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The Christmas Dispirit

Yesterday was a day for vicious mood swings. It started on a high note at work. I got a lot done and I’m loving this new newsy focus we’re transitioning to. But by the drive home, my mood grew as dark as the sky.

Mood music:

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

Things got progressively worse at home. Sean and Duncan were high maintenance and I let it get to me much more than I usually do. I started thinking in absolutes, which is especially bad when it’s focused on all the negatives.

I was looking around at all the Christmas decorations with a scowl. I wrote the other day that Christmas doesn’t suck like it used to. But there are still days where I hate the holidays.

I love what it stands for.

I despise the capitalistic shit fest American culture has turned it into. And yesterday was a lot about all the things we HAVE to buy. I also get pissed off at all the Christmas shows that suggest this time of year be perfect, that we all be nicer to each other and be generous with our time and money so the less fortunate can have hope. The translation when I think in absolutes goes something like this: Be nice this month and we can all go back to being fucktards next month.

Public school systems do nothing to help matters and make the next generation kinder and gentler. Unless you’re in a parochial school Christmas is a secular affair. Keeping the Christ in Christmas might offend someone. So we focus on the decorations and the holiday spending. Hell, some schools don’t even allow the decorations anymore.

If you’re reading this and rolling your eyes because I’m suggesting the holidays should be more about Faith and that we should be nice to each other year-round instead of each December — and if you’re looking down at me because you think only the weak believe in God, I got two words for you, and it’s not “Merry Christmas.”

To be fair, those of my Faith can be assholes of a different sort this time of year. My favorite example is “Happy Holidays” vs. “Merry Christmas.” We Catholics get all pissy when someone says Happy Holidays, because there’s no Christ in there. So what if the saying is based on the fact that there are several holidays this time of year, covering multiple beliefs. “Happy Holiday” covers all the bases —Hanukkah, Thanksgiving, etc.

I still say “Merry Christmas” to people though.

Sounds hypocritical of me, doesn’t it? Getting on my high horse a few paragraphs above and lamenting at the lack of Christ in Christmas? But like I’ve said before, I can be a self-absorbed hypocrite with the best of ’em.

And that’s what I’ve been for the last 24 hours: Self absorbed. 

And there was no good reason for it, because in the final analysis my life is going fine. I’m blessed beyond anything I deserve.

I had a slip of the OCD. I let the dark weather and the holiday runaround get the better of me. That led to me obsessing about everything that’s wrong with the holidays instead of everything that’s right with it.

Classic OCD behavior. I guess you could call it a day in my life on the OC-D List.

Thank God I have a wife who knows the signs and moves in to help. Last night her and the kids did a bunch of my chores while I was at an OA meeting. She instinctively knew my load needed to be lightened.

It amazes me that she catches on the way she does, because I really suck at talking about it. I can write about it and the world sees in. But when it’s just the two of us, I have trouble opening up. I start channeling my father without meaning to. My Dad is a great man and I love him wholeheartedly. But he’s always had trouble opening up emotionally, and that characteristic seeped into my pores while I was swimming in the gene pool.

But I’m trying to be better. I’ll keep trying.

And now I’ll stop bitching, because I hate it when other people go on Facebook and bitch about the hard day they’re having.

Did I mention that I can be a hypocrite?

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The Diagnosis

A lot of readers have been asking me about when exactly I was diagnosed with OCD and how I reacted to it. Did it drive me into a deeper depression? Did I worry about being misdiagnosed? Let’s see if I can retrace those moments…

Mood music:

[spotify:track:4bKGlkCUp5hBEVT14oifgI]

The diagnosis was slow in coming, though I always assumed I had what I had. When I first started getting help in 2004, that first therapist resisted giving me a diagnosis. For one thing, it was still way to early to pin an acronym on my demons. The therapist also hated diagnosing people because she felt a diagnosis was just a label that never tells the entire story.

My third therapist finally gave me a diagnosis in the spring of 2006.

I sat there in her office, staring at the floor as I told her about the old therapist’s dislike of labels.

“Well, do you have obsessive thoughts all the time?” she asked.

“Yup,” I said.

“Does it make you do compulsive things?” she asked.

“Yup,” I said. “I binge eat all the time even though I know it’ll eventually kill me. I just can’t stop.”

“Does it cause disorder in your life?” she asked.

“Absolutely,” I said. “Every day is an exhausting hell.”

“Well, then we may as well call it what it is,” she said.

Obsessive Compulsive Disorder.

Was I misdiagnosed?

It really doesn’t matter. I had a problem that was destroying me from the inside out. Putting a label on it helped me because instead of smoke and shadows, I finally had a way to see my struggle in a more concrete fashion. It had finally taken a form. I could see it, therefore I could punch it. Punch it I did, repeatedly.

It always gets back up and I have to keep throwing punches. But it’s better than trying to swing at shadows.

It’s a tricky thing, because in plenty of cases people do get misdiagnosed and the results are damaging. It can lead to prescriptions that don’t get at the root problem, making you worse.

In my case, the diagnosis was accurate. The treatment turned out to be right on, at least.

I think it was more of a relief than cause for a deeper spiral into depression. Because I had something to call it, I could move on to the next phase of recovery.

I still had many bad days after that. Some of my worst days, in fact. It would still be another two years before I could bring my addictions to heel.

The anxiety attacks didn’t cease until I started taking Prozac in early 2007.

But slowly, I got better.

It would be stupid for me to tell you not to freak and backslide after getting a diagnosis. It can be a frightening thing.

The biggest fear is that everyone will define you if you go public. That didn’t happen to me. At work, I’m judged on how I do my job, not on my disease. Of course, the OCD sometimes fuels some of my best work, which makes that less of a problem.

To me, the lesson is to not let a diagnosis be the excuse to live a less than worthwhile life and give in to your darker impulses.

Like anything else in life, you gotta make the best of it.

Obviously, that’s easier said than done.

Diagnosis-Easier

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The Rudolph Conspiracy

I just got done watching a pretty warped video on YouTube that merges “Rudolph the Red-nosed Reindeer” with “Full Metal Jacket.” It got me thinking about what that kid’s Christmas special says about society.

I always get a kick out of how Santa is portrayed in this one. He’s the typical asshole authority figure, shaming someone because they’re different. He’s cranky. He’s feeling the pressure. I’ve always related to this guy.

Then there’s the lead elf, really busting down Herbie because he doesn’t like to make toys. Whenever someone gives my son crap for liking the color pink, I think of Herbie the elf. The head elf actually reminds me of a guy I used to work with in my newspapering days.

I relate to the misfit toys as well. They’re sitting on that cold wasteland of an island, dejected and alone. I’ve felt dejected and alone in my day, but I never had a cool Hoth-like island to hide on.

Then there’s the snow monster. Everyone hates him, but he’s the most misunderstood guy in the room.

The cool thing about this Christmas special is that all the assholes learn their lesson and the misunderstood become understood.

It’s another reminder that there’s hope for all of us.

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Christmas Doesn’t Suck Like It Used To

The Christmas season remains an uncomfortable time of year for me. I’m used to going into a deep depression the second December starts. But something’s different this year. For the first time in a long time, I’m not dreading it.

Mood music:

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

Life isn’t perfect. It never will be. Not supposed to be. But I’m finally starting to move past the idea that Christmas is supposed to always be perfect, sparkling and free of pain and strife. Given my tendency to think in absolutes, it used to be that if I had an argument with someone or work was stressful that it was all the fault of the season.

Not helping was the chemical imbalance that set in when the days got shorter. A dark sky for me is usually a dark mood.

What’s different is that I’m looking at a lot of painful, hard work in the rear-view mirror. Years of intense therapy, the decision to bring my addictions to heel, letting God in and going on medication. In the last couple of years, all that toil has been starting to pay off and I’ve felt joys I could never feel before.

In the last year, I’ve also fought back hard against the daylight problem. I went up 20 MG on the Prozac last winter, dropped back to the old dosage for summer and moved back up Aug. 1, when the days become noticeably shorter. I also started using a special lamp — sunshine in a box, as I call it — and that has diminished the extreme moods.

They still come and go, but they’re not nearly as intense as they used to be.

I think the biggest reason I’m not dreading Christmas this time is that my perspective has changed. I’m not craving a “Pleasantville” atmosphere where everyone kicks back and smiles all jolly. I’m not expecting things to be idyllic. I guess you can say I’ve lowered my expectations.

People are still going to fight. Cars will still break down. Loved ones will still die. That no longer means Christmas is destroyed.

A lot of this is based on my deepening Faith.  

This time of year is about celebrating the birth of Christ. I love the glow of a lit Christmas tree as much as the next person. But I don’t care so much about all the gifting back and forth. It feels good to give, but I’ve realized the best thing I can give is my time for a friend in need or a family that’s always there for me.

If not for the sacrifice Jesus made for us sinners, I’d be in a world of shit. For all I know I still am. Purging evil behavior is a complicated task and I very much doubt I’ve mastered it.

Celebrating His birthday is wholly appropriate, regardless of the twists and turns life will inevitably take. Because that birth was our second chance — my second chance.

If you’re a skeptic and think I’m getting into crazy talk, I don’t care. I know I’m no better or worse than you, though in my delusional moments I like to think I am.

This is where my road has taken me, and I’m grateful for it.

And so, I think I can get up the courage to say these two words:

Merry Christmas.

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Thinking in Absolutes: A Bad Idea

One of the problems with a mind laden with OCD is that you think a lot in absolutes. It’s one of the first things you need to stop doing when you finally decide to get help. But six years in, I still haven’t conquered that beast.

Mood music:

[youtube=http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=1CpRCc4Jre8&fs=1&hl=en_US]

Thinking in absolutes when your in a good mood is dangerous because you tend to think you’re so much better than you really are. Example:

Someone tells me I’m a good writer.

Translation in absolute: I’m the best writer in the business.

That’s rubbish, of course. But it’s the way someone like me thinks when I’m wearing my stupid hat. Another example:

Someone tells me they really admire how I am with my children.

Translation in absolute: I’m such an awesome dad.

I try to be. But trust me: I’m not.

Someone tells me I’m a great husband.

Translation in absolute: I’m the PERFECT husband.

Sadly, I am far from it.

Most of the time, when I’m thinking in absolutes, it’s on the negative side. Examples:

You missed the mark a bit with that headline you wrote.

Translation in absolute: 16 years into this career, I still suck at writing.

You shouldn’t have let the kids watch so much TV.

Translation in absolute: I’m a horrible father.

That’s what thinking in absolutes is to me. I either think about something in the best possible terms or the worst. The truth is always somewhere in the middle.

When I think in absolutes, I’m thinking outside the box of reality. It makes for some manic mood swings. Lately, I’m realizing that I’m as far away from getting a handle on this as I was the day I realized something was seriously wrong inside my head and that I needed to get help. 

With that in mind, I go thinking in absolutes again: I’m no better a person than I was all those years ago.

That’s not true, of course. I’ve made tons and tons of progress.

But I have a long way to go.

That’s not something that’s absolutely terrible or absolutely wonderful.

It’s just the way it is.

Fortunately for me, my wife, kids and friends are able to see me as I am, and that — for better or worse — they accept me anyway.

I’m thankful for that.

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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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Feeling anxious

No, it’s not an anxiety attack. It’s not fear. But it’s a feeling of anxiousness I haven’t felt in a long while. The trigger is an old friend.

Mood music:

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

I used to live in a constant state of panic over work. The constant fear of not measuring up or being liked. A couple years ago I largely lost those fears. I just decided to do the best I could for me and let the chips fall where they may. That’s worked beautifully so far. I actually enjoy the work instead of wanting to puke over the tasks on my list.

As to how I’m feeling right now, it’s not the fear and anxiety of old. But it could be called a work-related stress. And not something the powers that be are making me feel. This is all me — all about the things in my head. 

I’m excited because we’re starting up a new news-driven blog on CSOonline that I’ve been itching to do for over a year. Some other tweaks are going on to the homepage as part of this. Meanwhile, we’re amping up a new CSO page on Facebook. I’m banging my head against the desk because I can’t seem to get all the news and Twitter feeds posting directly to the wall of the new Facebook page. So the blinders go on and I let the world around me melt as I stare intensely at my screens, groping for the solution. Being a control freak doesn’t help.

I just want to do this stuff and do it well. Better than well.

It’ll happen, but I gotta work on my patience and try to push back on the urge to have it all.

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Sleep

Thanks to a strict food plan I follow to keep the binge-eating disorder in its box, I’m not walking around a bloated mess like I used to. Instead, I gorged on something else yesterday.

Mood music:

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

I napped in the morning, I napped in the afternoon and I have no regrets.

I’ve always had an interesting relationship with sleep.

Back when I was slowly destroying myself, I would fall asleep at all the wrong times: In a restaurant while someone was talking to me, during moments of what was supposed to be catch-up time with Erin, and behind the wheel.

I still nod off early. But I’m up at 4 a.m. almost every morning. I don’t have to be. I just happen to open my eyes at that point. I can’t seem to help it. So by 7 or 8 p.m., it catches up to me.

For the most part, though, I only average about six hours of sleep a night. Sometimes, I get less than that.

When you don’t get at least eight hours of sleep a night for an extended period of time, it catches up with you. In my case, I go into cycles of depression. I feel doom and gloom for no good reason.

Erin knows this, and has been diligent in making me go to bed earlier, even when I’d rather be awake doing other things. 

I usually don’t give the sleep issue much thought, because my demons are rooted in many other, more insidious habits. But a friend of mine was just diagnosed with severe depression, and this dude has had a batshit-crazy sleep schedule for many years now. He gets into his office by 4 a.m. so he can leave early, but doesn’t really go to sleep until around 10 or later. Now it’s caught up with him.

Apparently it caught up to me yesterday. But it wasn’t the anxiety-driven kill switch that kicks in from time to time. This was a no-regrets trip to la-la land. Well, I regret it a little. I wanted to be up later to spend quality time with Erin, because she’s been working crazy hours lately and quality time is hard to come by. Last night I blew it on that score.

But looking at Thanksgiving day as a whole, it was much, much better than stuffing myself until I wanted to be dead.

The perfect balance still escapes me, but who really has the perfect balance anyway?

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Pounding the Reset Button

I mentioned Monday that I’ve hit a wall in my recovery program. Last night I decided some changes are in order.

Mood music:

[youtube=http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=9F8QM3tjkTE&fs=1&hl=en_US]

Making changes is a bitch. It’s almost like admitting failure. I haven’t failed on the big things. I’ve held on to my abstinence and sobriety. But in a lot of areas I’ve gotten sloppy.

A collection of tiny failures can add up.

I’ve gotten bored with my current plan, and as I’ve said before, boredom is poison for the addictive personality.

Boredom means the mind is free to start spinning. I feel uneasy and can’t settle on anything. Then I’m in the kitchen, looking through the cabinets.

I see a bottle of gin and consider taking a swig. If I do, surely no one will ever know. I see cupcakes Erin baked for the kids. Surely no one will notice if one goes missing. Or two. Or five. For about 20 minutes, I’m standing there seriously thinking about breaking both my abstinence from binge eating and my sobriety. Erin doesn’t have to know. My OA sponsor doesn’t have to know.

Then I come to my senses and leave the kitchen. Instead of doing what I used to do all the time, I make a couple calls to fellow addicts in recovery, take a shower and go to bed.

But if I let the boredom stick around for too long, one of these days I’ll be in a similar scenario, standing in the kitchen, and things won’t end as well as they did before.

I don’t want that.

So I’m pounding the reset button. Changes have to be made in the food plan. I might need to change sponsors, even though I love mine to death. I just need a fresh perspective.

I might have to stop sponsoring other people for awhile. I don’t feel right telling other people how to manage their recovery if my own recovery needs work.

Admitting that I have to do something is liberating. I feel a weight starting to lift off my shoulders.

It always feels better to be honest with yourself, because lies weigh you down.

For those who might worry about me over this, don’t. It’s all good. 

As anyone with long-term sobriety and abstinence will tell you, changes are always necessary from time to time. It’s like an oil change for the car.

This is a process I’m supposed to go through. And I get to go through it without having a full-blown relapse, which is mighty lucky of me.

The reset starts in 45 minutes, when I talk to my sponsor.