Layne Staley, 14 Years Later

“What’s my drug of choice? Well, what have you got?” —Layne Staley, Alice in Chains

This week marks 14 years since Alice In Chains frontman Layne Staley was found dead.

Mood music:

Like Kurt Cobain, Staley had a big impact on me in the early 1990s. But while I identified with Cobain’s depression, I identified with Staley for his inability to keep his addictive demons at bay.

I can’t tell you how many times I listened to the “Dirt” album while I binged myself sick. It seems like an unfair comparison, because Staley’s demon was heroin. Mine was compulsive binge eating — a destructive form of addictive behavior in its own right, but not necessarily from the same depths of hell heroin came from.

Staley’s lyrics seeped deep into my soul. When he screamed his vocals, I could identify the pain that came from deep down. I’m convinced that pain gave him the power to sing the way he did.

My writing taps a similar source within me, but the source is a lot more muted, less despairing, because I have something I don’t think he had — faith.

But as a 20-something, I couldn’t tell the difference. I felt like my demons were as vexing as his. When you’re younger, that’s the kind of self-important thinking you get into.

Before I found recovery, my demon would start harassing me long before getting to the scene of the junk. Forget the people who would be there or the weather and surroundings. All I’d think about was getting my fill of food. Then I’d get to the event and get my fill from the time I’d get there to the time I left. I’d sneak handfuls of junk so what I was doing wouldn’t be too obvious to those around me.

Halfway through, I would have the same kind of buzz you get after downing a case of beer or inhaling a joint deep into your lungs. I know this, because I’ve done those things, too. By nightfall, I’d feel like a pile of shattered bricks waiting to be carted off to the dump. Quality time with my wife and kids? Forget it. All I wanted was the bed or the couch so I could pass out.

I imagine Staley felt something similar much of the time, though I’m told by those who have kicked smack addictions that you don’t really care about anything when you’re high, because it’s like being under a warm blanket. The problem is that you spend the rest of your life trying to feel that way, and the only thing that works is more and more smack.

In the end, I know you can’t fairly compare the two addictions. I only know how mine made me feel, and whenever I listened to Staley scream, I felt like someone else got it, and that I wasn’t alone.

Thanks for that, Layne. I hope you’re at peace wherever you are.

It’s a Long Road Through Self-Hatred

Given my normally upbeat persona, this might surprise you: Once upon a time, I hated myself. I hated a lot of people, but none more so than myself. The worst of that hatred came after I started facing my demons.

Mood Music:

http://youtu.be/TP06kxW_M3I

I disliked myself before I started to tackle the demons with therapy. A couple years into that therapy, the self-loathing deepened. I had learned much about who I was and how I got that way, but I hadn’t yet figured out how to change. That made me angry, and I turned in on myself.

I intensified my addictive behavior to cope, burying my sorrows in food, alcohol and the pain pills doctors prescribed for chronic back pain.

When I cut flour and sugar from my diet and started putting my meals on a scale to bring the binge eating to heel, I felt worse before I started to feel better. I felt edgy in my skin and hated myself for not being stronger. To cope with that I started drinking a lot of wine. When I quit that, I no longer knew how to act in big social crowds. I hated myself for that, too.

When you start to fight your demons head-on, you become super-aware of your own vulnerabilities. For a while, I became paralyzed by mine.

I’m not a special case.

In his book, Symptoms of Withdrawal, Christopher Kennedy Lawford writes that after he kicked drugs in 1986, it took him awhile to actually become a good person.

Those around him weren’t always happy he was sober, especially since that meant he couldn’t make the cocktails at family gatherings like he used to.

He writes about having to learn how to be a decent human being and be clean at the same time. You would think it’s easy. It’s not.

In the book, Lawford writes:

There is another great fiction of recovery — that is, once you stop using your life becomes a bed of roses. Anybody who has stayed sober for any length of time knows that living sober is about learning to live life on life’s terms and a good part of life is painful. When I got sober someone said to me that I would get to realize all my greatest fears in sobriety … You know what? He was right, and it’s not half as bad as I imagined.

There’s a lot of truth there. I had a lot to learn, and I’m still learning, a full decade after I first started the work.

While the work goes on — and will continue to go on — there’s an important point to be made. Somewhere along the way, I learned to like myself.

Today, I can honestly say I’m happy with the man I’ve become, even if I’m still far from perfect.

But, then, perfect people don’t exist. If they did, they’d be boring.

self hatred II by ~xiaoD

Dealing with 9/11: Then and Now

I wasn’t in New York City the day the Twin Towers fell. I know many people who were, and they have the scars and stories to show for it. My 9/11 experiences are not heroic or even all that dramatic. But they are case studies in personal growth.

It was a terrible day, but I’d like to think we all learned something positive about how to live in the aftermath. This is simply my personal measuring stick.

“Sept. 11, 2001”
Everyone remembers where they were and what they were doing on Sept. 11, 2001. This post is my own account.

“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.

“Flying on September 11”
One of my biggest moments of shame came a week after September 11, 2001, when I scrubbed a planned trip to Arizona for a relative’s wedding. I was terrified to get on an airplane and fear won out. Not only did I miss an important day in a loved one’s life, I also deprived my wife of the same thing. I didn’t want her flying, either.

“TV News and Depression: How I Learned To Turn It Off”
I find myself increasingly outraged at what I see on the TV news channels. I’m not talking about the news itself, but the way it’s presented with loud graphics, dramatic music and louder newscasters. Those feelings started on 9/11.

“9/11 Lessons: We Rise Again”
As we take time to remember those we lost on 9/11, let’s also remember what we’ve held onto.

“I Didn’t Know Danny Lewin, But I’m Grateful for Him”
As an Akamai Technologies employee, I practically inhaled Molly Knight Raskin’s book, No Better Time: The Brief, Remarkable Life of Danny Lewin, the Genius Who Transformed the Internet. It’s a spectacular look at the history of the company and the experience of losing Lewin on 9/11.

“A 9-11 Obsession”
It happens every time the calendar rolls into September. I start watching documentaries about 9/11 and can’t stop.

“9-11-01 Jumpers: A Suicidal Mystery”
I remember the photo well: a man falling to his death in a zen-like pose that haunted me for a long, long time. It haunted us all.

Sept. 11, with the twin towers as the 11

Skinny Like A Fool

At dinner with friends one night, a conversation about weight control got started. It reminded me of how hard I used to work to stay thin, and how dangerous some of my methods were.

Examples:

–In my late teens, I got the bright idea that I could party and drink all I wanted on the weekends with no danger of weight gain if I starved myself during the week, often living on one cheese sandwich a day. As a little treat to make it bearable, I chain smoked in the storage room next to my bedroom.

–My senior year in high school I wanted to drop a lot of weight fast. So for two weeks straight, I ate nothing but Raisin Bran from a mug two times a day and nothing else. I also ran laps around the basement for two hours a day. It worked so well that I adopted it as my post binge regimen every few weeks. It lasted into my early 20s.

–In my late 20s, after years of vicious binge eating sent my weight to nearly 300 pounds, I lost more than a hundred pounds through some healthy means and some fairly stupid tactics, like fasting for half of Tuesday and most of Wednesday. On Wednesdays, I would also triple my workout time on the elliptical cross-training machine at the gym. All this so I would be happy with the number on the scale come Thursday morning, my weekly weigh-in time. Thursday through Saturday, I would eat like a pig, then severely pull back on the eating by Sunday. Call it the 3-4 program (binge three days, starve four days, repeat).

–In my early-to-mid 30s, some of my most vicious binge eating happened. For a while, though, I kept the weight down my walking 3.5 miles every day, no matter the weather. I also never ate dinner, but would eat like a pig earlier in the day. This was while I was working a night job, which allowed me to get away with the dinner-skipping part. That worked great for a couple years, but then the dam broke and I binged my way to a 65-pound weight gain by the end.

Today I put almost everything I eat on a little scale and I avoid flour and sugar. I don’t exercise as much as I should, I’m not idle, either.

I don’t always get it perfect. I’m also nowhere close to skinny.

But I’m a lot healthier — and probably a little smarter — than I used to be.

RUDOLPH THE RED-NOSED REINDEER

The Manson Obsession: An Anthology

I’ve written a ridiculous number of posts about Charles Manson. What can I say? I’m a guy given to obsessions, and the Manson case is a big one. Today — the 46th anniversary of the Tate-LaBianca murders — seems like as good a time as any to share an anthology…

Mood music:

http://youtu.be/5fvJEpdq8a8

Vincent Bugliosi Inspired My Work in Journalism, InfoSec“: Vincent Bugliosi, the man who prosecuted Charles Manson and his family and then detailed the case in his book Helter Skelter, has died at age 80. Indirectly, I owe some of my career trajectory to him.

The Beatles’ White Album and Charles Manson“: A post about the album Charlie made such a big deal about.

Dennis Wilson and the Manson Family“: The sad tale of Dennis Wilson, drummer of The Beach Boys and one-time friend of Charles Manson.

I Regret Wearing That Charles Manson T-Shirt“: In the early 1990s, Patti Tate, sister of Sharon Tate, was on a public tirade against Guns ‘N’ Roses frontman Axl Rose for going on stage every night wearing a Charles Manson T-Shirt. Around the same time, I had my own Manson shirt, worn regularly to freak people out.

Slaying Old Fears in the Hollywood Hills“: This one is about the week I went to Los Angeles on business and killed some old demons while there.

Telling the Tate-LaBianca Story: Truth and Embellishment“: A while back I had written a post about how, in my opinion, Restless Souls: The Sharon Tate Family’s Account of Stardom, the Manson Murders, and a Crusade for Justice by Alisa Statmen and Brie Tate, was the most important book ever written about the Manson murders (see below). Then the book’s accuracy was thrown into question. Here I talk about that accuracy.

Tate-LaBianca, 43 Years Later: A Strange Society of Manson Watchers“: I’ve met some interesting people as a result of this Manson obsession.

The Most Important Book Ever Written About Sharon Tate and the Manson Murders“: Restless Souls: The Sharon Tate Family’s Account of Stardom, the Manson Murders, and a Crusade for Justice, written by Tate family friend Alisa Statman and Brie Tate, niece of Sharon Tate, may well be the most important book written on the Manson case.

Helter Skelter“: Wherein the author first admits his OCD behavior includes an obsession with the Manson Case.

Hleter Skelter text over LA night skyline

A Basement in Revere

A photo from the old days in Revere is sparking some flashbacks. It’s November 1991, and Dan Waters, Sean Marley, and I are in the basement of the old house I grew up in.

Bill Brenner, Dan Waters, Sean MarleyFrom left to right: Bill Brenner, Dan Waters, and Sean Marley

We partied a lot in that basement. It was the scene of many impressive and entertaining mood swings.
I could be mistaken, but I believe we were having a belated Halloween party in the photo, which is why Sean is dressed as a vampire.

On Halloween 1991, the No-Name Hurricane, immortalized in The Perfect Storm, had blown through, badly flooding out the neighborhood. My basement, Sean’s basement and that of the house in between ours were among the handful of homes that escaped the damage. I was gearing up for one last semester at North Shore Community College before transferring to Salem State College.

A lot of good metal blared from that basement.

It’s also the place where I would literally run in circles for one to two hours to keep thin after going on binge-eating jags.

I moved out of there in late 1992, so that was in the last year in that basement.

Sometimes I miss it. But not much.

Two Days, Three Shitty Anniversaries And One Bloody Month

Today — April 19, and tomorrow, April 20 — we have a trio of tragedies to remember.

Full disclosure: I’m about to steal liberally from Wikipedia.

April 19, 1993: Waco, Texas

The Waco siege began on February 28, 1993, and ended violently 50 days later on April 19. The siege began when the United States Bureau of Alcohol, Tobacco and Firearms (ATF), accompanied by several members of the media, attempted to execute a search warrant at the Branch Davidian ranch at Mount Carmel, a property located 9 miles (14 km) east-northeast of Waco, Texas. On February 28, shortly after the attempt to serve the warrant, an intense gun battle erupted, lasting nearly 2 hours. In this armed exchange, four agents and six Branch Davidians were killed. Upon the ATF’s failure to execute the search warrant, a siege was initiated by the Federal Bureau of Investigation. The siege ended 50 days later when a fire destroyed the compound when a second assault was launched. 76 people (24 of them British nationals) died in the fire, including more than 20 children, two pregnant women, and the sect leader David Koresh.

File:Mountcarmelfire04-19-93-l.jpg

April 19, 1995: Oklahoma City

The Oklahoma City bombing was a terrorist bomb attack on the Alfred P. Murrah Federal Building in downtown Oklahoma City on April 19, 1995. It would remain the most destructive act of terrorism on American soil until the September 11, 2001 attacks. The Oklahoma blast claimed 168 lives, including 19 children under the age of 6, and injured more than 680 people. The blast destroyed or damaged 324 buildings within a sixteen-block radius, destroyed or burned 86 cars, and shattered glass in 258 nearby buildings. The bomb was estimated to have caused at least $652 million worth of damage. Extensive rescue efforts were undertaken by local, state, federal, and worldwide agencies in the wake of the bombing, and substantial donations were received from across the country. The Federal Emergency Management Agency (FEMA) activated eleven of its Urban Search and Rescue Task Forces, consisting of 665 rescue workers who assisted in rescue and recovery operations.

Within 90 minutes of the explosion, Timothy McVeigh was stopped by Oklahoma State Trooper Charlie Hanger for driving without a license plate and arrested for unlawfully carrying a weapon. Forensic evidence quickly linked McVeigh and Terry Nichols to the attack; Nichols was arrested and within days both were charged. Michael and Lori Fortier were later identified as accomplices. McVeigh, an American militia movement sympathizer, had detonated an explosive-filled Ryder truck parked in front of the building. McVeigh’s co-conspirator, Terry Nichols, had assisted in the bomb preparation. Motivated by his hatred of the federal government and angered by what he perceived as its mishandling of the Waco Siege (1993) and the Ruby Ridge incident (1992), McVeigh timed his attack to coincide with the second anniversary of the deadly fire that ended the siege at Waco.

File:Oklahomacitybombing-DF-ST-98-01356.jpg

April 20, 1999: Columbine High School

The Columbine High School massacre (often known simply as Columbine) occurred on Tuesday, April 20, 1999, at Columbine High School in Columbine, an unincorporated area of Jefferson County, Colorado, United States, near Denver and Littleton. Two senior students, Eric Harris and Dylan Klebold, embarked on a massacre, killing 12 students and 1 teacher. They also injured 21 other students directly, and three people were injured while attempting to escape. The pair then committed suicide. It is the fourth-deadliest school massacre in United States history, after the 1927 Bath School disaster, 2007 Virginia Tech massacre, and the 1966 University of Texas massacre, and the deadliest for an American high school.

April is also a bloody month for other days, like the Virginia Tech massacre on April 16, 2007 and the start of such bloody conflicts as the American Revolution and the Civil War. I could mention dozens of other bloody events that happened in April, but I think this is quite enough for now. If you want a fuller accounting of the bloodshed, check out this article by Chaotic Ramblings

I pray for everyone who died in those tragedies. As I write this, the sun is shining through my window, warming my hands as I pound away on the keyboard. I’m going to make this a good day, despite those bad memories.

I suggest you do the same.

Heavy Metal Saved Me

I am your main man, if you’re looking for trouble. I’ll take no lip, no one’s tougher than me. I kicked your face you’d soon be seeing double. Hey little girl, keep your hands off of me…I’m a rocker.

“The Rocker,” by Thin Lizzy

A lot of people are amused to learn about my musical tastes. My work space at home and the office is cluttered with political and history-based trinkets, which would leave one to believe I listened to country or folk or maybe even some 1970s rock.

Heavy Metal music? It just doesn’t fit my image.

And yet, some 30 years ago, that music saved my life. And to this day, I listen to it faithfully. In fact, it’s become one of the main tools of my recovery from a life of mental disorder.

Let’s start from the beginning.

1984

This is the year my older brother died. But even without that, life was pretty miserable. I wasn’t exactly popular in school. I was overweight and the subject of ridicule. Emotions were understandably raw at home.

But that was also the year I began listening to heavy metal music.

It allowed me to escape the pain around me. The aggressiveness of the music gave me an outlet to process all the rage I was feeling. Without it, drugs and violence toward others might have been next.

My closest friend at the time, who lived two doors down, got me into the music — introducing me to the likes of Motley Crue and Thin Lizzy. When that friend died 12 years later, the music would again help me process my rage and keep me steady.

I’d be angry, hurt or scared, and I needed something to absorb my aggression. Heavy metal was the punching bag.

One of my favorite songs in 1984 was “Knock ‘Em Dead Kid” from Motley Crue’s “Shout At The Devil” album. The lyrics go something like this:

Heard a star-spangled fight/A steel-belted scream

Now I’m black/I’m black/I’m black

Another sidewalk’s bloody dream

I heard the sirens wine/My blood turned to freeze

You’ll see the red in my eyes/as you take my disease

For me, it was excellent therapy.

Around 2003, as I was going through a rough patch at work (my own shortcomings at the time more than anything else), that therapy took the form of Metallica’s “St. Anger” album. The album itself is far from their best, but the opening song, “Frantic,” tore a path straight into my soul.

The song came out a year before I started to come to grips with the OCD, and the guy in the video WAS me. The lyrics were me. I was frantic. I just didn’t realize it at that point.

Today, I listen to the music more for simple enjoyment than as an anger-management device. The anger went away some time ago.

The nostalgia is a big attraction for me, too. It takes me back to a time when I was in pieces; to a time when the music literally saved me. It has become something of a security blanket.

A lot of it makes me laugh as well — no small thing when you’re struggling not to take life too seriously.

How can you not find a live Motley Crue clip funny? Vince Neil sings every fifth word of most songs live. It’s amusing to watch.

The spikes-and-leather dress code make me laugh, too.

It reminds me not to take myself too seriously. And once I’m brought down to Earth like that, sanity prevails.

The Great Chelsea Fire of 1973

Before the family business was in Saugus, MA, it was in Chelsea, MA. That is, until the Second Great Chelsea Fire in 1973.

On October 14, 1973, 18 city blocks of Chelsea were destroyed by conflagration. At the center was Chelsea’s Rag District, a densely packed area of buildings that stored paper and textile scrap for the junk and recycling industry. The wood-framed buildings were old and rundown. With winds of up to 50 MPH and a lack of water to fight with, the fire was able to spread. Luckily, no one was killed.

Here’s a picture from The Boston Globe article on the fire. My father is on the left, crouched over the rubble that was the family business:

11162048_10206907695077321_1883346734130020566_o

Here’s a pretty good documentary of that fire. Be sure to check out how the fire spread at 20:20. Below is a newspaper article quoting my father on the disaster.