When I wrote about spending $450 on the Midwest Center for Stress & Anxiety program designed to help people defeat anxiety and depression, I had no idea that it would strike nerves the way it has.
The post, written on Jan. 2, 2011, is easily the biggest traffic generator of this blog on a daily basis. Some days it gets so many page views that I’m left dumbfounded.
It has also gotten by far the most comments of any post. Some of the comments defend the program. The vast majority are from people who had equally bad experiences.
Since comments are always tacked to the bottom of a post, they are often overlooked. I’m writing this follow up specifically so you will go back and read what people have had to say.
To be clear, I’m not on a crusade against the Midwest Center. I had a bad experience. Others say the program helped them tremendously. Everything in this blog is a retelling of my own experiences and lessons. The posts are laced with my opinion. But you can never really learn all you need to know off of one person’s point of view. I’m just one guy.
As my friend Joy noted last time I saw her: “Everyone has a story or ten.”
Entourage Disease: A disease where the sufferer surrounds him or herself with people as a shield against painful encounters.
Mood music:
The sufferer will show up in a hospital room, at a family party or a funeral surrounded by up to six people. Usually the number is about three. If it’s a hospital visit and the room is really small, the sufferer will be brave and only come in with one hanger on.
There are drugs to mitigate the pain, particularly alcohol, food and drugs. But they all have side effects and usually are not worth the trouble.
As with any disease, there is collateral damage. The family of a cancer patient, for example, may experience pain from watching their loved one suffer.
The third party suffering with entourage disease is usually a feeling of claustrophobia and the discomfort that comes from a lack of personal space. The people who comprise the sufferer’s entourage have a special talent for getting in the personal zone of everyone else in the room.
The ultimate cure for this disease is self confidence, forgiveness and faith.
Unfortunately, those things can be hard to come by.
Call it what you will: Narcissism. Selfishness. Ego. We’re all a little full of ourselves. But people like me are worse than others. It’s a shameful thing, but it’s the truth.
People with addictive tendencies tend to be the most selfish souls alive.
Mood music:
[spotify:track:76Je5Wklky23mVoxiRszcN]
And that’s why we have Step 3 in the 12 Steps of Recovery: “Made a decision to turn our will and our lives over to the care of God as we understood Him.”
This is all about doing something about the addict’s overwhelming desire to control everything. It also applies to people suffering from a variety of mental illnesses, including OCD, the one that plagues me.
At a Big Book step study meeting I went to last night, the speaker talked about this in language I won’t soon forget. He described himself as a “rebel without guts,” the guy who talks tough but lacks the balls to BE tough. He also described selfishness as a terminal illness.
Selfishness hasn’t killed me yet. But I’ve lost friends and family over it along the way.
It all comes back to the need to control everything and everyone around me. I want everything to go my way, and when it doesn’t my world comes crashing down. If the day doesn’t unfold exactly as I planned it, the day is ruined. Someone took my parking space? The restaurant didn’t have the ranch dressing I planned to have on my salad? That was it.
That’s how it is with everything when you’re a control freak. The obsession with control and self-fulfillment also leaves you feeling adrift and anxious when things are going relatively well for you.
That’s how it used to be with me, anyway.
People like us crave control like a junkie craves a shot of smack to the arm. It grabs us by the nose and drags us down the road until our emotions are raw and bleeding.
That’s why I used to be such an asshole at The Eagle-Tribune. Every story I edited then went through three more editors and then to the page designer. Along the way, everyone after me had to take a whack at it. I’d hover over the page designers because it was the closest thing I had to control. Ultimate control would have meant laying out the pages myself. That would have been a stupid thing to do, mind you. I couldn’t lay out a news page to save my life.
When I was the assistant news editor for the paper’s New Hampshire editions, I was out a week when my son Sean was born. I came in one night to catch up on e-mail and saw the message where my boss announced my son’s birth. In it, he joked that I probably stood over the doctor and told him how to deliver the baby.
I wanted to punch him. I saw red. Because I knew how close it cut to the truth.
The control freak has emerged in a variety of other ways over the years. Getting stuck in traffic would send me into a rage because all I could do is sit and wait. Getting on a plane filled me with dread because I could only sit there and wait. There was the fear that the plane might crash. But the bigger problem for me was that i was at the mercy of the pilots, the air traffic and the weather. I had no control over the schedule, and that incensed me.
I still get this way sometimes, but I’ve tried hard to take Step 3 to heart, turning my will over to God and trusting Him to push me in the right direction.
When I do that, I never fail. It always works out.
People think surrender means quit. That’s as far from the truth as you can get.
For people like me, you don’t start to experience victory until you surrender. It sounds crazy, but I’ve lived it.
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 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 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 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.
People occasionally ask me why this blog covers so much dark ground. Let’s see if I can explain:
My life has been much like any typical run. We all go through our sad and tragic episodes, with a lot of good times and beautiful experiences mixed in. There are happy moments and terrible moments. Some get swallowed up by the darkness and descend into a life of crime, addiction and death. Others find a way out of the darkness and learn to find joy in all the things they were once too blind to notice.
Mood music:
I write a lot about my darker episodes because there has always been a light at the end of the tunnel. I’ve learned to look at adversity as an opportunity to always get somewhere better. I also believe in the saying: “When you find yourself in hell, the only way out of it is through it.”
I write a lot about my addictive behavior so you can understand just how joyful it is when you find recovery.
I write a lot about what I went through at the hands of OCD, fear and anxiety because I found a way through the worst of it and believe I need to share where I’ve been so those who are in their own personal hell can see the way to some peace.
As awesome as my life is today, I still find myself veering into episodes of darkness. I’m not a special case. We all go through that sort of thing. This blog being part diary, I need to write down the bad as well as the good because by documenting it I can put things in perspective and push myself out of the painful periods.
I always try to end a darker post on a positive note. If you skim, you’ll miss it.
I’ve been through some rough patches lately and it has shown through here. But I never stay in the rough patch for long, because I keep moving and learning. Many of you help me do it, and I’m grateful.
I try to be like Leo, the chief of staff in the TV series The West Wing. The character was a raging alcoholic and pill popper who got through it and kept living a life of public service. This clip pretty much sums up the purpose of this blog:
I don’t know my way out of every dark situation, but by sharing stories of the struggles that ended well, I’m hopefully helping a few of you.
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...
I find myself worried this morning that, by opening up in this blog, I’ve lost another dear friend.
That’s the challenge with expressing one’s feelings publicly: Even when you think you’re taking care to protect one’s privacy, leaving out names and such, you find a way to hurt someone anyway.
Writing this blog has been a lifesaver most days. A lot of people have told me it helps them.
But sometimes I curse the day I started this thing.
For now I just have to walk away and hope time heals another wound.
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.
It’s hard to pinpoint the moment my recovery started getting wobbly and I started getting sloppy. I don’t know if it’s fully accurate to call this a relapse, but it’s pretty damn close.
Mood music:
One thing is certain: I’m in a shaky place lately, and this is as good a place to sort things out. Talking is always better, but sometimes I have to write it.
I’ve been very tired lately, and in my fatigue, my recovery program from binge eating and other addictions has gotten sloppy. Twice in as many weeks, I’ve forgotten to pack an abstinent lunch before leaving the house. When you’re recovery is on sturdy ground, that’s a mistake you NEVER make.
I haven’t been making it to many 12-Step/OA meetings of late, and I can’t remember the last time I called my sponsor. I guess I’ve been too tired and short-fused to go over the same bullshit, over and over again.
I haven’t gone on any binges, thankfully. But I know how it works. I’m not stupid. When you start getting careless, you open yourself up for the crash.
I’ve been going over the last few months in search of the moment things started to go wrong.
My father having three strokes was certainly a factor. It’s hard not to worry all the time when the guy who has been the strong man in your life is suddenly in a wheelchair, not able to do much for himself. But I decided early on to be strong, cool and rational for other family members.
To do that, I guess I felt I needed a crutch. I didn’t want to binge eat or drink, so I smoked. Then Erin found the cigarettes I was hiding, and I resolved to quit that, too. Then and there, much of my patience for people went down the garbage chute.
I won’t lie: It still pisses me off that I had to stop smoking. Sure those things give you cancer. But to me it seemed much safer then the other things, which leave me in a mental state that disrupts everything, even my ability to dress myself. And so I start wearing the same clothes repeatedly, so I don’t have to think much about my appearance.
And, in the last week, I’ve been quietly re-assessing the status of things with my mother. I think I’m finally ready to reconcile, though it’ll never go back to the way it was. It can’t go back to the way it was. And so I have to think carefully about how to do this. That makes me even more tired.
At least I haven’t stopped taking showers and brushing my teeth. I’ve done that before, and it’s not pretty.
My next actions are clear:
–I’m going to consider all this a break of abstinence and go back to square one.
–I’m going to get a new sponsor. The current one has done his best with me, but I haven’t returned the favor.
–I need to start getting to more than one meeting a week. Actually, one a week is a good place to start.
–I need to make an action plan to deal with my mother.
–I need to start being honest with myself and stop pretending I have perfect control over everything.
I’ll come out of this. I always do. This is part of managing my life. You go through periods when everything is running like a Swiss watch. Then there are times when the machinery falls out of its casing, scraping your wrist on its way to the ground.
Venting here is how I deal with it and keep upright. I do it publicly because there are many people like me out there, who have no answers and are looking for a place to start.
Take it from me: Writing it out is a great place to start.
From there, realize you can’t fix yourself without help. Next, go find that help.
For those, like me, who struggle with suicide, particularly how the Catholic Church feels about it, I have something useful a good friend sent to me this afternoon, presumably after reading this morning’s post.
Mood music:
http://youtu.be/jrRfoEEDENo
From the Catechism of the Catholic Church:
“2282 Grave psychological disturbances, anguish, or grave fear of hardship, suffering, or torture can diminish the responsibility of the one committing suicide.
2283 We should not despair of the eternal salvation of persons who have taken their own lives. By ways known to him alone, God can provide the opportunity for salutary repentance. The Church prays for persons who have taken their own lives.”
Thanks to my friend for sharing.
I think the language shows that the Church doesn’t see this issue in the black and white way we often think it does.
So if you know someone who died by their own hand and it tortures you to think about where in the afterlife they are, take comfort in knowing that they may not be in such a bad place after all.
And do something to honor them, like doing things to raise awareness about mental illness.
