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A Look In The Mirror

Written in early 2011, after one of my more spectacular failures as a husband and human being.

I’ve been dealing with a pretty sour mood in recent days. This post is my attempt to explain it all.

The other day, I wrote a post called “When the Truth is a Lie” and a lot of you commented that I’m too hard on myself. I appreciate that, but I don’t think I was being as open as I needed to be at the time.

I’ve realized a few things in recent days. One is that I’m not the bucket of honesty everyone thinks I am. Sure, I reveal a lot about my struggles. But I hold back a lot, too. Some of that is for the best. We all need to keep some things to ourselves, don’t we?

But this week, in a moment where I was feeling stupid about the things I forgot to do in my hurry to catch a plane, I lied to my wife and everyone on Facebook who was following the thread.

I found a Valentine’s Day card from her in my suitcase when I got to San Francisco. Then I remembered that I left her card at home, unsigned. I meant to do it right before I left, but forgot. She would have understood.

I lied about it, anyway. I told her I forgot to take it out of my laptop bag.

Why did I do that? I guess it was one of the stupid things you do in a moment of guilt. She found the card in a drawer while I was away. Naturally, she wasn’t happy about it.

Who could blame her?

I’ve always had a hang-up about Valentine’s Day, and I always seem to find a way to screw it up when I should be doing what everyone else does: Using the holiday to remind those around you that you love them. Especially the spouse and the kids. When I hurt my wife, I lose the ability to function.

If you look at the posts I wrote while I was in San Francisco, you can see this stuff slowly eating away at my soul.

Why am I telly you this? Marital disagreements are a private thing, after all.

I’m doing it because I didn’t just lie to Erin. I lied to everyone who was following that Facebook post.

I’ve realized something else recently: I’ve gotten a little too full of myself. I’ve had success in my professional life, and with it I’ve gotten praise. That praise has been addictive, so I push myself harder. In this case, I did more travel than I was mentally or physically prepared for. The result was my coming home violently ill. Thursday and Friday, I couldn’t move from the couch or the bed. Those who know me will tell you it takes a lot to render me motionless like that.

I was definitely down with sickness. But maybe some of it was me feeling heart sick about not living up to who I should be.

My life has gotten very busy. I’m involved with things at church and in the security community. I have a busy family life.

My skills at going through all that and prioritizing need work.

Family comes first, of course.

I also realize that I can’t just drop out of sight and stop doing what I do here.

I need to find the balance.

I also have to remember how small I am in the grand scheme of the universe.

I don’t have all the answers right now.

But I know I have to find them.

Meanwhile, to those I’ve lied to or been pompous and cranky to this past week, I’m very sorry.

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A Long-Silenced Voice Speaks

My dear friend Joy, who readers know by now as the widow of my late friend Sean Marley, sent me a note today — a message from the distant past.

Mood music:

[spotify:track:2GMC1BnQle6WRstUGUs3mc]

She was looking through some of Sean’s diaries and wanted to share something he wrote about me 20 years ago:

“Bill is turning 20. He is such a fantastic human being. He feels so much and cares about the world and its goings on.”

It’s weird to see. One reason is that I tend to remember the more fucked-up part of me as a 20-year-old. The other is that seeing his words, so many years after he died, is kind of haunting. Sadly, I sometimes have trouble remembering what his voice sounded like.

Thanks for showing me that, Joy. It meant a lot.

I knew Sean kept diaries. I remember watching him write in them as The Cure, T-Rex or Riot (not Quiet Riot) played in the background. I never asked him what he was writing about, though sometimes he told me anyway.

A part of me badly wants to see those diaries. I want to see what was really going through his mind. Not to write about it. I’m sure there’s stuff in there he wouldn’t want to share with the outside world if he were here. Most people keep diaries for themselves. I’m an anomaly.

But another part of me is scared to death of what I might find. I’m not worried about what’s in there about me. To be honest, I don’t know what about it scares me. Maybe it’s just the idea of diving back into the past with someone you can’t interact with anymore.

It’s all a moot point, in any event.

Those notebooks don’t belong to me, and some stories probably aren’t meant to be told.

Consider this a case of me talking to myself, left to my obsessive thoughts.

If you have a best friend — I’m sure you all do — just be there for them. Listen to what’s on their mind, no matter how tired you are. Let your friend know he-she is loved.

If that friend has deep troubles, you may not be able to change the outcome.

But you’ll know you did your best and you’ll know what was on their mind.

And, perhaps, you won’t sit around years later  wondering what that friend was writing in his-her diaries as the clock started running to run out.

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It Hurt Badly. Therefore, It Was Good

My cherished pal Penny Morang Richards made this comment to my “Death of a Sibling” post Friday: “It has to hurt. That’s how you know it was good.”

Mood music:

[youtube=http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=WPmtiLeMMow&fs=1&hl=en_US&rel=0&color1=0x3a3a3a&color2=0x999999]

She said it in response to my concluding thoughts:

I’ve learned that life is a gift to be cherished and used wisely. I’ve also learned that it hurts sometimes. That’s OK.

She knows exactly what she’s talking about. Go read the past year of entries in her blog, “Penny Writes… Penny Remembers.” If you can’t learn how to live in the face of horrible loss from the writings of Penny Morang Richards, I got nothing else for you. She lost her only child last year. The wounds are still gaping and bleeding for her. I’ve had 27 years to process Michael’s death and 14 to process Sean Marley’s passing.

She’s absolutely right about hurt. When loss stings, it’s because you had something good.

The problem is that we don’t always realize we have something precious until it’s ripped from us.

I thought my brother would always be around. I thought Sean would always be there. I thought Peter Sugarman would at least be there for a few more years.

There’s a lot of good in my life today. I’ll never take it for granted like I did back then.

Have I led a tragic life? No fucking way.

I’ve lost a lot of people I cared for and my body has been through the meat grinder. But that can never take away the blessings.

And it’s not over yet.

To understand this, just think about your own life. You’ve no doubt experienced sickness and death, family dysfunction and career ups and downs.

If you haven’t, you will.

In between the rough patches, I fell in love with and married the best gal on Earth, had two precious children who keep me laughing and loving, I’ve enjoyed a lot of success in my career, traveled to a lot of cool places and found God. 

That stuff doesn’t suck.

Then there’s the joy I feel every day in recovery. All the great friends I have, doing a job I love and having the OCD under control.

Would I want to go through the bad stuff again? Of course not. But the weird truth is that I’m not sure I’d change the past, either. It’s easy for someone to wish they had a lost loved one back in their life and that they were less touched by illness.

But without having gone through these things, would I be where I’m at today?

I’m not so sure.

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A Sober, Abstinent New Year’s Eve

I used to revel in New Year’s Eve excess. I’d get blasted on vodka and “head-wreckers” in my Revere basement. I’d binge on Chinese food. I’d wake up promising God I’d never do that again, then I’d promptly break the promise.

Last night I stayed sober and abstinent. The food was weighed out as usual. I drank coffee. The niece slept over. Erin introduced Sean to “Dr. Who.”

Duncan read his cousin a bedtime story.

Life doesn’t suck.

Happy New Year.

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More on Kids and Divorce

Yesterday’s post on children and divorce hit a tender nerve for a lot of you, so I feel a few clarifications are in order.

Mood music:

http://youtu.be/kJHFaU0lpZ8

Here’s what yesterday’s post WAS NOT:

–A rebuke of single parents. I know a lot of single parents who bust their ass and give their children a lot more love than some of the married couples I’ve met in my day.

–A plea for people in troubled marriages to stay together for the sake of the kids. Actually, as one reader correctly pointed out, it can be more damaging to a child if his/her parents hate each other but stay together anyway. If that’s not a recipe for addiction, abuse and a passing of demons to the next generation, I don’t know what is.

–A suggestion that you’re a lousy parent if you can’t keep your marriage together. It takes two people to make a marriage succeed or fail. And sometimes things beyond your control can damage a marriage. That doesn’t make you a less loving parent. And sometimes, you find someone else to marry who turns out to be the best thing that ever happened to the family. Bottom line: A bad marriage can’t go on. My parents were smart to divorce in 1980. A lot of bad things followed, but things surely would have been worse had they stayed together.

It WAS:

–A reminder that kids pick up on a troubled house immediately and they need constant love and reassurance.

–A big “fuck you” to parents who use their kids as pawns to hurt each other. Doing so just makes you mean, and your child is probably better off without you around.

I mentioned two troubled marriages yesterday, but I have to be honest and tell you that I was particularly fixated on the second case I mentioned.

I also need to admit — again — that I’m only seeing one side of the drama.

But since I’m keeping the names of the players anonymous, I’m just going to roll with the one-sided version of events and say a few things:

1.) It is NEVER, ever OK to tell the other parent you took the child one place for the weekend when you were actually someplace else. It’s one thing if you’re shielding the kid from someone abusive. It’s quite another thing if that parent is not abusive and you’re just doing it to be spiteful. Parents need to know where their kids are at all times because we live in a dangerous world. You lied about a child’s whereabouts, and that makes you a punk. And, contrary to what you may think, it does matter.

2.) When it comes to deciding who gets the child and when, it’s about what’s best for the kid, not you.

3.) Not living at home doesn’t free you of certain responsibilities, like helping to pay the bills. You may not live there anymore, but the kid still does. And like I said, it’s about the child, not you.

If this sounds like a rant that veers too close to a temper tantrum, I make no apologies. The scars from my childhood fueled an adulthood ripped apart by mental illness and addiction.

In the final analysis I made a lot of bad decisions and most of what I’ve been through can’t be blamed on everyone else.

And the difference is that in my case, everyone else did their best, even if some things took a sour turn.

When I see a parent who isn’t trying, I get angry. If a child is dragged through the mud when the parents are trying to do it right, just think of the damage done when the parents aren’t trying.

You’re not trying, my friend. And for now, I wish I had more middle fingers for you than the two God gave me.

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Screwing Your Kids in the Divorce

When people you know go through a divorce, much is made over who gets what and who loses what. The ex-wife gets the house. The ex-husband gets full custody of the kids. But here’s a constant that’s most upsetting: The kids almost always get the shaft.

Mood music:

http://youtu.be/gvkvJo2VRJc

Parents don’t usually mean for this to happen. They start out determined to shower the children with love and shield them from the ugly stuff as much as possible.

Then, as the proceedings drag on, the parents look for ways to hurt each other. What better way to do that than by using the children as pawns?

When my parents divorced 30 years ago, they did their best to shield us. They sent us to summer camp, though I really hated that. I just wanted to go play on Revere Beach.

They got joint custody. We stayed with Dad during the week and Mom on weekends. In the summers that arrangement was reversed. Dad got the house.

As the years went on, my mother grew increasingly bitter toward my father. This is understandable to a point. Her oldest son died. How can a parent be expected to think clearly when that happens? But she blamed my father. Actually, she blamed my stepmother: some baseless bullshit about my step-mother not inserting the adrenaline needle properly during my brother’s final and fatal asthma attack.

After that, if my father stared at her the wrong way, she threatened to get full custody from him. She did this on a weekly basis. I don’t think it hurt my father as intended. He held all the legal cards. But it sure as hell hurt me. I would constantly worry about never seeing my father again.

Looking in the rear-view mirror as an adult, I hold no bitterness about it. Not anymore, anyway. I realized I would never move on until I forgave them. We all fail. I have too many times to count. I also realize she was just venting most of the time.

But when I see kids caught in the middle of a marriage in trouble today, I always return to the scars of childhood, real and imagined (when you’re a kid you imagine things, and if you grow up to be a head case like me, you REALLY imagine things).

I bring all this up because I know of a couple troubled marriages right now where children are involved.

In one case the parents are working hard to be honest with the kids and make sure they know they are loved. I don’t know what will happen to that marriage in the end, but I give the parents  credit for trying to keep the emotional scars off their kids. If the marriage fails scarring will be inevitable. But the parents can do a lot to soften the blow.

Then there’s the other case. One parents tries to hurt the other by deciding not to babysit when scheduled. Of course, in this case it’s not babysitting. It’s parenting.

Then one parent has the child for the weekend and lies to the other about where they’ve been.

It’s not for me to get into who is right or wrong. I’m biased because I’m only getting one side of the story.

All I know is that it makes me sad. I can only pray that this child escapes with as little damage as possible.

Nobody likes it when someone’s marriage hits the wall. And when lawyers are brought in, you can expect ugliness to ensue because the lawyer’s job is to make sure his or her client wins.

Of course, in these situations, nobody wins. Some marriages need to end because it happened for the wrong reasons to start with or there was abuse. And sometimes people just change and what happens happens.

I just hope the kids make out OK at the other end of these dramas.

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Friends in Crisis

I have a few friends who are in crisis these days, making my own struggles seem trivial. Talking to them is a lot like living in the Twilight Zone. I’m used to being self absorbed.

Mood music:

[spotify:track:7bv9wNXN3FHKMRTMdi48fL]

I have to admit something: I’m not that good at being there for others. Lord knows I try, but I get so stuck in my own head sometimes that it’s hard to see what’s happening around me.

My failure on this front is most evident on the family side. Even before the relationship with my mother imploded, I always sucked at visiting my grandparents and calling siblings. I was always too busy with other things.

Actually, I was always obsessed with other things, some real, some imagined.

When my great-grandmother was dying, I kept meaning to go visit her. The week I finally planned to was the week she died.

I was terrible at visiting my Nana. Instead of loving her unconditionally, I was fixated on her quirks. Here’s the thing with a head case like me: It’s much easier to stew about someone else’s faults than your own. That may sound like a contradiction, since I talk a lot about being stuck inside my own head. But that’s part of the problem. People like me will come outside my own head for a few minutes just to spit on someone else’s quirks.

I’ve paid the price along the way.

I’ve had a lot of friends come and go in my life. Two of the closest friends died on me. It took a long, long time before I was willing to even consider getting close to anyone ever again outside my family.

And, as I mentioned earlier, family relationships suffered.

So here I am, a few years into recovery from OCD and addiction, and people are coming to me for a shoulder to lean on.

God has a way of giving you payback and blessing you with His grace at the same time.

I’m fortunate to have the friends I have, after all the fucking up I’ve done in life.

I hope I don’t let them down.

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Readings From The Book Of Crap

I’ve noticed a sad phenomena in the halls of recovery. And I’ve had just about enough of it.

Mood music:

[youtube=http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=60J6HlvfePM&fs=1&hl=en_US]

A lot of my 12-Step brothers and sisters have a saying: “I’m taking inventory.” It’s supposed to be about reflecting on your own growth and behavior. But it’s really about trash talking other people. One person is doing too much of it lately.

Everyone who walks into an OA, AA or NA meeting is a little crazy. If we weren’t a little bit off, we wouldn’t have to be there in the first place. We’re entitled to our faults. But when someone corners you all the time, pushing the AA big book in your face and quoting from its pages like you’re desperately in need of hearing them recite it, there’s a problem. Especially when it’s clear they’re not coming from a healthy place.

Anonymity is an important tool of recovery, so I’ll keep the person’s name out. The person cornered me after Saturday’s OA meeting after I shared about needing to tweak my program. Me seeing my needs as they are turned into a tirade about me being in denial. He tells me to read page whatever in the 24-hour book and page something-or-other in the Big Book. After awhile, it’s like David Koresh pushing a Bible in your face and telling you what it means, just before the compound bursts into flames.

As I looked at the clock and saw a half hour going by, I felt something I haven’t felt in a long time: I wanted to punch the guy. Hard. That IS NOT OK.

This fella is having a lot of trouble relating to people lately. He walks around asking people for money and then spends it on cigarettes. He tells you we have to bomb the Chinese and the Iranians because Israel is going to be nuked and it’s in God’s plan. He goes on about how this person demoralized him or that one betrayed him simply because they called him to the carpet when he decided to interrupt or speak out of turn.

Most disturbing, God is becoming his excuse for every bad decision he decides to make. It’s an old story, people using God to justify their bad choices.

I bring it up not to flame anyone, but to point out something vitally important for anyone trying to hang onto their sobriety and abstinence. When someone needs help, you try to help. But when someone needs SO MUCH HELP that they latch on and suck the life out of you, calling several times a day and making a crisis out of every little thing, it’s time to back away.

A person like this is not evil. They need to be loved, and we should love them and try to guide them. That’s what God wants.

But in any program of recovery, limits are everything. Limits are meant to protect you from relapse. 

And when you let someone bring you down with crazy talk all the time, you’re putting your own recovery in jeopardy.

Relapse and you hurt your family, your friends, your livelihood, and your faith. And once that happens, you’re no longer in a position to help anyone else.

You can’t help yourself, for goodness sake.

To be of service to the most people, you have to cut ties with a few. It may not make sense, but it’s true. That’s what I have to do.

So when someone tells you we have to start bombing China in between reciting direct passages from the AA Big Book, it’s time to look them in the eye and tell them, as politely as possible, that it’s time to grow up.

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How Marriage Saved Me

A couple days ago I compiled some of my posts on how being a Dad helped me move beyond addiction and depression. My marriage to Erin changed me for the better in similar fashion. These posts are about her.

The Freak and the Redhead: A Love Story

http://www.theocddiaries.com/2009/12/17/the-freak-and-the-redhead-a-love-story/

I wasn’t looking for a soul mate when I met her. It was the summer of 1993 and I was doing just fine on my own. I was in a band and we were busy pretending we were really something. This was long before I woke up one day, realized I really don’t know how to sing, and decided to spare the masses the agony of me trying to play vocalist.

Back in the Real World, Emotionally Drained

http://www.theocddiaries.com/2010/10/11/back-in-the-real-world-emotionally-drained/

Transcript of a talk I gave at the Oct. 2010 Men’s Cursillo Weekend at St. Basil’s: My name is Bill Brenner, and this talk starts like many stories do: With a girl.

Me and My Wall

http://www.theocddiaries.com/2010/11/04/me-and-my-wall/

When I get tired and angry, I have this wall I put up. Erin is usually the one who crashes into it.

Learning to Fight Well

http://www.theocddiaries.com/2010/07/25/learning-to-fight-well/

In every marriage there are arguments. They can be good for you, but only if you learn to do it with skill. I’m working on it, but I’m not there yet.

Love Hurts, Love Stings, Love Endures

http://www.theocddiaries.com/2010/10/12/love-hurts-love-stings-love-endures/

I remembered something the priest said during his Homily at ourwedding: “You marry the person you think you know, and spend the rest of your lives really getting to know each other.” Another priest at another wedding eight years later told the bride and groom: “Your job is to get each other into Heaven.”

The Better Angels of My Nature

http://www.theocddiaries.com/2009/12/18/ocd-diaries-12-18-the-better-angels-of-my-nature/

It’s not hard for me to write about OCD, binge eating and pills. These are a part of life for people across political and religious divides. Depression and anxiety will hit you whether you’re Catholic, Baptist or agnostic; Democrat, Republican or Libertarian. Religion and politics. Those are tough. But I’m gonna get into it here anyway.

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Me and My Wall

When I get tired and angry, I have this wall I put up. Erin is usually the one who crashes into it.

Mood music:

[youtube=http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=PpAbUvl3eTk&fs=1&hl=en_US]

She’s been building a freelance editing business for the past year, and the hours she puts in would kill a lesser person. I’ve taken on a lot of extra things around the house to help, and for the last week or so the fatigue and frustration has set in.

Not frustration with Erin. Frustration over the situation.

This is a much better situation than what we faced several months ago, when all the freelance work dried up and we couldn’t figure out how we were going to get all the bills paid. Now there’s a ton of work, and at the end of the day we’re both wiped out.

The problem is that I don’t immediately catch on that I’m frustrated. I figure it’s just me going into OCD mode. I’m just tired, I figure.

That’s when I become a prick.

Erin will try to engage me in conversation and I’ll shut down. I put the wall up. I don’t realize I’m doing it, and that’s a problem.

For all the sharing I do in this blog, sometimes it’s still ridiculously hard to open up to those closest to me. I’ve worked hard on fixing that in recent years, but I’m far from there.

One reason is that I’m still a selfish bastard sometimes. I get so wrapped up in my work and feelings that it becomes almost impossible to see someone else’s side of things. That eventually blows up in my face.

I also don’t like to be in a situation where there’s yelling. There was plenty of that growing up, and I tend to avoid the argument at all costs.

I’ve gotten better at this stuff, but I know I still put that wall up at times. Putting up a wall can be a bitch for any relationship, because sooner or later bad feelings will race at that wall like a drunk behind the wheel of a Porsche and slam right into it. Some bricks in the wall crack and come loose, but by then it can be too late. The relationship is totaled. 

I’ve come to realize this will always be a danger we have to watch for. It’s a danger in any marriage. Carol and Mike Brady never really existed. If they did, they could have used a few good fights. They wouldn’t have wasted so much time sitting up in bed reading boring books.

Now that I’ve gotten that out of my system, it’s time to put the big-boy pants on and get back to work on that wall.

Maybe one of these days I’ll tear it down once and for all.