The OCD Diaries

November 2, 2015

5 Realizations and Defenses from the Family Business

Big pressures aside, I’ve learned much while cleaning up and selling off the old family business and managing trusts Dad left in my hands.

Mood music:

Until I took on this family business stuff, I’d never had to deal with lawyers or real estate people at this magnitude. I had certainly never managed this kind of money. Here are five realizations — and five defenses — that have saved me from implosion.

5 Realizations

Lawyers are the best and worst of humanity. I have to deal with several of our own and other people’s lawyers for real estate matters and environmental remediation. The best ones guide you through traumatic minefields and save you from your own inexperience. The rest bleed you dry and bog you down — and bill you for every drop of blood spilled.
Hurry up and wait. Lawyers, insurance companies, government agencies and vendors love paperwork. I’ve filled out more in the last six months than I have in the previous five years. They want their forms immediately, but once they have them, you wait months for resolution.
Cost estimates are rarely accurate. There’s a huge disconnect between what vendors tell you something costs and what it actually costs. It’s usually more than you’re led to believe.
A good financial advisor can save your life. Mine has guided me through the intricacies of trust management, investments and loads of related tasks. I never could have handled it alone.
Insurance companies have nice people but evil policies. Processing Dad’s life insurance claims is a mind-numbing experience. When I call these companies and talk to real people, they’re nice enough. But the left hand never knows what the right hand is doing. This causes many problems.

5 Defenses

Trust no one. Even when people work for you, blind trust is hazardous. When you have three or more lawyers who have to talk to each other, miscommunication abounds. One will tell you what they think is a solution and you’ll walk away thinking the matter is settled. Then someone else will contradict the previous information and send you back to square one. In business, trust is expensive.
Take care of yourself. I can’t say I’ve learned to do this. But I’m realizing a poorly maintained body will fail under pressure before long.
Paying work comes first. It would be easy for me to let the family business overcome every aspect of my life. There are simply too many moving parts. Early on I found myself taking care of family business before my real work. Then I remembered the real work is what pays the mortgage, the kids’ tuition bills, healthcare and the food on the table. That must always come first.
Make them wait. Since paper pushers take their time, I’m learning to make them wait, too. It’s the closest I come to revenge — and to maintaining balance in my life.
Follow your conscience. I was terrified I’d fuck up everything in the beginning. But when I trust in God and follow my conscience, things work out.

Survival book in the jungle

October 28, 2015October 28, 2015

When Your Kid Asks About Anti-Depressants

My 12-year-old has a few things in common with his dad. Both of us have mental disorders (his is ADHD, mine is OCD with wintertime undercurrents of ADHD). Both of us take medication to help manage our ills. But until last weekend, he had never asked the big question:

“What do these pills do, anyway?”

Mood music:

To answer the question, I dusted off an analogy I had used some years ago to explain it to others. Essentially, I told him, the brain is an engine. When one part gets worn out, the whole the engine can fail. An engine needs the right amount of oil, transmission fluid, brake fluid, and so forth to function properly.

If the oil runs out, for example, the engine seizes up. If the brake fluid runs dry, the breaks fail. Too much of these fluids can harm the engine, as well.

Car owners and auto mechanics use many different techniques to keep engines healthy or fix them when they break. It could be something simple, like topping off the oil, to something more complex, like realigning or replacing faulty parts.

The brain works much the same way.

Heat map of brain activity, normal state versus depressed state

Think of a psychotherapist as the auto mechanic who is well versed in how to regulate the different engine fluids and pinpoint specific fixes for specific problems.

The different drugs are tools the mechanic uses to deal with specific problems in the engine. In the brain, when certain fluids are running low, the result is depression and a host of other mental disorders.

Antidepressants

In my case, Prozac addresses the very specific fluid deficiencies that spark OCD behavior. Since OCD is essentially the brain pumping and spinning out of control, I like to think of my specific problem as a lack of brake fluid.

When I explained it this way, I think he got it.

October 14, 2015

Coming Soon: The OCD Diaries Book Series

For years, people have told me to write a book based on this blog. And for years I’ve resisted because life was busy enough between work, family and writing for three blogs. But after some brainstorming with Erin last weekend, the decision is made: I’m diving in. The time is right.

Mood music:

In 2016 I’ll still write fresh posts here, but my main focus as far as The OCD Diaries goes will be on book writing. Not one book, but a series. There are several recurring themes in the blog and instead of jumping from one to the other in one book, the best approach is several small volumes that zero in on specific themes. The idea is for these to be relatively short essay collections. Instead of merely cobbling together old posts, there will be a lot of fresh writing to fuse things together.

I also want to use a lot of art. Some will be my own. But I have many friends who are artists and I want to use these to give them some more exposure.

We’ll be shopping around for a publisher, but if we can’t find a suitable one we’re going to self publish. One of the great things about the Internet is that it’s easier to go it alone, whether it’s book publishing or music recording. I have one big advantage going in: a lot of experience with publishing and plenty of connections in the business.

These will not be self-help books. I’m too flawed to be telling you how you should deal with life. These are just my experiences and observations. The reader can do what they will with it.

Here’s my early thinking on the different volumes. Any and all feedback is appreciated:

Lessons from an Imperfect Childhood: Don’t expect this to be a laundry list of grievances from childhood. I have no grievances. Life happens, and we all go through tough times. I also believe that most of us have imperfect childhoods and that we even need it to be that way. This volume is where I’ll write about the lessons my experiences produced.
Turning Mental Disorder into a Superpower: This volume will be a chronological narrative of my struggle with OCD and the magic that happened once I realized the goal wasn’t to beat the disorder but to manage it in ways that turn weakness into strength.
Grief Management 3.0: Here, I’ll collect my essays about loss, with a focus on how one gets through it.
The EddieTheYeti Collection: I’ve written a lot of posts based on the work of friend and fellow infosec practitioner Eddie Mize, who has done a lot of remarkable art under the name EddieTheYeti. This book will feature my writing and his art.
Living with Depression, Fear and Anxiety: My experiences and lessons from all three will be collected here.
The Rebellious Catholic: This volume will have essays from my ongoing spiritual journey.
What InfoSec Taught Me About Dealing with Life: My work in the security industry has produced critical lessons on how I need to live my life. Expect an emphasis on the many mistakes I’ve made and why they were ultimately for the good.

Will I get through this whole list in 2016? I doubt it. But the new year will be my starting point. Titles and the number of volumes are also likely to change.

Let the games begin.

Uncle Fester reading a self-help book while lying in bed

October 9, 2015October 9, 2015

Out of Facebook F**ks to Give

When I look at some of the posts I wrote just a few years ago, I realize how much my outlook on a lot of things has changed, especially when it comes to Facebook. My opinions have evolved through my experiences since writing those posts. People who read those posts should see that a writer’s views can evolve and mature — or devolve.

Mood music:

“Me and My Facebook Unfriend Finder“
This post describes how I had installed a plug-in that would tell me who unfriended me. At the time I was obsessive over why people would do that.

My view now: I stopped paying attention to my friends number some time ago, partially because I got tired of worrying about what people found offensive. These days, everyone finds something offensive, and playing the “who unfriended me?” game got boring.

I also learned on more than one occasion that being friends with someone on Facebook doesn’t make them friends in real life. I’ve been to events where people I’m connected to online didn’t say two words to me in person. If it ain’t real, it ain’t worth fretting over.

“Run Out of Town (Or Off Facebook, Twitter)“
A friend whose quick typing fingers got her into trouble was ready to quit Facebook. In this post, I suggested that she shouldn’t quit Facebook because none of us are perfect. Then I offered advice on how she could get along better.

My view now: I used to think that I could help people form healthier habits. But you can’t change people who don’t want to change. Mostly, you have to hope people learn and evolve on their own. The person I wrote about in that post still engages in bomb throwing online, and she has a loyal audience. I didn’t unfriend her. I just ignore her.

“Research It Before You Share“
People pass on all sorts of content without stopping to find out whether it’s true or not. It’s good to let people know when they’re being gullible, kind of like a public service announcement. I don’t regret writing this one. Having said that …

My view now: I’ve realized that people will never stop posting memes or statements without checking their facts first, especially when they fit their preconceived ideas. People have taken their politics on Facebook to lunacy levels, and if I’ve learned anything in life, it’s that you can’t reason with crazy.

“Don’t Let Politics Kill Friendships“
Political arguments on Facebook can damage or kill friendships. I’m sorry when my actions have caused that to happened with my friends.

My view now: I still believe I should be respectful in an argument. But if a friendship can’t survive political arguments, it wasn’t a very strong friendship to begin with. That’s especially true if the argument is with someone you only communicate with on Facebook. In this case, the friend in question was a friend long before Facebook came along. And we get along just fine today.

“A Message from the ‘Obsessive Poster’“
Someone called me an obsessive poster, and I took the opportunity to defend myself.

My view now: The guy was right. I was posting far too much. I don’t post nearly as much now. Back then, there was an OCD component to my posts. I was obsessive about getting my words to the masses. I was also inexperienced in the art of self-promotion and distribution. I’ve learned along the way that less is more.

October 7, 2015October 6, 2015

When Life Changes, So Do Your Coping Tools

I used to post in this blog at least once a day. Now I struggle to write a couple times a week. What’s going on?

Mood music:

When I started this blog, I was writing one or more posts a day, almost every day. Then it was four times a week. Then it was three. Lately, I have a hard time finding the motivation to write.

It’s odd, because writing has long been my most important coping tool for navigating life.

It’s not writer’s block or a lack of ideas. I have a backlog of topics I wrote down some time ago. I’m realizing that the problem — if it can be considered a problem — is that the contours of my life have changed, requiring me to rethink my coping tools and how best to use them.

I’ve experienced big changes in my life these last few months. Three people who were each a major force in my life passed on, and I found myself responsible for cleaning up and selling the family business. And in the last two years, the nature of my work has changed.

As a result, all my tools — the guitar playing, writing, breathing exercises, prayer, and so on — are in flux. I still use them, but the amount of each is changing.

Especially the writing.

My love for writing is as strong as it’s ever been. But as the busyness of my days has crowded out the time for it, I’ve realized that the world isn’t going to end when I don’t produce for this space. I don’t need to type a post every day for writing to be a critical tool.

It’s also true that a lot of my writing time has shifted to work projects. I’m working on the kind of research, intelligence gathering and report writing I’ve long wanted to do. But it’s a more demanding kind of writing, so I’ve shifted a lot of my strength and discipline there.

The family business stuff is something else entirely. It sucks up a lot of time and there are many moving parts. I’ve been learning a lot about the law, real estate, environmental remediation and insurance.

I also need to do my best for the family, and it’s become necessary to cut some of the writing time I used to have.

I don’t have a plan yet outlining the new order of things. My breathing exercises and praying is pretty much unchanged, I still see the therapist every other week and I take my meds on schedule. The guitar playing and personal blogging are moving targets. Some weeks I play a lot, other weeks hardly at all.
The writing has been even less predictable. For now, I’m scheduling posts for Monday, Wednesday and Friday each week.

All this will sort itself out and before long I’ll have a new tool-using structure that works for this new world I find myself in.

In the meantime, if you don’t see me posting, don’t worry. I’m fine — even better than fine.

I’m just busy living.

Spectre of the Past by EddieTheYeti — “Spectre of the Past” by EddieTheYeti

October 5, 2015

These Squabbles Make Us Small

Some of you asked why I don’t write as much as I used to. Partial answer: My real job and a lot of family business leave me with less time and motivation to do so.

But there’s something else, and it’s had a bigger impact.

Mood music:

The squabbling on social media has gotten so childish that it’s not worth commenting on anymore. This is especially true in infosec.

My job used to be writing about the security community and its research. Now I’m part of the security community, working and writing alongside researchers. Instead of hearing and writing about the challenges of incident management and compliance, I’m living it. No complaints there; it’s what I wanted.

It’s made me realize that it’s more important to keep learning and doing the work than to opine about every instance where my peers get their underwear in a twist. People once used social media to build up the security community. Now they’re using it to tear vast segments of it down. I see more bickering about tactics and positions than discussion about how we can do better. You’re either right or you suck.

For example:

Someone says they don’t like getting hugs at conferences. The people that do like hugs take offense.
Someone makes an off-color joke. The ensuing conversation revolves around people’s triggers being set off. Then people with those triggers get pissed on for having triggers in the first place.
Someone takes a position that’s unpopular. A cabal of naysayers question that person’s right to exist.

Now people are denouncing the whole idea of a security community. They’re suggesting the industry and community are two different things. The community, they say, is a collection of cliques — the so-called cool kids and posers — whereas the industry is where all the grownups are.

Like most things in life, it’s hardly that simple.

The problem isn’t that people pine for the idea of a community. It’s that too many people lack understanding of what a community is.

Communities are a mix of people with different beliefs. They’re places where people can come together for the greater good while still arguing about smaller things. Real communities are not offense- or trigger-free zones.

Infosec isn’t unique, either. These communities exist in many professions, and people behave in them much the way they behave in the infosec community.

I could write a post suggesting people stop being so ridiculous. I could suggest some of us stop getting so offended about everything. And before this year, I probably would have.

Right now, though, I have more important things to do.

It’s not that I’m personally offended by it all. I just don’t have time for it anymore. The challenges we face are big, and the squabbles make us small.

September 27, 2015September 27, 2015

Remembering Cliff Burton, Metallica’s Original Bassist

I couldn’t let the day go by without acknowledging a grim anniversary. Twenty-nine years ago today, Metallica bassist Cliff Burton was killed when the band’s tour bus flipped over on a lonely road in Sweden.

Mood music:

The band’s first three albums had a huge impact on me.

In fact, Metallica’s “Master of Puppets” album helped me get through my last major attack of Crohn’s Disease.

It might seem bat-shit crazy of me to intertwine these two things, but the fact is that the “Master of Puppets” album DID help me get through that attack. That, and the book “Helter Skelter.” I read that book twice as I lingered on the couch, rising only for the frequent bloody bathroom runs that are the hallmark of Crohn’s flare-ups.

I listened to Master of Puppets nonstop. It tapped right into the anger I was feeling as a 16-year-old still reeling from his brother’s death and under the influence of Prednisone.

I had plans back then. I was going to lose 30 pounds, grow my hair long and find myself a girlfriend. I was going to live a life closer to normal. Not that I knew what normal was back then. As an adult, I’ve learned that normal is a bullshit concept, really. One man’s normal is another man’s insanity.

When the blood reappeared and the abdominal pain got worse, I wasn’t worried about whether I’d live or die or be hospitalized. I was just pissed because it was going to foul up my carefully designed plans.

When I listened to the title track to Master of Puppets, the master was the disease — and the wretched drug used to cool it down.

“The Thing That Should Not Be” was pretty much my entire life at that moment.

I related to “Welcome Home: Sanitarium” because I felt like I was living in one at the time. I was actually lucky about one thing: Unlike the other bad attacks, I wasn’t hospitalized this time.

Though Master of Puppets came out in March 1986, it was that summer when I really started to become obsessed with it. At the end of that summer, the Crohn’s attack struck. The album became the soundtrack for all the vitriol I was feeling.

That fall, as the flare-up was in full rage, Metallica bassist Cliff Burton was killed in that bus accident in Europe. It felt like just another body blow. I found this band in a time of need, and a major part of the music was ripped away.

I recently found a track of “Orion” where Cliff’s bass lines are isolated. It puts my neck hair on end every time I play it.

I haven’t been much of a Metallica fan in recent years. I enjoy some of what they’ve done from the fifth album to now. But the first three albums were special. Especially “Master of Puppets,” which was there when I needed it most.

File:Cliff Burton Memorial.PNG

September 25, 2015September 25, 2015

See a Grown Man Cry

People are making fun of U.S. House Speaker John Boehner because of his penchant for crying. He did it yesterday during Pope Francis’ visit, and today when he announced plans to retire. But I think his public displays of emotion are courageous.

A lot of guys suck at crying. I’m no exception. I’ve always envied men who can do it in public.

Mood music:

I’ve never been the weepy type. To do so, in my mind, meant being weak. Tears meant embarrassment. Tears are for girls, I always told myself. I opted for the stiff upper lip during times of pain and trauma.

To this day I can be an emotionally closed-off person. I probably get it from my father. He was one of the most loving guys I knew, but he always had a tough time showing his emotion. I saw him cry once in the last 45 years: when my brother died.

When my brother died, I pretended to cry. Crying was expected in a situation like that. I made the crying noises. I made myself tremble. But it was an act. I felt the same degree of pain as everyone else over what happened, but the storm swirled deep inside me instead of on the surface.

It was the same when my best friend died. That one hit me like a bullet to the chest and fueled some of my most self-destructive, angry behavior in the years to come. But I never actually cried. That’s probably part of the reason I acted out in those other, uglier ways. The day he died, I remember going to his parents’ house, two doors down from where I grew up. I sat at their dining room table, wide eyed. I was trying to make myself cry. But it didn’t happen.

I have been able to let the tears loose a couple times. Both times, it was because I had done something to hurt my wife. Only she got to see it, though, and I walked around embarrassed for days after.

One year, I was on team for a men’s Cursillo weekend. I won’t tell you what was said there, but when people start exploring their faith and where they have been in life, a lot of sobbing results. I saw a lot of tough guys cry.

Twice that weekend I came close. But it didn’t come.

The idea of it still strikes me as too unmanly.

But I think the inability to cry has helped fuel some of my worst moments as a human being. I took my pain out on other people and I tried very hard to destroy myself.

Luckily, I had people around me who loved me enough to put up with it and, ultimately, give me the help I needed.

So one of the things on my to-do list is learning to let the tears out.

When I have a breakthrough, I’ll let you know.

Or, maybe I won’t.

Meantime, cut Mr. Speaker some slack.

John Boehner Crying

September 21, 2015October 7, 2020

Tales from the Womb

For a few years in the late 1980s and early 1990s, it was one of my favorite places on Earth. My late friend Sean Marley built the room in his basement, a couple doors down from my house. If we weren’t in my basement, we were in his.

Mood music:

https://youtu.be/QcVS4Kpdn0E

Sean called it The Womb because he likened the peace one felt in there to being back in the womb. It was a fairly accurate description.

There was always a smell of incense. There was a phone made in the likeness of Opus from the “Bloom County” comic strip. There was the wood-burning stove, a huge amp and a black Carvin guitar — probably one of the heaviest guitars I ever held. There were books of all sorts and there was usually alcohol nearby.

It’s where he taught me to use a bong made from a Windex bottle and introduced me to a lot of the music I love today: Thin Lizzy, T. Rex, Ministry, Soundgarden, King Diamond, Nine Inch Nails. He also introduced me to some stuff I wasn’t as crazy about, like Skinny Puppy.

Sean and I would talk for hours down there, just the two of us much of the time but frequently with an assortment of friends, too. I met people there who became dear friends and remain so today. We talked about philosophy, religion, politics, history. It was the most comfortable classroom I ever knew. And Sean was a great teacher.

Thanks to Dan for sharing this photo. It brings back a lot of great memories.

Bill Brenner and Sean Marley in the Womb

September 18, 2015June 25, 2020

Learning to Deal with the Pressure

Update 6/25/20: When I wrote this, I had no clue about the stresses and curve balls still to come. I aged a lot in the 5 years that followed, but through fire and error, I remain standing.

Baseball has never been my thing, but I’m learning to deal with the big curve balls that keep coming my way.

Mood music:

Last year, before my father’s health went into its final descent, he asked me to help him with his unfinished business interests. Since his death, the task has been something close to a second full-time job.

I’m now in charge of cleaning up and selling the building that housed the family business. The work needed on the property is extensive and expensive. There are additional plots of land I’m responsible for selling, and there are accounts I have to manage responsibly — all while doing the best work I can in my real career as a writer in the information security industry. Work days are frequently interrupted with phone calls from lawyers, financial advisors, and real-estate people. And then there are bills to pay to keep the building standing.

Business is not my background and I never wanted this additional work. Life was already full and busy. I didn’t think I was up to the task because of my limited knowledge about real estate, investments and all the people that come with it. I was scared, frankly.

I was worried about mismanaging the family legacy. I was worried it would make me more absent as a father and husband. I was worried that my real job would suffer.

It’s still a major stress in my life and will be for years to come. But along the way something has happened: I’ve learned to carry the load and am even willing to contemplate the possibility that I’m getting good at this.

To my astonishment, I’ve still been able to give my real job 100 percent. And with the family business legacy tasks, I finally feel like I’m in full command. Though I want to punch my fist through walls many days, I’m glad I took this on. I’ve learned a ton, and the knowledge will be valuable going forward.

I think I’ve been able to do all this without neglecting my wife and kids. I certainly hope so. My faith has sustained me. Many awesome friends have helped me along, too. And the members of my household have been extremely patient. I’m grateful for that.

My coping tools have helped, though I admit there are days I forget to use them.

That’s how life works. Curve balls come our way and we either learn to catch them or get slammed in the face. I’ve taken a few blows to the head along the way, but I’m learning to play the game.