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When The Music’s Over…

Twenty years ago, as a student at North Shore Community College, I was obsessed with The Doors. My ambition was to be Jim Morrison. I’m glad I got over it.

Mood music:

Back then, I fancied myself a poet. I joined the Poet’s Society. I grew my hair long and started wearing a pair of leather pants I had borrowed from Sean Marley (back then, I could actually fit into them). I wore a suit jacket and leather boots to complete the look.

I didn’t like who I was, so it made perfect sense to try being someone else. It was a habit I would indulge in many times over.

It was also a side-effect of the fear I used to carry around. The first Gulf War was about to begin and there were a lot of kids worried about getting drafted, including me. So we tried to relive the lives of Baby Boomers from the 1960s as a bizarre comfort ritual.

One guy from Lynn took it further than me. He wore tie-dye t-shirts with fringe boots. He was a big guy and looked more comical than anything else. He would tell anyone in the smoking room who would listen that John Lennon was something close to the Second Coming of Christ.

Me and Sean took a bus ride with this guy down to Washington D.C. for a peace rally in front of the White House a couple days after the war started.  That was quite a sight: Me trying to look like Jim Morrison, the other guy trying to look like Jerry Garcia. Sean was the most normal looking of the three of us. Those who knew Sean and his frequent hair-color changes will appreciate the absurdity of the sight.

The war ended quickly, but then Oliver Stone’s “The Doors” came out, with Val Kilmer playing Jim Morrison. I latched on to Morrison’s rejection of his family. I wasn’t getting along with various family members, so there was another easy out from dealing with life.

I started drinking harder alcohol and fasting because that’s what Morrison did. When I would shift from fasting to binge eating I would grow a beard and just carry on like I was the Morrison of later years, when he got bloated from drinking and grew facial hair.

The dean of students at N.S.C.C. brought me in a copy of Rolling Stone from 1971 — the issue covering Morrison’s death. He let me keep it, and wrote a note across the bottom right side of the cover about how Morrison was an interesting figure, but that I needed to find my own path.

I also started singing in a band called Skeptic Slang, where I started trying to perfect the grunge version of Morrison.

Then I started to really get out of shape and lost the ability to keep up with the hours musicians typically kept. I turned my attention to journalism, and that’s where I made my career.

Of course, I developed a lot of the bad habits that fit the stereotypical image of a reporter in the 1970s and 80s — bad eating habits, drinking and smoking and other things a person can rarely afford on a reporter’s salary.

I stopped listening to The Doors for a long, long time. But the other day, for whatever reason, I started listening again.

But it’s not the same as it was back then.

I have a real life now, and it’s easier to be me than somebody else.

Besides, I’ve tried to be other people at other points of my life.

It didn’t work out.

I do still have the facial hair, but I found it easier to maintain a bald head than maintain the hair style.

To be me is much simpler in that respect — even if being me is hopelessly complicated in other areas.

Jim-Morrison-Rolling-Stone-543709

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Some Days, I Don’t Have My Shit Together

A lot of people read this blog because I always try to put a silver lining on tough stuff. But some days I fail to live up to the image. Yesterday was one of those days, when I let a 7-year-old get the better of me.

Mood music:

[youtube=http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=mX8n5IiSB-8&fs=1&hl=en_US&rel=0]

You see, Duncan is like me in that too much winter messes with his mental balance. He’ll get goofy, sad and every emotion in between at the drop of a hat. And he has a terrible time focusing.

We’re not sure what it’s about, but since it happens every year between December and March, it’s not a stretch to conclude there’s a winter-related cause.

Like father, like son.

Yesterday he was unfocused when he needed to be getting his homework done. He had a Cub Scouts meeting early and that put some added pressure on us. When he does his homework, you really need to stand over him. But I always struggle with this, because the OCD pushes me to do seven things at once, especially on a tight schedule.

So Duncan kept fooling around and doing his homework in an excruciatingly slow manner.

So my voice started to get a little louder every few minutes. And Duncan still stayed all over the place.

So then I really snapped at him.

I didn’t hit him. We don’t believe in hitting our kids. But I yelled. A lot.

I nixed his going to the Scouts meeting. That was appropriate, since he still had too much homework left and that comes before the fun stuff.

To some or most of you all this may read like a typical afternoon with children. Kids get a little out of control and the parent in the room has to open the can of whoop-ass.

But to me, it was a loss of control. Worse, I feel like I should be A LOT more patient with the boy, since he’s under the same spell I’m under.

Whatever it was, I didn’t feel good about it.

I am thankful for a few things, though:

–We’re getting Duncan evaluated by a medical professional to see if he has any disorders. Whatever the verdict, we’ll get some direction on how to help him along.

–Duncan is a sweet boy, and it’s impossible to stay mad at him for long. Especially when he gives you a big hug and apologizes for being difficult.

–Erin was a calming presence, reminding me that this is a particularly bad winter and everyone is on a short fuse because of it. 

–At the end of the day, I kissed my wife as she was leaving for a school board meeting, I tucked Duncan into bed and got some one-on-one time with Sean.

–There isn’t the thick, stinking cloud of rage hanging in the air. Love wins out over anger.

Because of all these things, this family is going to be just fine, thanks.

Even if I can’t always get my shit together.

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The New Slavery

I reigned in my addictions to food and alcohol. I brought the compulsive spending down to a dull roar. But the Android. The Laptop. Technology is a new addiction and I’m a slave.

In some respects, it’s strange that this is now my lot in life. For most of my adulthood, I was never an early adopter of the latest gadgetry. I didn’t own an iPod until late 2008, and it’s one of the older models. I was still using a Walkman and cassette tapes long after everyone started switching to digital music.

And yet here I am, skilled to the gills in the ways of smartphones, social networking and squeezing Internet connectivity out of the most remote places.

How did this happen? The easy answer is my job.

I write about technology — information security, specifically — and I have to use all this stuff to know how it works and, obviously, how to write about it.

But to blame it all on the hazards of work would be an over-simplification and a cop-out.

The bigger truth is that the same hole in my soul that led me to the other addictions has wrapped its thorny fingers around technology.

I don’t regret it the way I regretted the binge eating and the alcohol I used as a crutch while bringing the food under control. The fact of life is that a lot of good reading has shifted online. That’s now where I go to read various newspapers, get the weather report and watch the news.

We used to turn on the TV to get the weather and watch the news. A favorite Sunday pastime used to be reading a stack of newspapers on the living room couch. It was a way to be informed and unwind at the same time.

Now I can do all these things from my laptop AND my Android phone. But to the passers by, I have my face buried behind a screen while the world hums along around me.

There’s definitely a perception issue. But I won’t lie. A lot of my computer use is obsessive, compulsive and addictive.

Imagine how easy it is to spend hours on porn sites in the middle of the night. Fortunately, porn isn’t my thing. I know a priest who suffers from that addiction, and I pray for him all the time. But I know a thrice-convicted pedophile who, last time I checked, was visiting the library Internet centers and looking at all that stuff while friending teenage girls all over Facebook.

Ah, yes. Facebook. I don’t know about you, but I can never let a day go by without seeing who is doing what on there. The funny thing is that most of what happens on there is the stuff we always got along without. We’ve always been busy enough with our own family dramas. Now we have to read about everyone else’s. Wanna punish someone for annoying you? Nothing says “Fuck You” like unfriending someone on Facebook or unfollowing someone on Twitter.

The whole addiction-to-technology thing came up a couple Saturdays ago while I was in Washington D.C. having breakfast with my friends James Arlen and Martin Fisher. Martin was recording the conversation for a podcast but somewhere in the conversation we veered away from security and started lamenting our dependence on our devices. I was lamenting, anyway.

James said something I hadn’t thought of before: Our phones and social networking tools have become like another sense. So instead of five senses, we now have six.

Make a person do without their phone or laptop and it’s like you’ve cut off an arm or deprived them of smell, hearing, taste or vision.

What’s so perfect about that description is that addictions in general are like that. The addiction becomes another sense of sorts. Deprive the addict of what they need and horrible withdrawal pains result. I experienced it when I put down flour, sugar and alcohol. And I experience it when I have to shut the phone.

I guess the reason I’m not more ashamed about it is that practically every person I know has the same problem.

Misery adores company. There’s nothing more comforting than the knowledge that you’re not alone in your stupidity.

So what do I do with this newfound clarity?

I don’t know.

A good place to start is to minimize my laptop use when I’m home. But I have a feeling I’ll fall short.

Meet the new slavery. Not quite the same as the old slavery, but still a bitch.

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So You Don’t Like Your Job…

Wherein the author suggests people stop complaining about their jobs and be the change.

Tons of Facebook people complain about their jobs. It makes me feel a little guilty because I love my job. OK, it doesn’t, really. But I’ve been in that place before and learned the problem was more me than the job.

Mood music:

[spotify:track:7E8QnPXVk1Sw9Gi06ENZ0i]

There are days where I find it a bit unreal that I have the job I’m in now. I get up in the morning itching to go. I enjoy the company of my co-workers. Given where I’ve been, it’s a little bit strange.

I am fortunate to work for a company with a warm, family-like culture. But I’ve worked for companies like that before and I was miserable. One of my favorite bosses ever had the pleasure of working with me at a time where my demons were ripping me to shreds.

I’ve worked for companies that weren’t like that, too.

All I know is this: Some of my most miserable working days were the result of the ghosts in my head. At the time, I confused those ghosts with the people around me. To be fair to myself, some people were miserable to work for and with, but when you’re slowly having an emotional breakdown every personality tick you come across is exaggerated times 20.

Ever since learning to manage the OCD raging inside of me as well as the related addictions, the same personality ticks don’t hit me that way. Sometimes I’m amused. Most of the time I’m sympathetic or empathetic. How could I not identify?

Still, there are times when I see the whining people do and in a self-impressed haze I forget how I used to be.

One person doesn’t like a teaching gig. Someone else is unhappy with their IT job.

Sorry to hear about it.

I cringe when someone gripes about their job on Facebook, but only because I can’t help but picture their bosses seeing those comments and frothing at the mouth.

Some people even name their boss, or a bigger boss they don’t often see but hate all the same.

Sorry, my friends, but that’s a stupid thing to do. Seriously.

Of course, I’m the last one to tell you how you should behave. But I have learned a few things worth sharing:

–For some people — and this was the case for me when I worked at TechTarget/SearchSecurity –there’s the hope that all will be right with the world if you get out of a job you hate and into something else. I was so desperate to leave The Eagle-Tribune that I would have taken a gig as a trash truck driver if it were available. At one point I seriously considered applying for postal work. TechTarget by comparison was a far better job for me. But I was so messed up inside that I couldn’t enjoy it for the first two years.

–When the change happened inside of me, I think my overall approach to work changed. Had I gone through it while still at The Eagle-Tribune, I might still be working there. I probably would have been happier there simply as the result of getting a grip on my demons. That said, I’m glad things unfolded as they did.

Sometimes it’s not the job that’s the problem. Sometimes it’s just the employee’s state of mind.

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Oddly Enough, This Day Will Not Suck

I’m snowed in again and both kids are home. By 6:20 a.m. they were already fighting over the family laptop. I’m dead tired. But despite it all, I’m thinking this day will NOT suck. Here’s why.

–The first reason is that I started the day by listening to one of my favorite Boston bands, The Neighborhoods, covering one of my favorite Cheap Trick songs:

[youtube=http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=V3QHFAPcYTM&fs=1&hl=en_US&rel=0]

–The second reason is that I got a particularly damn good cup of caffeine by my side. Since there have been storms where the power went out before I got my first cup of coffee, I consider this a blessing of massive proportions.

–The third reason is that I just found an amusing article about a woman busted in the airport security line for trying to smuggle 44 iPhones in her stockings. I have a bit to say about that in my security blog.

–I can spend the work day in my bathrobe and tattered gym pants if I want to. I probably won’t, because at some point I’ll want to change before going out to shovel the driveway. But I could if I wanted to.

–Having Sean and Duncan in close proximity as I try to work won’t be easy. But at some point we’ll break to watch some Star Wars. And for an hour or two, I can be a kid again.

–It’s always nice to have a work-at-home day with my wife, though it’s always nicer when the kids are in school. But it’s still quality time, so I’ll take it.

–I have my sunshine in a box on the table nearby. That makes the darkness of winter a little less glaring to my imbalanced mind. 

–The close proximity to the kids all day makes it likely that I’ll be writing a “Stuff My Kids Say Part 4” later on.

Don’t let the snow get you down, people. Things can always be much, much worse.

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Hackers Are People Too

Written after ShmooCon 2011…

I have a bit of an anti-social streak in me tonight. Since I’m at a hacker conference in D.C., some might say I fit right in. But then those people have a narrow, bullshit view of the hacker community.

For those not educated in the ways of the hacker crowd, you have the good guys, who break stuff so it can be fixed and made more ironclad so the bad-guy hackers can’t exploit the holes.

It’s just a reflection of the human race itself: You have good guys and bad guys; social people and anti-social people. I have a lot of friends in this particular circle. I write about what they do because it’s my job as a security journalist. But I identify with a lot of them on a much more human level.

Many of them have spouses and kids they love dearly, like me. Many of them have struggled with their own mental health troubles, like me. Some of them have suffered from addictive behavior, like me.

To pin someone as evil or anti-social because of their work is typical short-sighted thinking. Hackers get stigmatized, just like people with mental illnesses.

I’ve been thinking a lot about the anti-social stereotype recently because in some ways I can be anti-social. Some of you will say that’s stupid because you know the talkative me. But sometimes I get awkward in a crowd, especially a party crowd. A big reason is that I’m sober and it can be tricky getting comfortable around people who are not. Last night I actually did a pretty good job of socializing, but tonight I’m skipping the big conference party. I’ve had enough temptation for one week.

It gets equally strange for me in food situations, like the sushi fiasco I wrote about yesterday. I had a conversation with my sponsor about it the other day — the fact that when you can only eat and drink certain things, it’s nearly impossible in a public setting not to display some level of anti-social behavior. If everyone in a room is eating and sucking down cocktails, the guy who isn’t eating or drinking sticks out like a wart-encrusted nose.

Adding to the awkwardness is the knowledge that people in recovery can take it so far that the program itself becomes an addiction. And when that happens, you can be one anti-social bastard.

I’ve been on a tirade about the latter group in recent weeks. But when I’m surrounded by the stuff I binged on, I can see why “recovery addicts” are the way they are. Better to approach recovery like an addiction than to go back to the junk that destroyed you.

But there’s a silver lining.

When I was a slave to my addictions I was as anti-social as you could possibly get. I preferred hiding indoors and avoiding people. I was a mess and I looked the part. I didn’t want to be seen. I hid in my room and never noticed as the place started to stink from the discarded food bags and cigarette smoke.

I lived in Lynnfield, Mass., for a couple years and I had a room that was cut off from the rest of the house, with its own bathroom. I’d let the towels pile up and grow mold. I’d cut my hair or shave my beard and leave whiskers in the sink for days. When Erin and I first started dating, that bathroom was a place she didn’t particularly like being in. Why she stuck with me after seeing the filth I lived in is beyond me. Thank God she did, though.

Today, even though I feel anti-social when I’m the sober one among folks who are enjoying alcohol, I’m still in a much friendlier place than I used to be.

I’m also lucky at events like this because this crowd understands where I’ve been and they put effort into making me feel welcome.

That’s right. Hacker types making an effort to put me at ease.

That has to surprise some people. But as you know, some people are badly under-educated about certain cultural circles. The hacking circle is one of them.

Maybe this confuses you. It confuses me, too.

I should go to sleep, but fuck it. I’m going to go downstairs and take another crack at being a little less anti-social.

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Depressed But OK With It

Actually, I’m not going through a wave of depression right now. But it does come and go and I’ve had to learn how to be OK with it. A new friend who found this blog told me she’s struggling with the concept.

This post is directed toward her. It’s my attempt to answer some questions she asked me about it.

Mood music:

[spotify:track:3p7XSsT6AFs9lCkv6FtLbj]

You mentioned that you have frequent bouts of depression medication and therapy don’t seem to touch, and that you’re at a point where you’re learning — trying to learn, anyway — how to live with it and be happy, even though you’re kind of resigned to the notion that true happiness is beyond your reach.

The answer is complicated, but it goes something like this:

First, I should mention that I still have my ups and downs and always will. Bad things will still happen, but I know beautiful things will happen, too.

My addictive personality still pins me to the wall sometimes. I’m not binge eating or drinking like I used to, but the temptation is always lurking nearby, taunting me. I’ve learned to manage my OCD pretty well, but it still escapes from its cage on occasion. My wife will testify to that.

Too much OCD out of control will almost always send me back to the depressed place.

A couple years ago I started to wonder if I’d ever understand true happiness in the face of these chronic conditions. The answer, I’ve found, is yes. Sort of.

I don’t think I’m happy in the conventional sense. But I don’t think anyone really enjoys that kind of happiness.

And that’s the problem.

We have an overdeveloped sense of what happiness is supposed to be. I call it the Happily Ever After Syndrome. We have this stupid idea that if we can just get the right job, find the right mate, accumulate the right amount of material things and have as little conflict with people as possible that we’re going to be on cloud nine for the rest of our lives.

Deep down we know that’s bullshit. But we reach for it anyway.

It’s a battle of false expectations. And when we can’t reach those expectations, it’s a huge let-down. It creates a hole in our souls that we try to fill with more material things and with alcohol, food, drugs or a combination of the three. For others, porn works, too.

That stuff makes us feel better for a few minutes, but before long we feel worse than ever.

I think that hole is still in me. But through the Grace of God it’s gotten a lot smaller.

My faith is part of it. Some people shut right down when you mention faith, but I can’t avoid the subject, because believing in a higher power and fighting tooth and nail to devote myself to Him is something that filled me with a peace I didn’t have previously.

Some people have told me it’s a waste to live that way because after death there’s nothing but darkness. OK, let’s supposed their right. I still have no regrets, because living this way is better than living with the shame I always felt when I was all about me. I’ve also noticed something about people who think I’m crazy for that: They never seem to be happy, either. But I try not to judge them. I’ve done enough wrong in my life to know that I’m in no position to do so.

That doesn’t stop me from being an ass at times, thinking I’m better than the next person. But it helps.

The biggest thing, though, is that at some point I changed my expectations. Some might say I lowered them. More accurately, I think I just discarded expectations altogether. Sometimes the expectations still swell beyond reality, but they’re much more in check than they used to be.

And through that process, I’ve discovered there is happiness. In being more accepting about the low points, I can deal with them more quickly and move on.

I used to grope around for eternal happiness in religious conversion. But some of my hardest days came AFTER I was Baptized a Catholic. I eventually found my way to abstinence and sobriety and got a pretty good handle on the OCD. But there have been plenty of sucky days since then.

I like to think of these setbacks as growing pains. We’re supposed to have bad days to test the better angels of our nature. We’re supposed to learn how to move forward despite the obstacles that used to make us hide and get junked up. When you can stay sober and keep your mental disorders in check despite a bad day, that’s REAL recovery.

This is where I consider myself lucky for having had Crohn’s Disease. That’s a chronic condition. It comes and goes. But you can reach a point where the flare ups are minimal.

It’s the same with mental illness and addiction. You can’t rid yourself of it completely. But you can reach a point — through a lot of hard work and leaps of Faith — where the episodes are minimal.

Accepting all this for what it is lets me be happy.

Prozac, therapy and the 12 Steps have helped me immensely. But they don’t take the deeper pain at your core away. These things just help you deal with the rough days without getting sucked back into the abyss.

The depression I experience now is more like a flare up of arthritis or a passing headache than that desperate, mournful feeling I used to get. It’s a nag, but it doesn’t break me. It used to break me all the time.

That’s progress.

Maybe I’m not happy forever after, but that’s OK. My ability to separate the blessings from the bullshit has improved considerably in the last five years.

That’s good enough for me.

I hope someday it’s good enough for you, too.

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Mental Illness and Cybersecurity

I want to flag you all to a post I just wrote in my security blog, Salted Hash, on CSOonline.com. It’s based on the opening talk at the ShmooCon security conference in Washington D.C.

The speaker, Marsh Ray, uses the fragile mental condition as the basis of a talk called “A paranoid schizophrenia-based model of data security.”

The post I wrote could easily work as a post in this blog. But the most appropriate audience this time were the people I write for in my day job.

Please check it out here, and thanks.

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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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Do TV Shows About OCD Make Me Angry?

A friend asked what I think of how OCD is portrayed on TV. The answer isn’t as cut and dry as you might expect.

This is actually a good time to tackle the subject, because yesterday I got the following message from someone who read my “Red Bull Blues” post:

My name is Rebecca and I’m a casting producer for the TLC show “Freaky Eaters.” We’re currently looking for ADULTS ADDICTED TO ENERGY DRINKS for Season 2 of the show.

For more info or to nominate someone, please send an email to pickyeaterscasting@gmail.com with your name, age, number, and brief description of your daily consumption of energy drinks/caffeine.

Hope to hear from you soon!

Sorry, Rebecca. I won’t be auditioning for that one.

It’s not that I don’t think there’s a useful case study to be had in the stories of people addicted to energy drinks. I just don’t think most of the reality shows are doing it right. The goal is always to show the viewer a train wreck purely for the sake of the train wreck. I never walk away learning anything new about what to do if you have such an addiction.

As a recovering addict, I know the real answer is years of often painful, often mundane and always complicated therapy and building of coping skills. I have yet to see a 30- or 60-minute reality show that pulls it off.

If a mental illness is going to be tackled in a reality TV show, give me something I can use. I don’t need drama for drama’s sake.

Another question is if I get angry about shows that poke fun at people with OCD. No, I don’t.

If you can’t laugh at it from time to time, you can’t successfully fight it. Let’s be honest: Some of the habits of an OCD head case like me are amusing. It’s hard not to crack a smile at the sight of someone checking their laptop bag seven times to make sure the computer is really in there. I do that all the time, and I don’t mind if someone finds amusement in it.

Then there are TV shows like “Monk.” I was never a consistent viewer of that one, but I always liked what I did see. What’s not to like about an OCD guy who solves crimes?

Bottom line: Most programming about OCD is harmless. Sometimes you actually learn something valuable. Sometimes, the program is nothing but crap that was made for the sake of drama.

There is a movie being made that I think is going to change the way people look at OCD cases.

A reader pointed me toward the website for “Machine Man: The Movie” last month, and I’ve been digging around the site, totally captivated. There’s a “why we’re doing this” clip on the site that sounds a lot like the reasons I started this blog.

The website is chock full of useful information on the illness and I think the project is going to help a lot of people understand what this is all about.

Film maker Kellie Madison deserves a lot of praise for taking on this complicated beast.

She could also use everyone’s help to fund this project.

From the Facebook page:

“We are raising all of the money for this movie through donations and fundraising! Our hope is to demystify some of the stigma attached to OCD and encourage people to seek proper treatment and get their lives back! Be a part of making this project happen!”

At the very least, you should “like” the Facebook page for the film and share it with friends and family. They will learn a lot.

Bottom line: There’s a lot of crap about OCD on TV, but for someone like me to get uptight about it would just be a waste of time. There’s also a lot of useful programming on the disorder, especially the news-based programs.

But good or bad, I don’t get offended. The folks who are serious about getting an education in mental health know where to find the valuable stuff most of the time.

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