The OCD Diaries

May 16, 2011

Monthly Awareness Causes: The Numbing Effect

I usually skip writing about “awareness” months because I’ve found that, whether I write about it or not, these things cause eyes to glaze over.

Call me a pessimist or an idiot — I’ve been both at various times. But I can’t help feeling this way.

Mood music:

I think it’s great that we set aside a month here and there to drum up some extra attention for our causes, and it’s better to do it than not do anything at all.

But I’m skeptical that these things actually make more people get up and do something. Most will read about the cause and even agree with it, then quickly get sucked back into their busy lives.

It’s a side effect of living in the information age.

So much information is available to us on just about any subject that our brains become like over-saturated sponges, liquid spilling out of all sides because it has no other place to go.

The liquid that escapes is often in the form of these monthly awareness campaigns, whether it’s for autism, breast cancer, Crohn’s Disease, diabetes or hunger and poverty.

The reason I bring it up is that May is Mental Health Month. Since I write a blog about my own experiences on the matter, I always get a bunch of messages this time of year from people asking me to drum up some publicity. As well they should.

They are trying to shake the larger population out of its indifference. I commend them for that, and I commend those who do this sort of thing to raise awareness about things like breast cancer.

But in this information-crammed world we live in today, is there a better way to get more people to make a difference? Perhaps not, but I can’t help but wonder.

I worry that by putting all our effort into awareness months, we’re just causing eyes to glaze over. Once the month is up, people immediately move on to the next thing. I know I do. And those who work on the campaigns get exhausted by the end, leaving less energy for the more useful acts of goodness.

I should probably apologize for my ho-hum reaction to Mental Health Awareness Month and all the other awareness months, for that matter. I don’t want to make those involved feel like they’ve wasted their time caring and trying.

But I think we may all be better off putting more of our energy into the actions that help day to day. That’s a lot harder if you’re a volunteer. When we think of the people who deal with the day to day, we think of those who do it for a living.

It’s harder to put more hours into the daily work of attacking these problems if it means losing payable hours at work.

I’ve heard of companies that actually make it easier for people to volunteer. Some even have incentive programs that reward people for extra community service. The corporate world could use more of that. It would make much more of a difference than these monthly awareness campaigns.

Despite the pessimism I’ve just laid out, I want to thank the people behind these campaigns. I know that whether it’s May, June or January, they’re getting their hands dirty for their cause every day, pulling people like me out of the gutter.

I think of the therapists and 12-Step sponsors who have helped along the way.

Some get paid and some are strictly volunteers. Both have made a difference in my life.

Some are simply friends and family who help us along no matter how difficult we become.

There’s the hospital nurse trying to ease the pain of a cancer patient. The counselors who help drug addicts and alcoholics put their lives back together.

They don’t need an awareness month to try and make a difference. They’re already doing it.

In their big and small ways, they show us how to live — and to help others live.

May 14, 2011

Back Story Of THE OCD DIARIES

Since I’ve been adding new readers along the way, I always get questions about why I started this thing. I recently expanded the “about” section, and that’s a good starting point. But more of a back story is in order.

Mood music:

Before I started THE OCD DIARIES in December 2009 with a post about depression hitting me during the holidays, I had always toyed with the idea of doing this. The reason for wanting to was simple: The general public understands little about mental disorders like mine. People toss the OCD acronym around all the time, but to them it’s just the easy way of saying they have a Type-A personality.

Indeed, many Type-A people do have some form of OCD. But for a smaller segment of the population, myself included, it’s a debilitating disease that traps the sufferer in a web of fear, anxiety, and depression that leads to all kinds of addictive behavior. Which leads me to the next reason I wanted to do this.

My particular demons gave me a craving for anything that might dull the pain. For some it’s heroin or alcohol. I have gone through periods where I drank far too much, and I learned to like the various prescription pain meds a little too much. But the main addiction, the one that made my life completely unmanageable, was binge eating.

Most people refuse to acknowledge that as a legitimate addiction. The simple reason is that we all need food to survive and not the other things. Overeating won’t make you drunk or high, according to the conventional wisdom. In reality, when someone like me goes for a fix, it involves disgusting quantities of junk food that will literally leave you flopping around like any garden-variety junkie. Further evidence that this as an addiction lies in the fact that there’s a 12-Step program for compulsive over-eaters called Overeater’s Anonymous (OA). It’s essentially the same program as AA. I wanted to do my part to make people understand.

Did I worry that I might get fired from my job for outing myself like this? Sure. But something inside me was pushing me in this direction and I had to give in to my instincts. You could say it was a powerful OCD impulse that wasn’t going to quit until I did something about it.

I write a lot about my upbringing, my family and the daily challenges we all face because I still learn something each day about my condition and how I can always be better than I am. We all have things swirling around inside us that drive us to a certain kind of behavior, and covering all these things allows me to share what I’ve learned so others might find a way out of their own brand of Hell.

I’m nothing special.

Every one of us has a Cross to bear in life. Sometimes we learn to stand tall as we carry it. Other times we buckle under the weight and fall on our faces.

I just decided to be the one who talks about it.

Talking about it might help someone realize they’re not a freak and they’re not doomed to a life of pain.

If this helps one person, it’ll be worth it.

When I first started the blog, I laid out a back story so readers could see where I’ve been and how personal history affected my disorders. If you read the history, things I write in the present will probably make more sense.

With that in mind, I direct you to the following links:

The Long History of OCD

An OCD Christmas. The first entry, where I give an overview of how I got to crazy and found my way to sane.

The Bad Pill Kept Me from the Good Pill. How the drug Prednisone brought me to the brink, and how Prozac was part of my salvation.

The Crazy-Ass Guy in the Newsroom. Think you have troubles at work? You should see what people who worked with me went through.

The Freak and the Redhead: A Love Story. About the wife who saved my life in many ways.

Snowpocalypse and the Fear of Loss. The author remembers a time when fear of loss would cripple his mental capacities, and explains how he got over it — mostly.

The Ego OCD Built. The author admits to having an ego that sometimes swells beyond acceptable levels and that OCD is fuel for the fire. Go ahead. Laugh at him.

Fear Factor. The author describes years of living in a cell built by fear, how he broke free and why there’s no turning back.

Prozac Winter. The author discovers that winter makes his depression worse and that there’s a purely scientific explanation — and solution.

Have Fun with Your Therapist. Mental-illness sufferers often avoid therapists because the stigma around these “shrinks” is as thick as that of the disease. The author is here to explain why you shouldn’t fear them.

The Engine. To really understand how mental illness happens, let’s compare the brain to a machine.

Rest Redefined. The author finds that he gets the most relaxation from the things he once feared the most.

Outing Myself. The author on why he chose to “out” himself despite what other people might think.

Why Being a People Pleaser is Dumb. The author used to try very hard to please everybody and was hurt badly in the process. Here’s how he broke free and kept his soul intact.

The Addiction and the Damage Done

The Most Uncool Addiction. In this installment, the author opens up about the binge-eating disorder he tried to hide for years — and how he managed to bring it under control.

Edge of a Relapse. The author comes dangerously close to a relapse, but lives to fight another day.

The 12 Steps of Christmas. The author reviews the 12 Steps of Recovery and takes a personal inventory.

How to Play Your Addictions Like a Piano. The author admits that when an obsessive-compulsive person puts down the addiction that’s most self-destructive, a few smaller addictions rise up to fill the void. But what happens when the money runs out?

Regulating Addictive Food: A Lesson in Futility. As an obsessive-compulsive binge eater, the author feels it’s only proper that he weigh in on the notion that regulating junk food might help. Here’s why the answer is probably not.

The Liar’s Disease. The author reveals an uncomfortable truth about addicts like himself: We tend to have trouble telling the truth.

Portable Recovery. Though addiction will follow the junkie anywhere in the world, the author has discovered that recovery is just as portable.

Revere (Experiences with Addiction, Depression and Loss During The Younger Years)

Bridge Rats and Schoolyard Bullies. The author reviews the imperfections of childhood relationships in search of all his OCD triggers. Along the way, old bullies become friends and he realizes he was pretty damn stupid back then.

Lost Brothers. How the death of an older brother shaped the Hell that arrived later.

Marley and Me. The author describes the second older brother whose death hit harder than that of the first.

The Third Brother. Remembering Peter Sugarman, another adopted brother who died too early — but not before teaching the author some important lessons about life.

Revere Revisited.

Lessons from Dad. The author has learned some surprising lessons from Dad on how to control one’s mental demons.

The Basement. A photo from the old days in Revere spark some vivid flashbacks.

Addicted to Feeling Good. To kick off Lent, the author reflects on some of his dumber quests to feel good.

The lasting Impact of Crohn’s Disease. The author has lived most of his life with Crohn’s Disease and has developed a few quirks as a result.

The Tire and the Footlocker. The author opens up an old footlocker under the stairs and finds himself back in that old Revere basement.

Child of Metal

How Metal Saved Me. Why Heavy Metal music became a critical OCD coping tool.

Insanity to Recovery in 8 Songs or Less. The author shares some videos that together make a bitchin’ soundtrack for those who wrestle with mental illness and addiction. The first four cover the darkness. The next four cover the light.

Rockit Records Revisited. The author has mentioned Metal music as one of his most important coping tools for OCD and related disorders. Here’s a look at the year he got one of the best therapy sessions ever, simply by working in a cramped little record store.

Metal to Stick in Your Mental Microwave.

Man of God

The Better Angels of My Nature. Why I let Christ in my life.

The Rat in the Church Pew. The author has written much about his Faith as a key to overcoming mental illness. But as this post illustrates, he still has a long way to go in his spiritual development.

Absolute Power Corrupts Absolutely. The author goes to Church and comes away with a strange feeling.

Running from Sin, Running With Scissors. The author writes an open letter to the RCIA Class of 2010 about Faith as a journey, not a destination. He warns that addiction, rage and other bad behavior won’t disappear the second water is dropped over their heads.

Forgiveness is a Bitch. Seeking and giving forgiveness is essential for someone in recovery. But it’s often seen as a green light for more abuse.

Pain in the Lent. The author gives a progress report on the Lenten sacrifices. It aint pretty.

May 11, 2011

Facebook Dysfunction: A Family Affair

Let’s face it: We all have connections on Facebook that we constantly consider defriending because they say and do irritating things. I have no doubt there are people out there who feel that way about me.

Mood music:

http://youtu.be/jyb8pMsyPFw

I have no problem with people un-friending me. Not anymore, anyway.

At one point, I had to admit that my obsessive-compulsive demons were latching onto the Facebook friend count, and that each loss of a connection felt like a personal blow. My mind would spin endlessly about why someone felt the need to disconnect from me. Was it something offensive I did? Did I hurt someone or come off as a fake?

But I’ve come to see that sometimes it’s the right thing for a person to do. This blog covers a lot of heavy stuff. A lot of people have become daily readers and tell me my openness has inspired them to deal with their own issues. But for others, especially those with a lot of pain in their lives, every post is going to feel like a baseball bat to the head.

Then there’s the heavy volume of content that flows down my news feed, which can dominate the news feeds of people with a smaller number of connections.

I admit it: I can be very hard to live with in the House of Facebook. I’m the loud obnoxious guy who hogs the dinner table conversation.

But some of you are hard to live with, too.

— Some of you post a lot of bad music.

–Some of you complain about every little, stupid thing.

–Some of you blather on about all the big things you have going on, but you never seem to complete what you started.

–Some of you post way too many pictures of babies with food on their faces. I looove babies, but come on now.

–Some of you take self-portraits each morning with your cell phones, always from the driver’s seat of your car. That gets annoying.

–Some of you carry on with the same political whining all the time, to the point where it’s just a bunch of noise.

–Some of you can’t help but take a picture of your food. The problem is that practically no one cares what you’re about to put in your mouth.

–Some of you have fights with significant others where the rest of us can see it.

–Some of you get all lovey-dovey with your significant other where everyone can see it. That’s particularly gross.

–Some of you put up so many philosophical quotes that it all becomes a blur, just like the political whiners.

Is all that stuff worse than the things I do on Facebook? It’s all in the eyes of the beholder.

None of what I mentioned is all that bad, really. We’re all just being human.

We’ve all had to deal with difficult family members, friends and co-workers. That’s life.

In that sense, Facebook is just another mirror.

We all like to look at ourselves in the mirror, whether it’s to admire our new shoes or cringe over our girth.

But I’d like to think that most of us, despite the annoying things we do on here, are worth keeping around and even helping at times.

We’re one big dysfunctional family, and there’s a lot of fun in dysfunction if you know what to look for.

And if someone like me really gets to be too much to put up with, you know where the unfriend button is. No hard feelings.

May 6, 2011October 8, 2015

Don’t Let Politics Kill Friendships

This is based on the heated debate that followed the death of bin Laden. But it rings especially true today, given the political animosities from the left and right.

Yesterday I got into a Facebook tussle with an old friend over a political disagreement. I used the word “bullshit” and regret it now. It flies in the face of what I’ve learned about people and politics.

The subject was the bin Laden death photos and whether they should be released. She says yes, I say no. She was respectful about it, I wasn’t.

I used to look at people as enemies when I disagreed with their politics, just like I saw people with deformities or other differences as freaks. You might be thinking it’s a stretch to link politics with people who are physically different, but in my sometimes distorted mind, the thinking that triggers the response is the same.

The younger me wanted to be better than everyone else in how I looked and what kinds of politics I practiced. And I took both very seriously. Too seriously.

The fate of the world always seemed to hang on the next election. In 1994, when I was a lot more liberal than I am today, I felt devastated and depressed when the GOP swept both chambers of Congress. Two years before that, when Bill Clinton was elected president, I thought all would be right with the world. A lot of people had the same emotional jolt two years ago when Obama was elected.

I still care about the public discourse. I love that we live in a country where we can think and say what we want about our views in government, faith, and so on. But I don’t live and die by the political stuff like I used to.

I’ve also found that a person can be judged for their politics in the same harsh light someone can be judged for over their appearance. It shouldn’t be that way.

If your views are liberal, conservative, socialist or whatever, it doesn’t mean people have a right to judge you as good or bad. People will judge you anyway, but I need to be better than that.

I’ve been finding an intense beauty in the ability to be close to people you disagree with. Utah Sen, Orin Hatch and the late Sen. Edward Kennedy agreed on little politically, but had a deep friendship. I love my father-in-law even though I find some of his politics archaic and out of step with reality. Another close friend is a libertarian and we argue about a lot of things. But at the end of the day, we’re there for each other no matter what.

Yesterday, I think I got a little harsh with my other friend, like I would have done in the days of old. I got angry in my disagreement in a way that’s unhealthy and essentially told her she was full of shit on Facebook, for all to see. It goes to show you can always slide backwards, no matter how much you think you’ve advanced.

I don’t regret disagreeing with her position. I’d happily do it again.

But next time, I’ll do it differently. Because politics should never turn friends into enemies.

Credit: Ken Hurst – Dreamstime.com – Axest Marketing Inc

May 5, 2011

Morbid Curiosity

My tirade against Michele Mcphee and the bin Laden death photos yesterday got me thinking. Maybe part of my rage was coming from an uncomfortable truth about myself.

Mood music:

I’ve always had a morbid curiosity about blood-and-guts images. I’m nothing special there. A lot of people share that trait. That’s why you see so much spam posing as pictures of a dead bin Laden. The spam pushers know they’ll always hook in enough suckers to make some money.

I remember the first time I read “Helter Skelter” and saw crime scene photos where the bodies where whited out. I wanted to see the full photos so badly. It was the same thing when I read about the Amityville murders. Seeing those images became an obsession, and, eventually, the Internet would feed that obsession.

I felt pretty gross after seeing the Manson photos, especially the autopsy pictures. I felt evil for even wanting to see them. I’m grateful I had that reaction. Enjoying what I was seeing would have revealed something a lot darker about me.

Morbid curiosity for such photos is, in my opinion, no different than the curiosity someone has to see pornography.

It’s a dark temptation that was coded into our brains back when we were granted free will.

So when a talk radio host suggests that bin Laden’s death photos should be released to the public and that not doing so is an insult to the memories of 9-11 victims, I bristle.

Would I look at the death photos if they were released? Absolutely. The obsession never really goes away.

But I’d be ashamed afterward for looking.

If that makes me a wishy-washy left-wing tree-hugging type in the eyes of some people, so be it.

Mcphee made me think about an unpleasant side of myself, and I guess that’s a good thing. We should always be taking personal inventory because we could always do better.

But her motive wasn’t to make people like me think about how I could do better.

It was to incite more anger among the right-wing extremists that make up her audience.

May 4, 2011

An Insult To 9-11 Victims? Now That’s Stupid

Those who knew me 20-plus years ago will tell you I was one angry guy. I had a chip on my shoulder the size of Texas, and regularly thought about how awesome it would be to get my revenge on people who I believed wronged me at the time.

Back then, I would have craved seeing a picture of Osama bin Laden with his head blown off. I didn’t die on 9-11, obviously. I didn’t know any of the victims, either. But that day sure threw me into a stupor of fear. Fear has a habit of bringing out a lust for retribution.

Now bin Laden is dead and I’m as happy about it as the next guy. He was evil. Evil should be destroyed whenever the opportunity presents itself. It’s pretty cut and dry.

But what happens after that, when someone asks to see the photos?

Mood music:

The news just came out that President Obama will not release photos of bin Laden’s corpse. Michele Mcphee, host of the Michele McPhee Show on AM 680 WRKO in Boston, is outraged. In all caps across her Facebook page is this statement: INSULT TO THE MEMORIES OF THOSE MURDERED ON 9-11!

Give me a fucking break. Seriously.

Explain how not releasing the photo insults their memories. All the photos would do is appeal to everyone’s desire to see more blood. I’ll admit it: I would look at the photo. But I’m not proud about it. I’m glad I won’t have the opportunity.

Some things are better left unseen.

As for those who will cry conspiracy and lies if they don’t have the proof in front of them, whatever. These folks will find plenty of reasons to say those things because they don’t like anything about Barack Obama.

I’m not what you’d call an Obama fan. I wanted Hillary to win in 2008. But when people get so wound up over politics, they will always play up their adversary as the devil. And so it is in this case.

The bad guy is dead. He’s not coming back. If you really need to see a picture of his corpse for proof, I feel sorry for you. I feel even more sorry for you if you think we have to release such a photo to honor the memories of those who died on 9-11-2001.

I don’t know McPhee. I’m sure she’s a fine person. But this crap is just her playing to her right-wing audience. It doesn’t help us move forward. It just gives people more fodder for their useless bitching sessions.

I’m not talking about those who have real policy differences and have other ideas about how best to conduct government. I’m talking about people who just want someone they can hate because they’re unhappy about their own lives.

Instead of working on alternative solutions, they just sit there and whine all day about who is to blame for their lot in life.

Grow up and move on. Honor the victims by trying to live a better life.

April 25, 2011

Dueling Priests: A Religious Adventure

You would think everyone could get along at church. But, it turns out, people get as political and competitive as they would in the corporate setting. Here’s why these human imperfections actually strengthen my faith.

Mood music:

[youtube http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=lspjLG9nHXk&fs=1&hl=en_US&rel=0]

First, a little history: In September, our beloved pastor, Father Dennis Nason, passed away, leaving a gaping hole in the church community. The parochial vicar, Father Michael Harvey, performed practically every Mass from that point until a new pastor, Father Tim Kearney, joined the parish in late January.

I like Father Kearney a lot. He’s a hands-on kind of guy. He personally directed a Passion play Sean performed in on Palm Sunday and took an active role in the R.C.I.A. (Right of Christian Initiation for Adults) group I helped out with this year. He’s very good with the kids. He remembers names. That’s what I want in a pastor.

Father Harvey is much more conservative in his approach to Mass. He doesn’t like dramatizations of the Holy Word at all. A couple years ago he changed the Easter Vigil Mass around so lectors had straight readings instead of the different lines for God and the three narrators that had been in place before. Father Kearney put the lines back in this year. One one hand, I always thought Biblical dramatizations were a good thing. It brings the Word of God to life for younger folks in ways a simple reading won’t pull off. In this age of Web 2.0 and superior computer graphics, it takes a lot to suck a kid in at church.

That said, I really like Father Harvey, too. He’s fabulous with the kids and spends hours upon hours at the school. I also respect the rigor he puts on himself. He talks often about not being a particularly nice guy when he was younger. I think he’s been beating himself hard over that ever since becoming a priest. The thing is, it leads to some very inspiring homilies. He’s also a very gentle, mild-mannered guy. That doesn’t mean I agree with everything he says, as I make clear in this older post. I also bristle when he gets uncomfortable with Duncan’s pink hat and overall love affair with the color. You’d think it was a gender or sexual orientation instead of just a color.

But in the bigger picture, I think the clashing styles of these two priests is good for the church. Father Kearney’s approach will reach a lot of younger people — not just children, but 20-and-30-somethings who might be enticed to come to church again. Father Harvey’s approach satisfies the more conservative part of the church. Together, they can serve a wider collection of families and individuals.

But not everyone is happy with this new dynamic.

For the folks who had taken on a lot of extra work between pastors, Father Kearney’s hands-on style is uncomfortably jolting to those who were used to Father Nason’s more laid back approach.

Meanwhile, some parishioners are getting prickly over Kearney’s longish homilies, especially during Lent. Some Masses ran late, which really gets to those who think there’s an 11th Commandment: Masses Shalt Not Last More Than 1 Hour.

It never takes much to rattle a parish. People get set in their ways and are easily scandalized by anything new and different. People who have had certain roles for many years don’t want to give up their turf. They know what’s best, and everyone else is a dope who should keep to themselves. They absolutely hate being told what to do, especially when a suggested change of tactic is implied.

Some would say the church deserves this because of past injustices like the priest sex abuse scandal. I know one guy who refuses to go to confession because he confessed his sins to a priest that was later convicted and imprisoned for sexual misconduct.

For those of us who have Faith, hanging on to it can be a real bitch. We constantly let human personalities and Earthly struggles get between us and Jesus. I’ve done it many times.

For years after my best friend died in a suicide, I wasn’t receptive to anything a priest had to say. Suicide is supposed to be a one-way ticket to Hell, and I didn’t want to believe that my friend was going there for being mentally sick and not even close to being in his right mind. For a very long time, I got more comfort in my addictive impulses than in anything related to faith.

We constantly hear about people leaving the church, and sometimes it feels like priests would do just about anything to get people to come back. You see elaborate campaigns like “Catholics Come Home” and run into priests who don’t want to offend anyone over anything. One of the things I’ve always liked about Father Mike is that he doesn’t care who he offends. The word of God is the way it is. Period.

But to me, a guy who only recently learned what it means to Let Go and Let God, the biggest problem is that we all let our egos get in the way.

We place personality over everything else.

We’ll grab onto any excuse to stop trying to be good Christians. The sex abuse scandal was a perfect example, though I personally believe you’d have to be whacked in the head not to have been outraged by that. Nothing shakes a person’s faith from its moorings like anger and rage.

That’s our big challenge, to remember every day that it all comes down to one simple thing: The relationship we as individuals have with God.

It should be a relationship impervious to human bickering, though it never really is.

I consider myself lucky. A few years back, I’d let everything to do with church politics consume me with rage and worry. In working the 12 Steps of Recovery, I’ve learned that the only way to move forward is to let that stuff go. My ego still resurfaces periodically to mess it all up, but for the most part I’m getting the hang of this “surrender” thing.

The other thing, and this might reveal a sinister side of me, is that I enjoy a good clash of personalities. A little drama is always entertaining, and I like seeing people with widely differences forced into a small space where the only way they can survive is to work together.

The best of what’s in us can come out in those circumstances.

In the end, I think the priests in my parish will have to learn how to work together. It’s their problem to work out.

In time, I think they will.

April 20, 2011

Reinforcing the Stigma Instead of Breaking It

Lost in my most recent tirade against employers who discriminate against the mentally ill is a point that’s very important: People like us have a responsibility to prove we’re up to the challenges we seek.

Mood music:

[youtube http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=QanVuQIXU5s&fs=1&hl=en_US&rel=0]

In my opinion, employers have no legal right to deny someone a job simply because they were diagnosed with a mental illness. They do, however, have the right to pass over a candidate who doesn’t seem up to the job.

My friend Danielle Goodwin shared a personal example of someone denying her a job because she was honest about what she had:

I interviewed several times (making the cut each time) for a national-level position worth some big bucks last year. They used emotional intelligence testing and the whole nine yards. I passed everything.

I went for my final interview with the president of the company (all of the lower committees had recommended me to be hired). Everyone had told me the guy asks stuff that no one else has ever asked you and to be totally honest because he can spot a liar…so he asks me piercing, direct questions about my childhood abuse. I was completely honest with him, and I found out the next day he told everyone else everything I told him and that because I was hurt as a child, I definitely couldn’t function in their company.

What a jerk! He had the right, I guess, since it was just an interview…but why dig in so deep and ask me those things if you’re just going to hold it against me without ever seeing my work product and ethic.

If anything, adult children like me work harder, work more efficiently, and produce higher quality work according to the research.

The guy who interviewed her, told everyone about the conversation and turned her down was an asshole. Pure and simple. A lawyer could have had a field day picking that bastard to pieces.

At the other end of the spectrum is this comment from Beth Horne, president and CEO of The Horne Agency, a marketing and advertising firm. She has lived this from both sides, as the mental illness sufferer and as an employer. She wrote the following via the United States Mental Health Professionals group on LinkedIn:

I was diagnosed with Bipolar 2 twenty years ago. I received treatment and have been stable for years, thanks to excellent therapy, medication and education. Before returning to school for my PhD in Psychology, I worked in Marketing/Advertising for several large media companies before opening my own advertising agency. I was open about my diagnosis with my employers during my interview process, and it never hindered me from being hired. In fact, I never interviewed for a job I did not get, due to my work record, resume and references.

I think that my work performance more than made up for any issues I may have had regarding my disorder, such as sometimes having periods of depression or getting a bit manic when life changes occurred. I worked very hard NOT to let them affect my work performance or reduce my ability to generate revenue for my company.

However, I have been in management with these companies and had employees with mental issues who did not take care of themselves and they became liabilities to the company and had to be let go. Some would refuse to take their medication and attend therapy, some would miss work continually or be so over-medicated they were in a constant stupor, unable to perform their duties. I had one woman who came into the office in such a manic state I had to ask her to stay in her office until she could have her husband take her to her doctor, and to please refrain from taking any sales calls, for fear of her ruining client relations.

If someone knows they have a mental issue/disorder, it is a personal choice whether or not to accept their diagnosis and get help and follow their treatment. Is this always easy? NO! But if they are to function in the work environment, it is their responsibility to do anything and everything in their power to stay as healthy as possible. If this is not possible for them, then it is time to look into disability.

Employers need to understand that not everyone with a diagnosis of a mental illness is like another…there are people with bipolar disorder who have little problem going on with their daily routine with just therapy and medication, while others find it impossible to blend into the work environment. I use bipolar disorder as just one example, but there are many others, as we all are aware. I have a mother who has a mild form of OCD and is a supervisor at a hospital. What better profession could there be for someone who will always be strict about following rules, cleanliness and excellent patient care than an RN? Or like my brother, who also has the same issue, works in IT?

Both are successful and well-adjusted, and their coworkers probably have no idea they have any mental problems whatsoever. So before they judge and dismiss a potential employee because of ignorance, they should look at the person as a whole and not just their diagnosis.

Beth, you are so right. Thanks for sharing.

Like Beth, I’ve been judged by my workmanship and not by any mental health issues I’ve disclosed. That has been the case for me in every job I’ve ever had.

I’m very fortunate.

There have also been times in past jobs where my workmanship suffered because I wasn’t taking care of myself. I was refusing to even consider therapy or medication, and I sank lower and lower.

I was reinforcing the stigma instead of breaking it.

Today I succeed because I refuse to let the struggles render me useless. Like Danielle, I fight harder and longer, and I never give up.

Better to be part of the solution than the problem.

April 20, 2011

The World of “Crazy Mike” (Knowing Who You Pick On)

Got a lot of comments on yesterday’s post about the mentally ill guy in Haverhill people call “Crazy Mike.” Read on and you’ll know him better.

Mood music:

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

The most insight on Mike comes from Katherine Doot, an old friend of Erin’s and recent discoverer of this blog. She lives in Arizona now, but as a Haverhill native she got to know Mike pretty well. Here’s what she had to say:

Mike in fact is a Vietnam veteran who does in fact have SEVERE PTSD, or post traumatic stress disorder. He has medication that helps, when he can take it, but as I was told, the medication is often stolen from him.

Sadly this poor man lives in his mind every day reliving the horrors that he saw in Vietnam and cannot escape.

I had run-ins with him when I lived in Haverhill. Was I scared? Of course, but the man deserves respect for going to fight in a war in the name of our country. He deserves compassion for the nightmare that is his reality, and just maybe a bit of sympathy because of the lack of all of the above.

I work at an office that serves veterans, and at this office I have seen many of the Vietnam vets, most in better condition than Mike, but most have some sort of mental condition that stems from their war time. I feel sorry for what these brave soldiers gave up. Every chance I get, I make sure to take a moment, to shake their hands, and to say thank you for doing what they did. Sadly most of them are shocked by the simple words, and it brings me to tears every time.

As I said yesterday, I’m lucky. I struggled for years with crippling mental illness, but that was nothing compared to this.

This whole affair has also reminded me of all the homeless veterans I’ve seen in Haverhill and Revere over the years.

There’s always evidence that the guy on the street is a veteran. There are the service tattoos and the jacket patches. Many of them saw things that were hard to live with, and they were rendered mentally ill. Instead of getting help, they wound up on the street because they couldn’t hold a job or stay off drugs and booze.

It would be high-minded of me to say we need to do better for our veterans. But it’s been said so often it’s pretty much lost it’s meaning. We like to praise our veterans on Veterans Day or July 4. But once the holiday is past, we go back to treating them like shit.

Because they’re homeless and, as a result, they’re dirty, scary and unpleasant to those who have lived far more comfortable lives. And, don’t you know, we LOVE to judge people even though we know nothing about them.

I single myself out for ridicule, because back when fear, anxiety and addiction had me by the balls, I used to walk or drive the other way when these guys approached.

I’ve had my struggles. We all have. But I have no idea what it’s like to be on a battlefield.

I do know that a lot of people — good people who have sacrificed for God, country and family — have taken tragic turns in the line of duty. It’ll always be this way because life’s unfair.

Do these guys deserve better from the rest of us? You bet your ass they do. Including “Crazy Mike.”

When someone is on the street and hungry, we like to say they did it to themselves. Or we say we gotta help them and then do nothing. I’ve done both.

They did drugs. They stole and lied to people.

But the fortunes of man are never, ever so simple.

There’s always something in the history of each of us that shapes the decisions we make and how we live otherwise. I’ve made many bad choices in my day. But God’s Grace has carried me through.

May the vets on the street find that same Grace.

I bunked with a Vietnam veteran who has PTSD last year when I was on team for a Cursillo retreat.

He’s been through the wringer over the years. He saw terrible things in Vietnam, and he came home to people who were spitting on soldiers instead of praising and thanking them.

I thought it was appropriate that a guy with PTSD would be rooming with Mr. OCD. We had a lot of laughs over that.

But here’s the thing: This guy doesn’t bitch about his lot in life. He’s retired, but he spends his days helping fellow veterans.

And he’s active with the Cursillo movement.

The tragedy of service bent him in every direction. But it didn’t break him.

There’s hope for all of us.

Even “Crazy Mike.” He walks the streets talking to himself today. But with the right kind of help, who knows what kind of goodness he may be capable of.

April 19, 2011

“Liking” The Crazy Mike of Haverhill Page is Sad and Stupid

Here’s the part where I lose some of my Haverhill friends. I don’t care.

In any city there’s a guy like “Crazy Mike.”

The stereotype is usually a long beard, ratty clothes and the fellow is usually living on the street. He talks aloud to no one in particular and falls asleep on playground equipment.

People like to laugh at him.

I’m no saint. I’ve made my share of fun of people like this, and in the rear-view mirror, looking back at my own struggle with mental illness, it makes me feel ashamed. It makes me the last guy on Earth who would be fit to judge others for poking fun at someone less fortunate.

But I have to believe that God put me through those earlier experiences in the hope that I’d come out of it wiser and more compassionate. If I in fact have, then I need to be the guy to stand up for “Crazy Mike” and others like him. I need to start by never making fun of someone in that condition again and, if I’m lucky, take a few people with me.

A friend of mine mentioned today that he was more than a little disappointed in some of his friends for “liking” a Facebook page dedicated to “Crazy Mike.” I looked up the page to find that the page has 1,166 “likes.”

The description of Mike reads: “Walking any and everywhere, Yelling at cars, Using imaginary machine guns, talking to myself, Having a court trial while walking down the sidewalk, Screaming racial slurs, Sleeping in and around Building #19 1/16, Lighting chips on fire in Market Basket.”

He yells at cars, you say? We all yell at cars. It’s just that we’re usually behind the wheel pissed off because someone cut us off in traffic.

Using imaginary machine guns? I’ve seen plenty of so-called sane people do that while talking about their favorite scene from “Lethal Weapon” or “Con-Air.”

Screaming racial slurs? That’s wrong of him, but many of us have used the same awful slurs. Not because we are racists, but because we tend to master stupid talk when we’ve had a bit much to drink.

Talking to himself? I do that all the time, and I’ll bet more than a few of the “Crazy Mike” page likers do it, too.

Sleeping in front of Building 19? That’s just because he’s not as lucky as those of us who have a home to sleep in. I’m sure there are twenty-somethings who like that page and still enjoy the comforts of their parents’ houses.

It would be easy for me to say you people are hypocrites and shitheads. But I am, too, so I would just be piling on another layer of hypocrisy.

Instead I’ll just end with this:

We are all God’s children. We are all crazy to varying degrees.

We all have the capacity for big acts of wisdom and bigger acts of stupidity.

Instead of laughing at this “Crazy Mike,” just thank God you’re not in his shoes.

I’d like to know more about Mike, now. We all have a history that molds us into who we are. I’m wondering about his story.

Did he fight a war and come home with post-traumatic stress disorder? Maybe, maybe not.

But if nothing else, his story — one of mental illness — deserves to be told.