulations exist to beat you. I once followed political events as if my life depended on it. As I get older, I become more convinced government affairs have little to do with my day-to-day life. But I know people for whom politics and government are very personal, dangerous matters that lead to hatred.

Attempted remedy: I stopped watching news programs. I no longer subscribe to Time or Newsweek. I still scan headlines so I have a general sense of what’s going on. But I’m largely detached from it all — and much less paranoid.

My family wants to kill me and take my money and kids.

In every family there’s dysfunction. When loved ones can’t reconcile their differences, emotions boil over and fry the brain, leading to all manner of irrational behavior. Parents who go through a bad divorce are a good example. They’re so bitter with each other that they see every differing opinion as a plot. Maybe it’s a scheme to leave you homeless and destitute. Maybe it’s to poison you so you’ll die in your sleep. Maybe it’s to poison everyone against you. As ridiculous as those notions are, they become feasible if you are at odds with a former loved one. Then you try to hurt that person back, using the children as weapons.

Attempted remedy: Like the second remedy, I try harder to see the other person’s side of things. I try to be more forgiving and accepting and no longer see family I don’t get along with as enemies. But the art of compromise in this arena is something I haven’t even come close to mastering.

Richard M. Nixon

August 7, 2013

Plot Twist!

Someone on Facebook recently suggested that when life hands us curveballs, we yell “Plot twist!” and adjust to the unexpected, often inconvenient scenarios that throw the days off course. Take it from someone whose OCD makes schedule changes seem like calamities, that’s good advice.

Mood music:

In more recent years, I’ve gotten better at quickly adjusting when things don’t go as planned, though sometimes it still throws me into a foul mood.

When I was a kid, I’d throw epic tantrums if we went to the movies and the film we wanted to see was sold out. That’s typical childhood behavior, but it followed me to adulthood. I’d rage if a traffic jam threw off the timing of when I’d get from point A to B (I still hate that, but my reaction is more muted). If plans for a night out with friends or a quiet night at home suddenly changed, I’d sink into a depressive funk.

Thinking of these things as plot twists goes far in changing that kind of attitude for the better. There’s a certain fun to yelling “Plot twist!” It injects humor into the situation and calms the other people with you who are being equally inconvenienced.

During a recent camping trip with the family in Maine, the power went out while dinner was cooking on the camper stove. It was hot as hell and we suddenly had no AC to escape to. Erin yelled “Plot twist!” and we proceeded to make the dinner preparations that didn’t require electricity. It also led me to see humor in the fact that electricity had become a requirement on camping trips. To be fair, it wasn’t tent camping. We use campers that hook into such home comforts as water and sewer access, Wi-Fi and cable TV.

Yelling “Plot twist!” doesn’t always work, however. If you’re working and a deadline is hanging over you, it’s hard to find the amusement when your Internet access goes down. If there’s a death among family or friends, nothing is going to blunt the sadness.

But if it helps you through at least some of life’s unexpected turns, that’s more than you had before.

Plot twist!

July 27, 2013

Heavy Metal Is Good For You

I’ve written at length about how Heavy Metal music is one of my most important coping tools. It has gotten me through just about all of life’s difficulties and is a daily source of strength. A friend sent me an article that really drives home the point.

Mood music:

I just got done reading “Louder Than Hell: The Definitive Oral History of Metal” and co-author Jon Wiederhorn has expanded on his view that the music is medicine in a Wall Street Journal blog post. He writes:

To those on the outside, the metal world is an ugly scene inhabited by misanthropes, misfits and non-conformists that bucks authority at every turn. Yet for all of its hostility and blatant nonconformity, metal is a panacea for its followers, the only way to make sense of a chaotic, callous society in which they don’t fit.

“I get kids come up to me all the time who tell me they were having a hard time in their lives and were on the verge of doing something drastic,” says Five Finger Death Punch singer Ivan Moody. “Then they’ll say they heard one of our songs and it totally spoke to them and convinced them to keep on fighting. To me, that’s more meaningful than gold records or music awards because it means that these people that are hurting relate to my pain and realize they’re not alone.”

Dismiss stray incidents in which deranged people who happened to like metal did something terrible, and you’ll find that as rebellious as some of its practitioners may be, and as negative as some of their music may seem, metal is ultimately a positive force for those who embrace it. Unlike pop, which endorses a herd mentality, metal speaks to those who question authority and strive to find their own path. It’s music for people who don’t want to conform and seek kindred spirits who crave the same visceral experience.

I couldn’t agree more.

Read the full blog post, and check out the book, which is available here.