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The Pedophile, Part 3

My father-in-law read my posts on the pedophile and posted a heated note on my Facebook page:

“OK, YOU put this out there and say YOU have concern and wish to warn people he is on facebook. YET appear to be FEARFUL of naming this person for those of us who don’t know of whom you speak. If he is what you say then naming him will do no harm. Homeless, jobless? Where is he gaining computer access? The library? Where countless children gather?”

I’ll freely admit it: A lot of times, my father-in-law is right. And yes, the guy has been getting Internet access from the library.

This guy was thrice convicted of sexually abusing a minor. His record is on the Internet for all to see. I guess I kept his name out at first because, believing as I do that NOBODY is beyond redemption, I wanted to give him a chance to get on with his life.

That was my mood when I wrote The Pedophile, Part 1.

Then I saw him friending scores of teenage girls from remote parts of the globe on Facebook and my heart and mood hardened. So I wrote this follow-up.

I’ll leave you to click those links if you want to know my full feelings about this fellow. It’s complicated, because we grew up together in the Point of Pines, Revere, Mass. He was my friend.

But we all have hard times in life, and the choice of which direction to take is ultimately up to us. He chose poorly. I don’t consider myself better than him. I could have easily made choices that would have landed me in jail. I was lucky and probably had a lot more love and support along the way. He did what he did, and the bottom line is that he is a danger to society. He doesn’t want to be. He’s told me as much. But he is, and so people need to be warned.

His name is Mark Hedgecock. He grew up on Bateman Avenue. He attended the Roosevelt School for grades K-6, Paul Revere for 7 and 8 and he went to the Voke in Wakefield for high school. We we both in the drafting shop and graduated in 1989.

Here’s the rap sheet. My best advice is to pray for him, because it’s never too late to turn it around. But if you see him on Facebook, steer clear. I forgive him for what he did, but when you do the crime you gotta do the time — in jail or out.

MARK HEDGECOCK

Address:00 HOMELESS/DOWNTOWN BOSTON CHARLESTOWN MA 02116 Race:White Sex:Male Height:5’08”  Weight:170 lbs.  Eyes:Brown Hair:Brown Age/DOB:39

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The Saturday Morning Ritual, Part 2

Saturday morning ritual, as Sean calls it, is when the kids hang out with Dad stupid early while Mom sleeps.

Mood music:

[youtube=http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=ubZjbmA1Id0&fs=1&hl=en_US]

We used to watch Sesame Street. Now me, Sean and Duncan are staring at our individual computer screens. The sounds of video games waft through the living room.

I used to spend this time dreading all the things I had to do that didn’t include lying on the couch and shutting off my soul. Now I’m not thinking about much of anything. That’s progress.

I got a lot to do this weekend. My Cub Scout kids have to get in uniform and go door to door selling popcorn. I have to rewrite my Cursillo talk and e-mail the final version to the retreat planners.

And I’m fine with all of it.

It’s a Blessing to be able to do the routine things in life without fear and anxiety burning you to a cinder.

And as a bonus, the sun is coming up after hiding behind thick clouds these last few days.

Hell, yes.

Seize the day.

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Summer of 1990

I’m not sure why, but I’ve been thinking a lot lately about the summer of 1990. That was a rough summer with a serious streak of depression. And yet thinking about it takes me to a happy place.

Mood music:

[youtube=http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=K0z6ATxLk8Q&fs=1&hl=en_US]

I’ve had to do a lot of digging into my past as part of my therapy and recovery from OCD. Sometimes I see it as a waste of time, since you can’t change the past. But it is important to get closure on the things that haunt you so you can move on. I can’t explain why. I only know from experience that it’s true.

That said, let’s dive back to this summer 20 years ago.

I was getting ready for my second year at North Shore Community College. I was hell-bent on becoming a writer by this point, but it hadn’t yet taken the form of journalism. Instead, I wrote a lot of song lyrics and poems. If you saw them, you would laugh. My favorite was something I penned as my friend Aaron was throwing up all over my basement hideaway because I insisted he get drunk with me. We split a bottle of vodka and he had eaten McDonald’s beforehand. The puke looked like brown confetti.

I sat on the floor as he passed out on my bed, and I wrote about the fear that I had just killed my friend. Twenty years later, we’re both still alive and kicking.

Back then I was binge eating and drinking with plenty of pot mixed in. To control my weight in the face of such behavior, I would run circles in the living room of the basement apartment for one to two hours at a time.

I remember being pretty down on myself because I couldn’t find a girlfriend. For some stupid reason, I thought I needed one.

I spent that summer working in my father’s warehouse and hated every minute of it. I’d put the headphones on and listen to my metal to pass the time, and the summer became all about getting through the days until the college semester started back up.

I tried to escape in movies a lot. Aaron, his then-girlfriend Sharon (a good friend to this day) and I went to the Showcase Cinemas in Revere a lot. One Sunday, we saw a movie called “Flatliners,” about some medical students who engage in an experiment of near-death to get a peek at the afterlife (or something like that). It was a dark movie, and for whatever reason, it sent me into a deep, deep depression.

That same week, Iraq invaded Kuwait and my depression deepened. I had a real fear of current events back then, and everyone was talking about Saddam as the next Hitler and people were mentioning the WW III segment in the Nostradamus book of predictions. This was it, the start of World War III, I thought.

Ironically, it was Sean Marley — a friend who would take his own life six years later — who snapped me out of it. He was on a real anti-government kick by that point, and he convinced me — rightly or wrongly — that the way to cope was to rebel against everything the government stood for. So that’s what I did. One day, in Sean’s car, I torched a dollar bill with my cigarette lighter after someone mentioned it’s illegal to destroy money. I was a real rebel at that point, in my own stupid mind.

I began to read a lot about the 1960s counter-culture movement in the face of the Vietnam War and that gave me inspiration. I started listening to The Doors a lot.

One movie that made me feel better that summer was “Pump Up The Volume” with Christian Slater. To this day, I think that movie has one of the best soundtracks of all time. Hence my choice of today’s mood music. That Soundgarden song was part of the soundtrack. The movie added fuel to the rebellious fire I was stoking.

A lot of life has happened since that summer. Some of it has been good and some of it bad.

But that summer of my 20th birthday was a turning point for me. I can’t describe it perfectly, but that summer was the first time I really, truly started to examine who I was, what I believed and what I wanted to be. It took nearly another 20 years to figure it out, and I guess I’m still figuring it out.

But that uneven summer was a start.

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Things that DON’T Suck

Since life has it’s ups, downs and constant drama, I always try to look at the everyday things to be grateful for. Sure, I struggle with OCD and addiction. Some of my relationships are strained. Life is hard. But when I step back and think it over, there’s a lot of awesomesauce oozing around me.

Mood music:

[youtube=http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=iUha_Vj1BWA&fs=1&hl=en_US]

–Started the morning with coffee and an OA meeting. I led this one and told my story. I enjoyed myself in the process. That doesn’t suck.

–Duncan gave me a big hug when I came home. That never, ever sucks.

–Later I’ll go to a send-off party for an old Eagle-Tribune colleague who is leaving. Many long-time friends will be there. That doesn’t suck.

–I’ve reconnected with another old friend from high school, and I didn’t need Facebook to do it. That doesn’t suck.

–I’ve got an iPod crammed with all my favorite rock and metal: Thin Lizzy, Motley Crue, NIN. With metal, things don’t suck as bad as they otherwise might.

–I made it another day without giving in to my addictive impulses. That doesn’t suck.

–I controlled my OCD yesterday more than it controlled me. That didn’t suck so much.

–Tomorrow’s Sunday, which means Mass in the morning. When you let the man upstairs into your life, big, sucky things become smaller, not-so-sucky things.

–The sun is shining. Since too much cloudiness and darkness screws with my mental balance, sunshine doesn’t suck.

–Thursday I turn 40. Some people would be depressed about turning 40, but truth be told, after some of what I’ve been through, I never really expected to reach 40. So with that perspective, aging doesn’t suck.

I have to go do the grocery shopping. That does suck a little bit. But then it’ll be done, and that doesn’t suck.

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Putting the Fun in Dysfunction

Why the author needs dysfunctional people in his life.

Mood music for this post: “California Uber Alles” by The Dead Kennedys:

[youtube=http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=UW8UlY8eXCk&hl=en_US&fs=1&]

In one of our many discussions over what she doesn’t like about me and my way of life, my mother often lamented that whatever she didn’t like was “just not normal.”

Truth is, I don’t think I’ve ever met a normal person in my nearly 40 years on this planet.

I prefer it that way.

Normal means you get a long with everyone. You never make waves. You have a perfect family that never, ever fights.

In the parental world view described above, you do everything exactly the way your parents want you to. You always put them first — even before your own wife and kids.

You never piss off your work colleagues and you dive into new work initiatives with a big smile on your face, regardless of whether you believe it’ll work or not.

Have you ever met someone like this?

I’ve learned something valuable on my long journey of recovery from mental illness and addiction: There is no such thing as normal. We are all crazy — some a little bit, some a lot.

For me, the key has been to manage my own brand of dysfunction so that it doesn’t force all the big stuff in life to a grinding halt. If it messes with my work and my ability to be there for my wife and children, then that is NOT OK. That’s what happens when you’re tight in the grip of depression and addiction like I was.

I have my recovery, but I’m still dysfunctional in a lot of ways.

My life is a twisted wreckage of sarcasm, journalism, history fanatic, metal fanatic, devout Catholicism and family. [For more on this, see The Case for Multiple Personalities.] I don’t drink alcohol, smoke pot or eat anything with flour or sugar. I’m in bed early and wake up even earlier. Yet I’m still hopelessly addicted to coffee, Red Bull and I love an occasional cigar. [More on this in How to Play Addiction Like a Piano.]

But it’s a pile of wreckage that sails well enough through rough seas when all the pieces are fused together just right. Sometimes it’ll sway too hard from left to right and pieces will come loose. But it never sinks.

I also believe that no family or office is worth being in without an assortment of dysfunctional personalities.

During my daily newspaper days, one guy constantly picked fights with his editors, shouted F-bombs across the newsroom and always looked like he’d have a stroke at any second. Once, he nearly got fired for telling a reader who didn’t like something he wrote to fuck off by e-mail.

He also exposed a lot of evils in the communities he covered and in some cases it led to new anti-fraud laws being enacted. And if a co-worker was in a bind, he was always among the first to offer a helping hand. He might trash talk that person an hour or a day after helping them, but he’d come back a day later and help that same person if they needed it. If he were more normal, I’m not so sure he’d have the same impact he has had.

When I hang out in a cigar shop, I run into a lot of characters who would be considered dysfunctional. One guy sat down next to me and a friend one night and started describing the government and everything else as a “fuck show.” He slurred every word, though I’m pretty sure he was sober. We were certain his brain had burned to a cinder long ago and all that was left functioning was his mouth. Then he started to talk some more and we discovered he was a former teacher who really knew his history and social studies.

I also know a lot of recovering addicts who are able to help lead people to recovery even though they can’t string more than two words together or tie their shoes before leaving the house. No wonder lace-less footwear is so popular.

The point is that we’re all dysfunctional to some extent. We should be accepting of that — even a bit grateful.

Normal is a boring, stagnant concept that doesn’t really exist anyway. Remember the movie “Pleasantville,” where everyone had squeaky clean, conflict-free lives of black and white? The people in that world only started to live and experience color when the dysfunctional siblings entered the picture.

Next time someone complains that you’re not normal or that you are a source of dysfunction, just correct them and point out that you are merely interesting — after you tell ’em to go screw.

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The 12-Step Survival Guide of Life

For those who need a 12-Step Program, here are a few lessons from the author’s personal experiences.

Mood music for this post: “Rise Above” by Black Flag:

[youtube=http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=S7Y4iUfktOo&hl=en_US&fs=1&]

When you follow the 12 Steps of Recover as I do, you discover the little things in ways you never could before. Yesterday was another example.

Erin, Sean, Duncan and I went deep-sea fishing with my parents and had a wonderful afternoon. One of my favorite places to be has always been out on the ocean. That’s where my roots are. I grew up sitting at the water’s edge in search of peace that always eluded me.

Water's edge next to Gibson Park, Revere. I came here often to ponder my troubles.

As for yesterday, a lot of things were different because of my recovery. It used to be unbearable to spend time with my parents. It’s not there fault. It’s just that I could never stop walking on egg shells because I would be waiting for the critical comments that my paranoid, people-pleasing mind expected.

Now I can simply enjoy everyone’s unique personalities and suck in the moment. For someone with OCD, being able to live in the moment is absolutely huge.

Since my recovery program is essential to the life I’m now Blessed to have, I thought I’d share posts that deal specifically with the program:

How a Binge Eater in Recovery Packs for a Trip

The author’s program of recovery from addiction makes travel more interesting. Here’s how.

The Gratitude List

Some of the folks who have helped the author survive along the way.

The Healers (Adventures in Step 9)

Tripped on Step 9 many times. But I got back up. Here’s what happened next.

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.

Pouring Gas on the Fire

People in recovery often go into hyper mode, making up for time wasted in the grip of addiction. Mix in some OCD and here’s what happens…

Hitting Bottom

The author didn’t hit rock bottom before he got help. He hit several bottoms.

The 12 Steps of Christmas

The author reviews the 12 Steps of Recovery and takes a personal inventory. There’s really no Christmas theme here, other than that the author found the headline catchy.

Sobriety Vs. Abstinance

Whenever I share my experiences with OCD and the related binge-eating disorder [See: The Most Uncool Addiction], there’s a word I always refrain from using if I’m outside the safe confines of my OA group: Abstinence. I don’t hate the word. But I don’t like it much, either. Nevertheless, it’s an important word in my recovery vocabulary.

The Case for Self-Deprecation

The author on why self-deprecation is a handy tool for controlling his demons.

Power of Sarcasm

The author explains why humor wrapped in sarcasm is one of his favorite coping tools — even though the edge of the knife can be too sharp at times.

Red Bull Blues

The author learns once again that when he puts one addiction down, he picks up another.

Have Fun With Your Therapist (The Shrink Stigma)

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 Angry Years

The author can’t say his temper was a direct result of OCD, depression and addictive behavior. But dealing with those things did make it go away. Mostly.

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.

The Case for Multiple Personalities

The author embraces the multiple personalities in his head. Here’s why.

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.

How Metal Saved Me

Heavy metal music is one of the author’s main tools of recovery.

Someone to Watch Over Me (Desk Junk)

It’s true. The junk on your desk can be a tool of recovery.

Rest Re-Defined

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

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Cancer and The Mouth

The author has some words for a kid fighting cancer.

Mood music for this post: “Heart-shaped Box” by Nirvana:

[youtube=http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=n6P0SitRwy8&hl=en_US&fs=1&]

Expect a couple shorter posts today. I have a few things on my mind and don’t need many words to get out what I’m feeling.

Here’s the first thing on my mind:

During my teenage years, my step-sister hung out with a kid I nicknamed mouth because she had a really loud voice. As annoyed as I would get with her, I couldn’t help but like her spunk.

She didn’t mind that I called her Mouth. In fact, I think she reveled in it.

For the sake of her privacy, I’ll keep her name out of this post. I’ll just stick with the nickname, which only a few people will get.

Yesterday, my step-sister told me that Mouth has breast cancer.

She’s way too young to have breast cancer.

The good news is that they think they caught it early. The bad news is that it may well mean the breast has to be removed.

Mouth probably doesn’t read this blog, but in case she ever stumbles upon it, I just want to say this:

You may be scared as hell right now, and who could blame you? The C-word is one of the most feared words there is. You’ll no doubt go through a lot of difficult days fighting this one.

But you’ve always been a tough kid, so I know you will fight well.

That you’re going to beat this is a foregone conclusion in my mind. And while you can’t imagine anyone saying this, you’ll probably fight the battle cheerfully.

And after you beat this, you’re going to be better than ever before. Much better. You’ll find an inner strength you never knew you had. And you’ll use that strength to help others. Because that’s who you are.

You’ll also have a new appetite for life.

How do I know these things? Well, I’ve never had cancer, though I know I’m a very good candidate for colon cancer at some point because of the damage Crohn’s Disease inflicted on me as a kid.

But I did survive a nasty childhood with that disease, and I’ve survived a lot worse at the hands of mental illness and addiction in more recent years.

Only after making it through the worst did I realize how precious life is. I found a sense of joy I had never experienced before.

It’s impossible to see that from where you’re standing now.

But someday you’ll understand.

Now go out there and kick some ass.

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Cool Things Afoot

Mood music for this post: “Shine” by the Henry Rollins Band:

[youtube=http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=uAXL4R_keTY&hl=en_US&fs=1&]

Back when I lived a life of fear and anxiety, the only thing worth doing was lying on the couch, eyes vacant and clicker in hand. What a waste.

This morning I have a lot of cool things in motion that definitely would not be happening if I was still in hiding, alone with a brain spinning out of control about bad things that might happen.

–Book Project: At the RSA security conference earlier this month, editors for a security publisher approached me about writing a book. The book proposal is filed and I’m waiting to hear back. But regardless, it was nice to be asked and whatever happens, I’ve gone ahead and started writing the book — about how the information security culture has changed for the good guys and bad guys in the last decade and how/why it happened.

–Family Road Trip: Once upon a time, the thought of driving my family 10 hours South would be enough to send me into a brain spasm. I’d worry about all kinds of things beyond my control. Times have changed. I’m now planning a family road trip sometime in the next three months to Washington D.C., where I plan to show them all the monuments to the giants, the museums and the White House, where a private tour of the West Wing is in the works (I know a few people who work there ;-))

–Speaking engagements: Given that my fear included the prospect of getting up in front of people and making an ass of myself, it’s almost weird to think that I’m doing an increasing number of public speaking events. This coming week, I’ll be giving a keynote talk on social networking security threats at an MIT event. In the last year I’ve given four such talks. I’m also sharing my story of addiction and recovery at an OA meeting this week.

–Work projects: Without getting into detail, because nothing’s a done deal, I’m pursuing a couple projects at work that will probably result in more work and pressure for me. Once upon a time, I would have run from it, even when I was obsessed with pleasing everybody. Now I am running toward it. It’s something I WANT. Being pushy about it is not a problem for me. Good thing I work for tolerant people.

–Helping new converts: I’ve been helping out with this year’s group of folks in the RCIA program. I’m helping out at the weekly Tuesday-night meetings, told my conversion story, and I’ll be doing a reading at the Easter Vigil as I’ve done each year since my own conversion. A few years ago, I wouldn’t have done it because it would have felt like too much work, a waste of a night I could be spending in front of the TV or hiding under the bedsheets. Now I can’t imagine NOT doing this. It energizes my mind, body and soul.

I may not pull off all the things I mentioned above, but it doesn’t matter. For me, the joy is in having several things in motion at once. It’s an OCD trait for sure, but one of the good traits to have.

I’m Blessed far beyond what I probably deserve.

And so I’m going ahead full-throttle, regardless of the potential failures ahead.

Bring it.

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Prozac Winter

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

My therapist and I recently agreed that my Prozac intake should go up a bit for the duration of the winter.

I’m doing well for the most part, but there’s a three-hour window of each day — usually late afternoon — where my mood slides straight into the crapper.

The reason is simple: People who suffer from chemical imbalances in the brain are directly impacted by daylight levels. When the weather is dismal, cold, rainy and the days are shorter, a lot of folks with mental illness find themselves more depressed and moody. Give us a long stretch of dry, sunny weather and days where it gets light at 4:30 a.m. and stays that way past 8 p.m. and we tend to be happier people.

There are lessons to be had in the history books:

— Abraham Lincoln, a man who suffered from deep depression for most of his adult life, went from blue to downright suicidal a few times in the 1840s during long stretches of chilly, rainy weather. [See Why “Lincoln’s Melancholy” is a Must-Read.]

— Ronald Reagan, a sunny personality by most accounts, was a man of Sunny California. Once, upon noticing that his appointments secretary hadn’t worked time in his schedule for trips to his ranch atop the sun-soaked mountains of Southern California — and after the secretary explained that there was a growing public perception that he was spending too much time away from Washington — Reagan handed him back the schedule and ordered that ranch time be worked in. The more trips to the ranch, he explained, the longer he’ll live.

The WebMD site has excellent information on winter depression. Here’s an excerpt:

If your mood gets worse as the weather gets chillier and the days get shorter, you may have “winter depression.” Here, questions to ask your doctor if winter is the saddest season for you.

Why do I seem to get so gloomy each winter, or sometimes beginning in the fall?

You may have what’s called seasonal affective disorder, or SAD. The condition is marked by the onset of depression during the late fall and early winter months, when less natural sunlight is available. It’s thought to occur when daily body rhythms become out-of-sync because of the reduced sunlight.

Some people have depression year round that gets worse in the winter; others have SAD alone, struggling with low moods only in the cooler, darker months. (In a much smaller group of people, the depression occurs in the summer months.)

SAD affects up to 3% of the U.S. population, or about 9 million people, some experts say, and countless others have milder forms of the winter doldrums.

So this worsening of mood in the fall and winter is not just my imagination?

Not at all. This “winter depression” was first identified by a team of researchers at the National Institute of Mental Health in 1984. They found this tendency to have seasonal mood and behavior changes occurs in different degrees, sometimes with mild changes and other times severe mood shifts.

Symptoms can include:

  • Sleeping too much
  • Experiencing fatigue in the daytime
  • Gaining weight
  • Having decreased interest in social activities and sex

SAD is more common for residents in northern latitudes. It’s less likely in Florida, for instance, than in New Hampshire. Women are more likely than men to suffer, perhaps because of hormonal factors. In women, SAD becomes less common after menopause.

Here’s where the Prozac comes in for me:

As I mentioned in The Bad Pill Kept Me from the Good Pill, Prozac helps to sustain my brain chemistry at healthy levels. Here’s a more scientific description of how it works from WebMD:

How Antidepressants Work

Most antidepressants work by changing the balance of brain chemicals called neurotransmitters. In people with depression, these chemicals are not used properly by the brain. Antidepressants make the chemicals more available to brain cells like the one shown on the right side of this slide:

Photo Composite of Neurotransmitters at Work

Antidepressants can be prescribed by primary care physicians, but people with severe symptoms are usually referred to a psychiatrist.

Realistic Expectations

In general, antidepressants are highly effective, especially when used along with psychotherapy. (The combination has proven to be the most effective treatment for depression.) Most people on antidepressants report eventual improvements in symptoms such as sadness, loss of interest, and hopelessness.

But these drugs do not work right away. It may take one to three weeks before you start to feel better and even longer before you feel the full benefit.

I’m convinced the drug would NOT have worked as well for me had it not been for all the intense therapy I had first. Developing the coping mechanisms had to come first.

I’ve also learned that the medication must be monitored and managed carefully. The levels have to be adjusted at certain times of year — for me, anyway.

So next week I’ll start taking the higher dosage and let y’all know how it goes.