Posted on

A Useful Bout of Depression

This weekend the depression finally arrived. Given the scale of the crisis we’re all traveling through, I’m surprised it took this long. But it may have been exactly what I needed.

Mood Music:

Depression is often thought of as varying levels of sadness and feelings of emptiness. Those are certainly real and I’ve experienced it all. But what I went through this weekend wasn’t in that range. This was the tired variety of depression.

I’ve described this before as “happy depression” — your sense of purpose is intact and you remain fully aware of the good things around you. But you’re exhausted from the fight and a cloud descends over the mind.

In a weird way, I’ve come to see this type of depression as a defense mechanism, forcing me into low-power mode to recharge for the longer fight ahead.

That defense mechanism kicked in yesterday. I dozed a lot and watched a lot of TV. I allowed myself a few extra calories but remained within my Noom calorie budget. Overnight I slept harder than usual.

Now it’s Monday and I’m expecting another intense work week. The sky is overcast, which always dampens my spirits. Using the 5-stage depression scale I devised a few years ago by ripping off the 5 Stages of Grief, I figure I’m at 5 (acceptance), though I don’t know if I really experienced 1–4. It’s possible I have and it was mild enough in intensity that I didn’t notice.

I’m grateful that this is only a happy depression and not the crippling, empty variety of depression. I’m going to use my tools and try hard to keep it that way.

One impossible day at a time.

Posted on

Living in the Precious Present (If You Can Find It)

One of the basic traits of someone with OCD is an inability to live in the moment. Learning to do so is one of my big projects at the moment.

 

I’m better at living in the precious present than I used to be. I can remember being a kid, always daydreaming about the future: what I’d look like and how cool my life would be if I were thinner, the clothes I would wear, the girls I would date and the music I would write.

As I sat in my basement pondering such greatness, I’d be binge eating, drinking and smoking and wasting the moment.

Wasting the moment will prevent the future dreams from coming true every time. And so it was with me for a long time. It’s ironic that I did that sort of thing, because I had a nasty fear of the future that was caused by a fear of current events. I was convinced the world wouldn’t make it past 1999. That being the case, I should have embraced the present.

For whatever reason, I didn’t.

Later on, I’d daydream about what life would be like if I got a better job than the one I had at the time. I would have been better off finding ways to make the job I had and myself better day to day.

Through intense therapy for OCD and a program to control the binge eating, I’m much more able to live in the moment.

But I still struggle to keep my head in the moment, especially lately. My wife once compared some of it to my inability to see food portions in the proper perspective. I have no concept of what too much food looks like, so I have to put everything on a scale.

When the OCD runs hot I get the same way about time. I lose perspective on how long something will take or what I should be doing with the moment. I’ll go on the tear around the house doing chores, for example, when more important things are right in front of me, like spending some time with the kids.

It’s a confusing mix and it may not make much sense to you. But it is something I’m working on.

There’s plenty of things to be hopeful of and worry about concerning the future. But in the end, we can only do so much about what’s going to happen.

Better to embrace the moment then, right?

I don’t know how I’ll perfect that one, if I ever do.

For now, I’ll just be grateful that I’m better at it than I used to be.

survival-425

Posted on

Layne Staley, 14 Years Later

“What’s my drug of choice? Well, what have you got?” —Layne Staley, Alice in Chains

This week marks 14 years since Alice In Chains frontman Layne Staley was found dead.

Mood music:

Like Kurt Cobain, Staley had a big impact on me in the early 1990s. But while I identified with Cobain’s depression, I identified with Staley for his inability to keep his addictive demons at bay.

I can’t tell you how many times I listened to the “Dirt” album while I binged myself sick. It seems like an unfair comparison, because Staley’s demon was heroin. Mine was compulsive binge eating — a destructive form of addictive behavior in its own right, but not necessarily from the same depths of hell heroin came from.

Staley’s lyrics seeped deep into my soul. When he screamed his vocals, I could identify the pain that came from deep down. I’m convinced that pain gave him the power to sing the way he did.

My writing taps a similar source within me, but the source is a lot more muted, less despairing, because I have something I don’t think he had — faith.

But as a 20-something, I couldn’t tell the difference. I felt like my demons were as vexing as his. When you’re younger, that’s the kind of self-important thinking you get into.

Before I found recovery, my demon would start harassing me long before getting to the scene of the junk. Forget the people who would be there or the weather and surroundings. All I’d think about was getting my fill of food. Then I’d get to the event and get my fill from the time I’d get there to the time I left. I’d sneak handfuls of junk so what I was doing wouldn’t be too obvious to those around me.

Halfway through, I would have the same kind of buzz you get after downing a case of beer or inhaling a joint deep into your lungs. I know this, because I’ve done those things, too. By nightfall, I’d feel like a pile of shattered bricks waiting to be carted off to the dump. Quality time with my wife and kids? Forget it. All I wanted was the bed or the couch so I could pass out.

I imagine Staley felt something similar much of the time, though I’m told by those who have kicked smack addictions that you don’t really care about anything when you’re high, because it’s like being under a warm blanket. The problem is that you spend the rest of your life trying to feel that way, and the only thing that works is more and more smack.

In the end, I know you can’t fairly compare the two addictions. I only know how mine made me feel, and whenever I listened to Staley scream, I felt like someone else got it, and that I wasn’t alone.

Thanks for that, Layne. I hope you’re at peace wherever you are.

Posted on

22 Years Ago: The Day Kurt Cobain Died

I remember exactly where I was 22 years ago this week, when I saw the news flash about Kurt Cobain’s suicide. I was lying in bed, depressed and reclusive because of frequent fear.

Mood music: 

I was living in Lynnfield, Mass., at the time. I had a room in the basement, just like I had in Revere. But this space was much smaller — a jail cell with a nice blue carpet. But I did have my own bathroom, which I never cleaned.

Erin and I had been going out for less than a year, and I was waiting for her to come by after she finished work. I had been sleeping after a food and smoking binge and I still had a few hours to kill, so I turned on MTV, which still played music videos at the time.

There was MTV news anchor Kurt Loder and Rolling Stones editor David Fricke, holding court like Walter Cronkite following JFK’s assassination in 1963. Fricke expressed concern that depressed teens who listen to Nirvana might view suicide as the heroic thing to do; the only answer. “This is about your kids. You need to talk to them,” he said.

Erin arrived, we expressed our mutual shock, then we went out to dinner.

Though I was given to depression at that point, it wasn’t the suicidal kind, and would never become that. I’ve always been the type to hide in a room for long stretches, staring blankly at a TV screen, when depressed. Suicide was something I never really thought about at that point. It was an alien concept.

Then, a couple months later, a close friend attempted suicide. Two years later, he tried again and succeeded. In the 15 years since then, I’ve worked hard to gain the proper perspective of such things.

When Cobain died, I assumed he went straight to hell. I never gave it a second thought. Suicide is one of the unacceptable sins, like murder, the kind that gets you sent to the fire pit.

Today, I’m not so sure.

Kurt Cobain was unprepared for the crazy fame and publicity that came his way. He dove into heroin for solace. You could say the whole thing literally scared him to death.

Fortunately, he left behind a strong body of work.

When I listen to Nirvana, I don’t think of Kurt Cobain stuffing the tip of a rifle up his nose and pulling the trigger.

I think of how anxiety, fear and depression are universal things, how the sufferer is never, ever truly alone, and how we never have to be beaten.

I don’t need drugs to feel like Sunday morning is every day, though two anti-depressant prescriptions do help.

Posted on

Remembering Cliff Burton, Metallica’s Original Bassist

I couldn’t let the day go by without acknowledging a grim anniversary. Twenty-nine years ago today, Metallica bassist Cliff Burton was killed when the band’s tour bus flipped over on a lonely road in Sweden.

Mood music: 

The band’s first three albums had a huge impact on me.

In fact, Metallica’s “Master of Puppets” album helped me get through my last major attack of Crohn’s Disease.

It might seem bat-shit crazy of me to intertwine these two things, but the fact is that the “Master of Puppets” album DID help me get through that attack. That, and the book “Helter Skelter.” I read that book twice as I lingered on the couch, rising only for the frequent bloody bathroom runs that are the hallmark of Crohn’s flare-ups.

I listened to Master of Puppets nonstop. It tapped right into the anger I was feeling as a 16-year-old still reeling from his brother’s death and under the influence of Prednisone.

I had plans back then. I was going to lose 30 pounds, grow my hair long and find myself a girlfriend. I was going to live a life closer to normal. Not that I knew what normal was back then. As an adult, I’ve learned that normal is a bullshit concept, really. One man’s normal is another man’s insanity.

When the blood reappeared and the abdominal pain got worse, I wasn’t worried about whether I’d live or die or be hospitalized. I was just pissed because it was going to foul up my carefully designed plans.

When I listened to the title track to Master of Puppets, the master was the disease — and the wretched drug used to cool it down.

“The Thing That Should Not Be” was pretty much my entire life at that moment.

I related to “Welcome Home: Sanitarium” because I felt like I was living in one at the time. I was actually lucky about one thing: Unlike the other bad attacks, I wasn’t hospitalized this time.

Though Master of Puppets came out in March 1986, it was that summer when I really started to become obsessed with it. At the end of that summer, the Crohn’s attack struck. The album became the soundtrack for all the vitriol I was feeling.

That fall, as the flare-up was in full rage, Metallica bassist Cliff Burton was killed in that bus accident in Europe. It felt like just another body blow. I found this band in a time of need, and a major part of the music was ripped away.

I recently found a track of “Orion” where Cliff’s bass lines are isolated. It puts my neck hair on end every time I play it.

 

I haven’t been much of a Metallica fan in recent years. I enjoy some of what they’ve done from the fifth album to now. But the first three albums were special. Especially “Master of Puppets,” which was there when I needed it most.

File:Cliff Burton Memorial.PNG

Posted on

Skinny Like A Fool

At dinner with friends one night, a conversation about weight control got started. It reminded me of how hard I used to work to stay thin, and how dangerous some of my methods were.

Examples:

–In my late teens, I got the bright idea that I could party and drink all I wanted on the weekends with no danger of weight gain if I starved myself during the week, often living on one cheese sandwich a day. As a little treat to make it bearable, I chain smoked in the storage room next to my bedroom.

–My senior year in high school I wanted to drop a lot of weight fast. So for two weeks straight, I ate nothing but Raisin Bran from a mug two times a day and nothing else. I also ran laps around the basement for two hours a day. It worked so well that I adopted it as my post binge regimen every few weeks. It lasted into my early 20s.

–In my late 20s, after years of vicious binge eating sent my weight to nearly 300 pounds, I lost more than a hundred pounds through some healthy means and some fairly stupid tactics, like fasting for half of Tuesday and most of Wednesday. On Wednesdays, I would also triple my workout time on the elliptical cross-training machine at the gym. All this so I would be happy with the number on the scale come Thursday morning, my weekly weigh-in time. Thursday through Saturday, I would eat like a pig, then severely pull back on the eating by Sunday. Call it the 3-4 program (binge three days, starve four days, repeat).

–In my early-to-mid 30s, some of my most vicious binge eating happened. For a while, though, I kept the weight down my walking 3.5 miles every day, no matter the weather. I also never ate dinner, but would eat like a pig earlier in the day. This was while I was working a night job, which allowed me to get away with the dinner-skipping part. That worked great for a couple years, but then the dam broke and I binged my way to a 65-pound weight gain by the end.

Today I put almost everything I eat on a little scale and I avoid flour and sugar. I don’t exercise as much as I should, I’m not idle, either.

I don’t always get it perfect. I’m also nowhere close to skinny.

But I’m a lot healthier — and probably a little smarter — than I used to be.

RUDOLPH THE RED-NOSED REINDEER

Posted on

Post #RSAC 2015: Coming Down the Mountain Syndrome

It’s the Saturday after RSA Conference 2015. I spent most of Friday sleeping and have been off balance today. I know from past experience that depression is next. Not clinical depression, mind you. It’s more like what seasoned conference travelers call “ConFlu.”

Mood music:

I actually call this Coming Down the Mountain Syndrome, and it arrives every year like clockwork.

In my industry RSA is one of the biggest conferences of the year. Months of planning goes into the four-day event. There’s endless strategizing on how to make the biggest bang at the show: how the exhibit booth should look, what kind of blogging to do, which dinners and meetings to attend, and so on.

Then you get to San Francisco and haul ass for the week, sleeping an average of three hours a night. You walk several blocks around the city daily, getting from one meeting to the next. You spend much of the time too warm or cold, depending on which climate you come from.

You talk to hundreds upon hundreds of people about what you’re working on and how it’ll benefit them, until your throat is so sore that you can’t talk anymore.

Then you fly home and life returns to normal … eventually.

Since it’s been so long since the schedule was routine, your adrenalized body struggles hard with re-entry. It becomes difficult to keep thoughts organized. Those who expect you to return to a business-as-usual mindset become the object of your crankiness and scorn.

That’s my annual experience, anyway.

This isn’t exclusive to my industry’s conferences, either. It can happen after any intense event with a long lead-up. I know many people from different business sectors who feel the same way after a big event. I’ve also experienced it and seen it happen to others after religious retreats. There’s even a book about it.

The good news is that the feeling is short lived. Monday and Tuesday suck, but by Wednesday the universe comes back into alignment.

Now if I can just keep from punching people until then…

rsa2015001

Posted on

I Can Be Hell on the Marriage

Erin and I have a strong marriage. But every marriage requires constant work, and ours is no exception. That work often requires me to look in the mirror.

Mood music:

http://youtu.be/E7xUZkKd58c

For Erin, it means seeing my bad days for what they are and helping me work through them. For me, it means doubling down and fighting back the demons that make me difficult to live with sometimes.

Having experienced all this, an article in Communication Monographs caught our interest. It explores depression and the uncertainty it can cause for couples.

Depression is a chronic condition for me, so it certainly applies.

The article notes that depressed people withdraw from negative situations or social challenges. Feelings of futility and inhibition come into play. Couples where one or both partners experience depression try to preserve the relationship by avoiding conflict.

“This behavior is detrimental to relationships, causing lack of problem resolution, missed bonding opportunities, lack of closeness and questions over commitment,” the article says.

From my perspective, it’s true.

I used to carry around a deep fear of loss that made me avoid painful, truthful conversations we needed. I feared Erin would run out of patience and kick me out.

When we argued, I clammed up. Eventually a wall rose up between us. A few years ago we decided to go to marriage counseling and work through it. The experience drove home that I needed to speak my mind and be honest about my feelings — and that I needed to be a better listener.

It was one of the hardest things I’ve done. That new side of me was no fun for Erin, either. But it was a huge step forward.

My demons have made me less than honest in the past, especially when my addictions were running wild. When you lie, you’re essentially taking a hammer to the trust you build as a couple. It takes a long time to build it back up. Sometimes, the trust never comes back.

I’ve worked damn hard not to let my issues take us there. I’d like to think I’m better than I used to be.

Meanwhile, we’ve developed routines to keep our marriage strong despite the challenges:

  • Once or twice a month, we have date nights. Date nights are critical. If we don’t occasionally focus just on each other, we can lose that original spark.
  • Most days, we stop after work and share the experiences of our day. When the weather cooperates, we do this during walks.
  • We try to never go to bed angry. If the day ends and we have a disagreement, we discuss. It’s not always pretty, but it’s necessary. As an extension of that:
  • We always try to argue well. We don’t call each other names. We don’t threaten each other. We work through things.

We love each other and have found the struggle worth it. We know the struggle is never over.

We know my depression will always be a threat and we must confront it as a couple.

Heartsign, by EddieTheYeti
“Heartsign” by EddieTheYeti

Posted on

The Only Way Out Of The Fog Is Through It

We all go through it: Something upsets us so much that we go into a fog; unable to function when we’re still required to do so. It rises up like a brick wall.

Mood music:

http://youtu.be/-9aPRQdidO4

We smash into it a few too many times and go through the rest of the day dazed and confused. It’s a natural reaction to life’s more stressful and traumatic moments.

If a loved one is sick or dead, or you get into a huge fight with your spouse, or you just discover you’ve been robbed, the feeling hits you.

But what do you do when that feeling clings to you every day like a wet, filthy rag?

I’ve been there many times. It used to cripple me every day. It’s no longer a daily thing, but it still gets me on occasion.

Monday was one of those days; let’s just say it was driven by guilt.

But here’s the difference between now and the old days:

It didn’t incapacitate me and leave me lying half dead on the couch like it used to. I didn’t check out of the hotel of reality. I may have wanted to, but I didn’t.

I felt every bad feeling and it did stick in my brain all day like a splinter. But somehow, I was able to make it through the day. I got my work done, I got chores done and I was even able to focus on the not-always-easy task of helping Duncan do his homework.

I can point to a lot of things that make the difference today:

—Medication to control my OCD, ADD and the depression that comes with it;

–Regular visits to the therapist to get things off my chest; and

–An eating program devoid of flour and sugar. When I’m not sinking under the weight of a food binge, my thinking is clearer.

I don’t think it’s possible to avoid the fog altogether. Life is too unpredictable and dramatic for that. Sometimes the stresses get the better of you and you lose sight of everything around you. It’s a very shitty place to be.

But there is a positive in this: If you never felt the fog, it would mean you didn’t care about anything or anyone.

You would see clearly and keep walking, but the destination would always be some selfish pursuit.

Some of this may sound a bit hyperbolic. I use some fancy language along the way to explain it.

But that’s how my brain rolls this morning.

“Heartsign,” by EddieTheYeti

Heartsign_by_EddieTheYeti

Posted on

If People Treated Physical Illness Like Mental Illness

The cartoon below, posted on the Robot Hugs website, nails the misperception some people have about mental illness.

For those lucky enough to be free of mental illness, it can be impossible to understand how the depressed mind works. That leads to a lot of unhelpful advice and opining about how the mentally ill should just get off their asses and stop feeling sorry for themselves.

Maybe this will lead to better understanding.

Helpful Advice for Physical Illnesses