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Find Yourself a Real Doctor

Written in June, 2010.

Here’s the thing: Asking me for medical advice is like asking Charles Manson how to be a pacifist.

Mood music:

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In the months since I started this blog, I’ve noticed something expected but weird nonetheless:

People are coming to me for medical advice.

Several people who saw my post on living with Crohn’s Disease sent me their phone numbers and asked me to call them. I always do, and the person at the other end will start listing a bunch of issues they’re having and asking me what I think.

In one of my posts about the binge eating addiction I mentioned that at the deepest depths of the addiction I would get chest pains and wake up in the middle of the night puking up stomach acid. Someone wanted to talk about how that’s been happening to them.

Then there’s the OCD itself. People will approach me in droves about their issues and how they think they might have OCD or some other mental disorder.

To be clear, I’m not putting down those who have come to me with this stuff. I respect them all and am glad they feel they can talk to me. Sometimes talking about your problems in and of itself is a huge step on the road to dealing with it. I’m more than happy to help. Heck, that’s one of the reasons I started this blog.

But before we go any further, I just want everyone to remember that I’m not a doctor and no two sufferers are the same.

I’m the last person you want to go to for a medical advice. That would be like going to Charles Manson for a better understanding of law and order.

It’s natural to ask someone who has been through something you think you might have for advice before seeking out a doctor. I’ve done it many times myself. The thought of seeing a doctor and going for a bunch of tests is scary.

But it’s necessary.

Had I not found the right doctors along the way, I’d be in bad shape today, maybe even dead (mentally dead, anyway).

All I have to offer is my personal experiences. I can tell you where I’ve been, what I’ve learned from the experience and how I got to the generally good health I enjoy today. But none of what I tell you will be rooted in medical certainty. There are people out there who have been through very similar experiences as mine. But everyone’s outcome is a bit different, especially when it comes to the treatment methods that work for the individual.

My solution to the binge-eating disorder was Overeaters Anonymous, a rigid food plan devoid of flour and sugar and a 12-step program. The combination has been a life saver for me, but probably wouldn’t work for a lot of other people.

One of my many tools for managing OCD is the drug Prozac. But the same drug will do nothing for the next guy and might even make matters worse.

This is tricky stuff.

And for that, you need a real doctor.

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Therapist Shopping

A few months ago my therapist retired and moved to warmer environs in the south. He said I was managing my OCD well and that I didn’t need therapy until the autumn.

Mood music:

http://youtu.be/Ils9GXqU03c

That last appointment was in the spring, with the season’s increasingly long periods of daylight, the environment I function best in.

Now it’s late October, with shorter days, and the seasonal issues are starting to kick in. Sunday I started getting chest pains and Monday I was breaking out in a sweat for no good reason. I’m familiar with these symptoms. It usually starts as heartburn and then my OCD runs wild with thoughts that I might be having a heart attack. When that worry increases, the sweat appears.

It’s a classic anxiety attack.

I used to get them all the time, but in recent years they’re few and far between. When I get one, it usually means I’m experiencing some big stress in my life.

I thought about what might be causing it. All in all, life is good. My wife and children are healthy. I love my job. Most things are status quo, except that we’re still helping the kids adjust to life in a new school. But that’s been an ongoing processes and hasn’t kept me up at night. So what’s the deal?

Of course, that’s what therapists are for: helping you yank out the underlying issues you can’t see on the surface.

I’ve been shopping for a new therapist for a couple months now. It hasn’t been easy. I’ve called several that I researched online. Most haven’t called back. The rest weren’t the right fit.

Fortunately, I have great friends looking out for me. One friend, herself a mental health specialist, is working her contacts and getting me names. From that list, I may have found the therapist I’m looking for.

Wish me luck.

patient therapist

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Songs That Mattered After 9-11-01

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

I’m in the middle of a campout as I write this, and though some of those around me are wilting in the 90-plus degree heat, I have to admit that I’m loving it.

Mood music:

It’s not that I enjoy the sweating and humidity-saturated clothing. What I enjoy is my mental state during long, sunny days. I’m always in better humor, more creative and more in the moment than I am in the dead of winter, when I’m more given to depression. The sun seems to play a role in balancing my brain chemistry for optimal performance. This is often called Seasonal Affective Disorder (SAD).

The new Superman movie, Man of Steel, presents an interesting analogy for me. Superman gets his strength from the sun. His Kryptonian cells drink it up and become batteries that propel him to great feats.

I remember one Superman comic book series in which the sun temporarily goes out, and Superman’s powers go out with it. The sun returns, but it takes some time for his powers to come back because his cells require a lot of time to recharge.

In a similar fashion, my optimal mental health doesn’t appear immediately after the clock springs ahead for more daylight. This past year, in fact, some of my most winter-like behavior surfaced mid-spring. But once the sun seeps deep into my brain chemistry, I’m good. Very good.

My goal is to get that state of mind to last longer and longer. That my mood fluctuations got worse in spring may actually be a good sign. Usually they rear their ugly heads in early February. That could mean progress. Or it could just be coincidence. I also admit that some of my spring-time brooding was the result of months-long uncertainty about where my career was headed.

I don’t know what the future will bring. I only know what I’ll be doing to make it as good as I can.

For now, I’m just grateful that we’re in the tight grip of summer.

Man Of Steel

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Vice’s Suicide Spread Has a Right to Exist

Vice magazine created a shitstorm by publishing a photo spread of models depicted as famous female authors at the moment of their suicides. I’m all for freedom of expression and would never advocate banning such things. But as an art fan I can offer my critique: This spread was utter crap.

Mood music:

Vice pulled the feature down from its site after a public outcry, but the print version is still available and the magazine got the desired attention in the process. That’s what magazines like Vice are all about — doing shocking things for attention. In radio, that’s what shock jocks do. Fine.

But as someone who lost a dear friend to suicide and has watched many good, talented souls lose the battle against depression and insanity, it seems like all we have here is a glorification of brilliant lives gone to waste. The photos include a model portraying Virginia Wolf at the moment she fills her clothes with boulders and drowns herself. The “Last Words” feature also recreated the suicide of Beat poet Elise Cowen, who jumped to her death from the window of a building her parents were living in at the time.

Though the spread has been removed, the photos also appear with an article on the controversy in the publication Jezebel.

When I say this spread was crap, I’m speaking from the perspective of someone who admittedly gets set off about suicide. But that’s a personal opinion. If people want to create this kind of art, that should be their right.

As well, once something is published, the publication ought to stand by it. Pulling the spread was stupid. If you’re not willing to stand by your art, you’re a coward. I offered my critique. Others should be able to do so as well.

I don’t know if there’s a lesson in here. I’m not one to tell people how they should express themselves. That would be hypocritical of me.

As for the question of whether the spread glamorized suicide and possibly inspired future acts of self-demise, I’m not really worried about that. Art depicting that kind of darkness has always been out there. That’s a staple of the heavy metal music I love so much. People may find that kind of art cathartic or they may not. But neither the art or the artist is responsible for what people do because of that art.

Instead of banning art that glorifies suicide, we need to keep coming up with better suicide prevention tools. Fortunately, there’s a lot of activity on that front, including movements in the tech industry to provide suicide prevention training and forums for those experiencing job depression to make sense of their lives and relate to the pain of others.

As long as such prevention and education activities persist, we have a fighting chance to gain an upper hand over depression, even in the face of art that makes suicide look glamorous and cool.

Vice Fiction Edition

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Teething Trouble

I’ve just started the new job and am happy as hell to be here. I’m finding I’ll fit right in. But when a person is a couple days into a new job, there’s usually an unsettled feeling. In my case, the challenge is not to be an asshole about it.

Mood music:

I’m not sure I’m having much success there, particularly at home, where I’m told I’ve been cranky and snippy and in OCD overdrive. I know the latter is true, because I know my trigger behavior when it surfaces. I get anxious to set up the new laptop, get work email on the phone and get access to all my various online portals. Most of that went fine &emdash; until I tried to access the dashboard for this blog. My username and password wouldn’t work. When I got home, I became obsessed with fixing the problem.

Erin and I tried all kinds of things to get me in and I dug in deeper every time we failed. It turns out I was simply using the wrong admin link. How stupid do I feel right now? Pretty stupid.

It’s been a long season of feeling unsettled as I went through the process of getting the new gig. I stayed a month at the old job before starting here so I could finish my various projects instead of dumping them on someone else’s lap. The result was that I pushed myself hard to the bitter end, leaving myself no time to detach and enjoy being a lame duck. Friends said I should have taken a vacation before starting the new job, and they’re probably right. But what’s done is done.

I have to right myself and pull it together, which means:

  • Being more disciplined about meditation. I’ve been doing it, but I can’t seem to sustain the balanced feeling for more than a few minutes after doing the exercise.
  • Getting a new therapist. Though my last therapist told me I didn’t need it anymore, I’m realizing that I still do. I don’t need weekly sessions or even bi-weekly. Once a month might do it (or not). But I need an objective voice to keep sounding the siren when I go barking up the wrong tree.
  • Making the kids pull their weight. My kids have chores they’re supposed to do. But I have no patience right now, so if they don’t move fast enough I do it for them. Being children, they’re happy to let me do that, but in trying to do everything on the chore side I become a scattered mess. I need to pull back.
  • Praying. Checking in with the man upstairs is always helpful to me — when I remember to do it.

I know I’ll get through this, and the truth is that there are nothing but good things happening in my life right now. I’ll keep you all posted.

Cracked Glass
Photo Credit: W J (Bill) Harrison via Compfight cc
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I’m Not a Hero

In the three-plus years I’ve been writing this blog, I frequently get messages from people telling me I’m a hero for opening up about my mental health experiences. It always makes me wince.

Mood music:

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A new wave of hero labeling hit after a Forbes article came out about my turning OCD into a career strength. One tweet read:

New hero: @BillBrenner70, #OCD survivor, stigma killer, & tech journo who says mental illness can help execs succeed: onforb.es/14olwPK

I appreciate that people find value in what I’m doing, and I love getting feedback from readers. But when someone calls me a hero, I get uncomfortable because I have a different idea of what a hero is. I tend to see heroes the old-fashioned way: someone who risks their life to help others. The image of first responders and bystanders rushing into the smoke to care for the wounded after the Boston Marathon bombings comes to mind.

I’m just someone who talks about the challenges we all have. It falls under the category of “Everybody does it. I just talk about it.”

Useful, yes. Heroic? I don’t think so. I’m just a man who makes mistakes and tries hard to get life right.

Erin suggested I don’t like being called a hero because I feel pressure to live up to the title and that I fear the possibility of failing to measure up. I think there’s truth to that.

Whatever the case may be, I don’t mean to sound ungrateful. I just want people to have realistic expectations of me.

But then that wish isn’t very realistic, is it? We’re going to see people through our own biases, distastes, hopes and dreams. That’s the human way.

I’ll keep trying to remember that.

Cavill, Man of Steel

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Falling Off the Mountain Syndrome

Something excellent happened in my life this week. I’ll tell you more about that next week. But for now, let me tell you about something that happens whenever I’m the recipient of awesomeness.

I get the wits knocked out of me.

Mood music:

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I woke up this morning with a nasty headache, a sore neck, and a stomach churning acid like an active volcano getting ready to spew lava.

I call it Falling Off the Mountain Syndrome. It’s not so much a depression or virus as much as it’s exhaustion. I experience it for a couple days after capturing a long-sought dream.

Some have described the feeling this way: They’ve chased something the way a dog chases after a moving car. Then it finally catches the bumper and experiences a high that turns into the ultimate “Now what?” feeling. It’s an abrupt shift in emotions that shakes one’s innards the way they’d be shaken if you flew into a brick wall.

Another way to describe it is the feeling you get after drinking three cups of coffee too many.

The good news is that the feeling doesn’t last long. But I think it’s going to limit my productivity today.

Next week, the good fortune that led to this latest bout will be revealed.

Facelift

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TV News and Depression: How I Learned To Turn It Off

This week’s news coverage of the Boston Marathon bombings and the aftermath only hardened the feelings I express below. I have nothing but contempt for the big three: CNN, Fox and MSNBC. Local news did a far more admirable job covering this tragedy.

 

I find myself increasingly outraged at what I see on the TV news channels lately. I’m not talking about the news itself, but the way it’s presented with loud graphics, dramatic music and louder newscasters.

To watch CNN, Fox News, MSNBC or any number of local news affiliates is to be rattled. And, in fact, before I learned to turn it off, I couldn’t take my eyes away. It took an already depressed, out-of-control person and made him three times worse.

I should probably laugh it off and move on. But the fact of the matter is that this stuff used to leave me a crippled mess.

When you have an out-of-control case of obsessive compulsive disorder (OCD), you latch onto all the things you can’t control and worry about them nonstop. Nothing feeds that devil like the cable news networks. I’ve written before about the anxiety and fear I used to have over current events. I would think about all the things going on in the world over and over again, until it left me physically ill. I personally wanted to set everything right and control the shape of events, which of course is delusional, dangerous thinking.

Right after 9-11 I realized the obsession had taken a much darker, deeper tone. This time, I had the Internet as well as the TV networks to fill me with horror. Everyone was filled with horror on 9-11, obviously, but while others were able to go about their business in a depressed haze, I froze. Two weeks after the event, I refused to get on a plane to go to a wedding in Arizona. Everyone was afraid to fly at that point, but I let my fear own me. It’s one of my big regrets.

Part of the problem was my inability to take my eyes off the news. To do so for a five-hour plane ride was unthinkable. To not know what was going on for five hours? Holy shit. If I don’t know about it, I can’t control it!

I really used to think like that.

The start of the War on Terror brought out the rock-bottom worst in TV news. Every possible danger, no matter how unsupported by facts, was flashed on the screen with the urgency of imminent doom. I remember how Wolf Blitzer of CNN used the word “alarming” just about every night as the analysts discussed the hundred different ways the terrorists could really kick us in the balls next time:

— Releasing smallpox back into the air

–Detonating a nuclear device in front of the White House

–Diving planes into nuclear power plants.

In a time when the right answer would have been to hold our heads up and show the bad guys we don’t hide in the face of danger, this stuff brought out the worst in us, especially an already emotionally sick guy like me.

It didn’t have to be matters of war and peace, either.

In the weeks leading up to the 2004 presidential election, all the TV news commentators could talk about was the last election and how there was growing fear that a repeat of the electoral deadlock of 2000 would repeat itself.

Analysts talked about all the glitches that could happen as if they were watching a knife go into their chest. Already consumed by fear and anxiety, I freaked over this, too.

A year later, right after Hurricane Katrina hit, TV news stations felt the need to go over every conceivable disaster that might wipe us out next: Bird flu, nuclear plant meltdowns, earthquakes and other unpredictable events. It made a mess of me.

I can’t pinpoint the exact period where I decided this stuff no longer had meaning to me, but I think it was around the time I started taking the right medication for OCD in early 2007.

All of the sudden, I didn’t care as much about watching the news. I simply lost interest. And I’ve been a lot happier as a result.

The timing may be a coincidence. My Faith also started to deepen around that time, and the more I learned to trust God and let go of the things I couldn’t control, the more meaningless CNN’s loudness became.

Today, I’m as addicted to the Internet as I used to be to the TV. But I don’t really watch the news online. I’ll quickly glance over the headlines and maybe stick around if a political analysis intrigues me enough. But I’m much more likely to get sucked into all the music videos available on YouTube or who is saying what on Facebook and Twitter. That too is something I know I need to be careful of, but it’s fair to say that that stuff doesn’t send me into shock and panic like CNN and Fox used to.

Somewhere along the way, as I watched news reports of bomb explosions and natural calamities half a world away, I looked up and realized everything outside my living room window was tranquil and uneventful.

I’ve operated on that mindset ever since.

Call me apathetic or ignorant. Tell me I’m in denial.

All I can tell you is that things in the world look much different to me now than they did just a few short years ago.

And though I consumed more news this past week than I have in a long time, I still managed to walk away quite a bit. That’s probably why I’m able to type this without my hands shaking.

22003291_SS

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Julian Assange: Autistic Hacker Or Just An A-hole?

Last year I wrote a post about a report suggesting autism is an affliction of the brilliant. One man mentioned as an example was WikiLeaks founder Julian Assange, who has described himself as having the “hacker’s disease.” Yesterday, a reader’s comment inspired me to revisit the issue.

Mood music:

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The reader said in part:

This compares a neurological disorder to genius people whose curiosity takes finite state machines to places that their creators never imagined. How’s that? Julian (who I met once) is an egomaniac and an arrogant prick, and Daniel (who I do know) and the rest of them have given him the Heisman. If he’s representative of hackers, then I’m cancelling my membership! Kids have always been a PITA for parents, especially ones that “won’t behave”. First it was “hyperactive” – then it was “ADD” then “ADHD”. It’s always some excuse for f**ked up parents who hit their kids, kids who are too smart and see through their parents’ bullshit.

 

A friend in the security community once took me to task for using the autism angle because he felt it was unfair to compare someone with a neurological disorder with me and my OCD struggle. He was right that the two are vastly different things, but for me it wasn’t simply about comparing myself with someone who has autism. It was more about my interest in people who have abilities within them, diseases and disorders be damned.

We’ve seen countless stories about people who rise above physical and mental limitations to achieve greatness, and I’m always inspired after hearing about them.

As for the reader’s comment, I agree with one thing: A lot of parents do make excuses for kids who don’t fall in line, and that often leads to a misguided diagnosis. But that’s beside the point.

Is something like autism a hacker’s disease? I have no idea. Frankly, I don’t care.

Each of us has something from within that can either hold us back or propel us forward: A blessing hidden inside a perceived curse.  That’s what OCD has been for me: A curse when left to rage out of control, and a blessing when managed and properly harnessed.

Some of us are afflicted with disorders that can’t be managed so easily; maladies that force people into wheelchairs or psychiatric hospitals. The victim has little control over it, and is trapped. For some, the affliction attacks the nerves and muscles. For others, the disease targets the brain and disables basic functions. In both cases, all or part of the brain still burns brightly, and the individual is able to ride that to something good. Like Stephen Hawking. And, in some cases, like hackers.

The one constant is that we’re all handed challenges in life. If the mind works, what matters from there are the choices we make and the lengths we’re willing to travel to rise above.