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8 Things You Should Know About This Blog

Many family members have recently started reading this blog. Given the semi-autobiographical nature of this beast, misunderstandings have caused friction with a couple people along the way. I’ve written what follows in hopes of clarifying a few things.

Mood music:

http://youtu.be/wovx8GK3WDo

  • I don’t come here to complain about life. Parts of the blog are dark. Other parts are chock-full of my blunt opinions. Some misinterpret that as unhappiness on my part. That’s not the case. Everyone has ups and downs, and I’ve dealt with it in ways right and wrong. I went from being depressed and anxious all the time to confident and mostly happy, and I share both sides of the coin with readers for two reasons: to clarify things for myself and to tell readers that they’re never beyond repair and never alone.
  • If I seem depressed or angry in a post, it doesn’t mean that I am. Some of you see a post where I recount an episode of depression or a day where my addictive impulses got the better of me and assume that I’m in crisis. Some will read a post I wrote a year ago and think that’s my current state of mind. In reality, these posts are a snapshot in time. Maybe I’m blue at the time of writing, but I share the mood for the sake of a lesson I’ve learned about life along the way — that the bad moods pass and down periods make way for up periods. Usually when you read a post, I’ve long since moved on.
  • I don’t share darker aspects of family history to take shots at people. To share lessons I’ve learned in life, I have to go into detail about where I’ve been, how I got the way I was during the darker times and how I found a better place. If I tell the story of a painful period involving family, it’s not to hurt people. It’s simply to share how certain events shaped me.
  • I don’t claim to be 100 percent accurate 100 percent of the time. When sharing an experience, I never claim it’s gospel. I simply recall things to the best of my memory. But no two memories are the same, and if you ask four people to tell you what they remember, you’ll hear four slightly different versions of the same tale. That’s especially true when recalling childhood memories. If you see something that doesn’t ring true, tell me. In every case, I’m going for the truth.
  • I’m much harder on myself than I will ever be on anyone else. A lot of this blog is about the mistakes I’ve made in life and what I’ve learned from them. I’ve been told repeatedly that I’m too hard on myself, but I disagree. Part of the blog is about keeping myself honest and keeping myself on a positive trajectory. A merciless self-inventory from time to time is essential.
  • “Why is he doing this now?” One family member asked that question, and here’s my answer: I started the blog so that I could use writing to put my experiences in perspective. It’s been helpful to me, and in the process many people have told me it’s helped them as well. We all need a dose of perspective, so I try to do my part. It’s also not all about me. I accept guest posts, and that includes those from family members. I’ll run posts that fit this blog regardless of how I’m portrayed, because, as I said, everyone’s memory captures things a little differently. For a more complete picture of what this blog is about, read this.
  • I’m not here trying to pass myself off as an expert on life. For a better explanation of that, go here.
  • People don’t dissect the blog in search of faults the way you think they do. Whenever an author writes something autobiographical, someone claims they were inaccurately portrayed and that everyone will read about them and think the worst. The truth is that since everyone has dysfunction in their families, no one is going to read this sort of blog and pass judgement.

We’re all imperfect people with flaws. Most people are too wrapped up in their own problems to judge those mentioned here based on anything I write.

My hope is that they can read about a tough family situation and see how the lessons apply in their own lives.

If any of this bothers you, call me, email me or hit me up on Facebook.

With love,
Bill

family fight

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Monogamy Isn’t Dead, It’s Just Missing a Hashtag

Chris Messina, the self-proclaimed inventor of the hashtag and advocate for open-web initiatives, has written an article for CNN about why he chooses non-monogamy.

I respect his beliefs. People should be free to love who they want to love. I’m also a happily married, old-fashioned romantic who wonders if people have stopped trying.

Mood music:

Messina writes about being a child of divorce and having had the notion of “happily ever after” monogamy shoved down his throat. He tells us how monogamy established itself thousands of years ago, when society was ruled by scarcity and resources and potential mates were in limited supply, but that:

We’re now living in a period of great (though unequally distributed) abundance where our basic needs are sufficiently met, and reproduction is a choice. As a result, the reasons to be with a single mate for life are less urgent. And with the advent of connected mobile devices and the internet, we’ve entered into the era I’ve dubbed Big Dating. Big Dating unbundles monogamy and sex. It offers to maximize episodes of intimacy while minimizing the risk of rejection or FOMO.

He goes out of his way to reassure those of us who still believe in striving for monogamy:

But fear not: just because a viable alternative to “happily ever after” is in ascendancy doesn’t mean monogamy is irrelevant. To the contrary, it just means that there’s now more than one option for building meaningful and satisfying relationships.

Fair enough. He’s entitled to his point of view. But it all sounds too easy to me. It takes the work out of relationships. And that work is important.

Striving for a relationship where two people are committed to each other was never about achieving the happily ever after. It’s about two people challenging each other. It’s about building something lasting. It’s about facing difficulties and coming out stronger. It’s about casting aside selfishness.

It doesn’t always work. I’m the child of divorced parents, too. I’ve seen a lot of couples destroy each other instead of strengthening one another. Love is hard, and I can see why it puts people like Messina off the idea of monogamy.

But to me, monogamy is still worth the effort. Would I feel differently if I weren’t happily married? Perhaps. But I doubt it.

Messina can have his open relationships. I’ll stick with my one romance.

#LOVE

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I Can Be Hell on the Marriage

Erin and I have a strong marriage. But every marriage requires constant work, and ours is no exception. That work often requires me to look in the mirror.

Mood music:

http://youtu.be/E7xUZkKd58c

For Erin, it means seeing my bad days for what they are and helping me work through them. For me, it means doubling down and fighting back the demons that make me difficult to live with sometimes.

Having experienced all this, an article in Communication Monographs caught our interest. It explores depression and the uncertainty it can cause for couples.

Depression is a chronic condition for me, so it certainly applies.

The article notes that depressed people withdraw from negative situations or social challenges. Feelings of futility and inhibition come into play. Couples where one or both partners experience depression try to preserve the relationship by avoiding conflict.

“This behavior is detrimental to relationships, causing lack of problem resolution, missed bonding opportunities, lack of closeness and questions over commitment,” the article says.

From my perspective, it’s true.

I used to carry around a deep fear of loss that made me avoid painful, truthful conversations we needed. I feared Erin would run out of patience and kick me out.

When we argued, I clammed up. Eventually a wall rose up between us. A few years ago we decided to go to marriage counseling and work through it. The experience drove home that I needed to speak my mind and be honest about my feelings — and that I needed to be a better listener.

It was one of the hardest things I’ve done. That new side of me was no fun for Erin, either. But it was a huge step forward.

My demons have made me less than honest in the past, especially when my addictions were running wild. When you lie, you’re essentially taking a hammer to the trust you build as a couple. It takes a long time to build it back up. Sometimes, the trust never comes back.

I’ve worked damn hard not to let my issues take us there. I’d like to think I’m better than I used to be.

Meanwhile, we’ve developed routines to keep our marriage strong despite the challenges:

  • Once or twice a month, we have date nights. Date nights are critical. If we don’t occasionally focus just on each other, we can lose that original spark.
  • Most days, we stop after work and share the experiences of our day. When the weather cooperates, we do this during walks.
  • We try to never go to bed angry. If the day ends and we have a disagreement, we discuss. It’s not always pretty, but it’s necessary. As an extension of that:
  • We always try to argue well. We don’t call each other names. We don’t threaten each other. We work through things.

We love each other and have found the struggle worth it. We know the struggle is never over.

We know my depression will always be a threat and we must confront it as a couple.

Heartsign, by EddieTheYeti
“Heartsign” by EddieTheYeti
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The Bright Side of Being Buried Alive

Here in Massachusetts, hell has frozen over. We have six feet of snow on the ground and at least two more snowstorms in the forecast. The kids have had 2-3 snow days a week since late January. Public transportation is at a standstill. Words like “unprecedented” and “historic” keep surfacing.

Mood music (sure, this song is about cocaine, but the title fits):

But I’m here to tell my fellow citizens that it could be worse.

Seriously.

True, winter tends to disagree with me. This is the time of year where seasonal depression typically kicks my ass. I’m usually the last guy to see silver linings in those snow clouds. But really, folks, this could be so much worse. Consider the following:

  • The storms so far have dumped light, fluffy snow. That means power outages have been minimal. Here in Haverhill, we’ve had power throughout.
  • Families have gotten a lot of extra quality time this winter. Around here, we’ve enjoyed several movie nights a week instead of the usual one or two. So what if the house is in shambles?
  • In this day and age, the Internet makes working from home much more feasible. A lot of people still have to trudge through the snow to work. But many of us can work anywhere where there’s an Internet connection.
  • It’s no longer pitch black at 5 p.m. Longer days will inevitably give way to spring and warmer weather.

We will survive. We will prosper.

And yes, we will cry some more after another two or three feet have fallen.

snowman with sign: I'll be dead soon

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Brian Williams and the Line Between Truth-Lie

Brian Williams lied and ought to be fired.

Mood music: 

The NBC Nightly News anchor says he “conflated” events when he told the world he was on a chopper that was shot at during the Iraq War. In fact, he was in another chopper an hour behind. I don’t see how one could possibly misremember something as huge as getting shot at.

As this shitstorm intensifies, we’re hearing about other points where he embellished his storytelling, including his work during Hurricane Katrina.

Williams’s integrity has been compromised. In the news business, where truth is the Holy Grail, this is a fatal, self-inflicted wound.

Yet part of me feels badly for Williams.

He did something a lot of people have done: Taking a true story and adding more color to it over time, to the point where the truth part evaporates. People do that all the time. It usually starts off innocently enough, but with each retelling, an embellishment is added here and there. It’s so subtle that the storyteller isn’t always aware of how carried away they’re getting.

The difference is that Williams was trusted to deliver the truth whenever the cameras rolled.

When most other people embellish, it’s in front of a smaller audience, usually a group of friends. Often the storyteller has had a few drinks. Just as often, people in the group are trying to top the last person with something more amusing or outrageous.

Have I ever done it? I’m sure I have. Because I’m human and get caught up in moments, too.

In this blog I do my best to remember events clearly and truthfully and retell it as honestly as I can. Do I misremember things along the way? Probably. My standard operating procedure is to correct the record when that happens. Because lying is too fucking easy. It takes just a millisecond to cross that line.

Williams is paid to be disciplined and accurate; he didn’t merely get carried away among friends. For that he must pay a price.

But I won’t stop feeling just a little bit badly for him.

Brian Williams, NBC Nightly News file photo

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New OCD Diaries Banner

So, you might have noticed something different about the blog’s appearance in recent days.

Your eyes do not deceive you. That IS a new banner.

It’s the work of Eddie Mize, a security professional popularly known as EddieTheYeti. I’ve written a lot about his art and have done a lot of posts where I put words to his images. Think of the new banner as a continuation of that project.

unnamed

Like the last banner, this one captures the light and dark sides of life that I try to capture in the blog daily. On the left is an angel carrying a cross. On the right is a demon. I’m in the middle, constantly being tugged from one side to the other, with the goal of being with the angel most of the time. The demon waits, knowing that sooner or later I’ll make a mistake. Eddie also gave me a pair of wings and a sickle, further illustrating the struggle.

I like it, because it really captures the point of this whole exercise.

Not everyone will like it. But then the same can be said about the posts I write.

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Stop Fussing Over That Belichick Kiss

I’ve said it before: My interest in football is minimal, though my attention perks up a bit when my hometown New England Patriots play the Super Bowl. My focus usually turns to how people behave in the heat of the moment. Whether their team wins or loses, people latch on to the supremely stupid after the big game.

Mood music:

Sometimes Patriots fans are the worst. After the team lost the Super Bowl a couple years ago, people started picking on quarterback Tom Brady’s wife, supermodel Gisele Bündchen. It happened again last year, after the Pats lost in the playoffs. The suggestion is always that she’s somehow turned Brady into a sissy. Fortunately, from what I can tell, the Pats fans who do this are a small minority.

This time, the most glaring acts of stupidity are in the media. Case in point: the reaction to Patriots coach Bill Belichick getting a smooch from his daughter. News sites went wild about the “unusual” kiss.

Bill Belichick Kisses Daughter After Winning Super Bowl
Photo by Matt Slocum/AP Photo

TotalProSports.com expressed its horror this way:

After winning Super Bowl 49, passions were running high, and the Patriots coach kissed like no one was watching. Only there were a ton of people watching because it was the Super Bowl. And the person he kissed was his daughter, Amanda. But there was SO MUCH passion in that kiss.

The Stir even brought in a family physician to asses the situation. The reaction of Dr. Deborah Gilboa:

I think this is a reach for scandal … Being able to show affection between adult parents and their adult kids is lovely, and it’s great if Bill Belichick has such a positive relationship with his daughter.

Nothing to see here, right? But Stir writer Jenny Erikson couldn’t let it go:

OK … in theory maybe it’s a good idea that parents and their adult children are so close that they kiss on the mouth … but I just can’t see it. I have a very close relationship with my own dad, and kiss him on the cheek almost every time we greet and say goodbye, but on the lips? Never. Not even a little bit. It kind of makes me uncomfortable even writing this paragraph.

She’s entitled to that opinion, of course. I even share her preference for planting parental kisses on the cheek. But she’s making something out of nothing like the others who were scandalized by this.

This father-daughter kiss was no big deal. Parents and adult kids kiss each other on the lips all the time. I don’t see any tongue jamming in that photo. Do you? That would have been a different story altogether.

Tom Brady and his mom also kissed on the lips after the win, but no one is making a big deal out of that. Nor should they.

8932d2b87dbb490f88d02549f4921ed0-8932d2b87dbb490f88d02549f4921ed0-0
David J. Phillip/AP

 

Give it a rest, folks.

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Anatomy of an Identity Crisis

When a sibling’s death turns the baby of the family into the oldest son, you get an identity crisis filled with anger and confusion.

Mood music:

I’ve written at length about my brother Michael, who died of an asthma attack when I was 13. That experience will test any kid, and I was no exception. The loss infused a deep reservoir of fear and anxiety in me that would bubble up many times over the years.

But something else happened that would make me feel strange and alone for a long time.

I started my life as the youngest of three kids, the proverbial baby of the family. Michael was the oldest, and in the Brenner family much has always been expected of the oldest son.

My father was the middle child of his generation, but he was the only son. My grandfather, who came off a boat from the former Soviet Union with all the typical old-school values, expected the world of my father. As my grandfather descended into old age and illness in the mid-1960s, my father became increasingly responsible for the family business.

Growing up, my older brother became the one my father leaned on the most. Michael was encouraged to chart his own course and was studying to be a plumber, but he was also expected to help out with the family business and do a lot of the grunt work at home.

I was the baby, and a sick and spoiled one at that. By age eight I was in and out of the hospital with dangerous flare-ups of Crohn’s Disease. Because of that, I was coddled a lot.

The result was a lower-than-average maturity level for my age. At age 10 I acted like I was 5 sometimes. I would crawl into bed with my father for snuggles, like a toddler might do.

My maturity level hadn’t changed much by the time I hit 13. I probably regressed even further right after my brother died. But as 1984 dragged on, I was slowly pulled into the role of oldest son.

Everything that was expected of my brother became expected of me, and I wasn’t mentally equipped to deal with it. My brother had a lot of street smarts that I lacked.

As I descended into my confusing and angry teen years, I would be sent on deliveries for the family business. I’d get flustered and lose my sense of direction. One time my father sent me to Chelsea for a package. It was 4:30 and the place I was going to was closing at 5. I got there at 5:10 and had to drive back to Saugus without a package. I felt humiliated and ashamed.

As I entered my 20s, all that immaturity and feeling of inadequacy hardened into an angry, rebellious streak. I gave in to a variety of addictive impulses.

As I got older and worked on myself, the confusion and anger gave way to gratitude. The hard lessons of going from youngest child to oldest son have served me well.

I now have a lot of responsibilities with work and family, and I wouldn’t have it any other way. For all the rebelling, my experiences gave me a strong work ethic. But like my maturity, it just took longer to emerge.

Holding My Dead Innocence by EddieTheYeti

“Holding My Dead Innocence” by EddieTheYeti. Read more of my ongoing series with EddieTheYeti.

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The Imperfect Art of Coming Out

As new readers find this blog, they often ask the question I’ve heard many times before: Why the hell did I out myself? Wasn’t I afraid people would blackball me at work? Don’t I worry that I’ll be defined by my struggle with OCD above all else?

It’s a fair question.

Mood music:

First, let’s get the notions of courage and bravery off the table. Some have used those words to describe what I’m doing, and I appreciate that. But I really don’t think it’s that. Like I’ve said before, my grandfather parachuting behind enemy lines at the start of the D-Day invasion was courage.

I’m  doing this more because the point arrived where, for the sake of my own sanity, I had to start being myself as openly and honestly as I can. Honesty can be tough for people who deal with mental illness and addiction. But I decided I had to do better.

Read more on this in “The Liar’s Disease.”

Admittedly, some of the motivation is selfish. We OCD types have overdeveloped egos and tend to go digging for attention. It’s hard to admit that, but it’s the truth. Being open about that forces me to keep myself in check. It’s also an invitation for those around me to call me out on acts of ego and selfishness.

The biggest reason for doing this, without question, is my faith. I realized some time ago that when you toss the skeletons from your closet into the daylight, they turn to dust. Big, sinister stigmas become very small indeed. Then you can move on.

I didn’t arrive at this viewpoint easily. It took years of dirty work.

With my faith comes a need to serve others. In this case, I accumulated experiences that might be of help to other sufferers. Sharing wasn’t exactly something I wanted to do; it was something I had to do.

We’re all in this together. Many good people have helped me along the way. Trying to help someone else is the very least I could do. In the final analysis, we all help each other.

Getting it all out of the head and into this blog has certainly been helpful, so thanks for indulging me.

Did I risk my career to do this? I don’t think so.

That said, I don’t think I’d be doing this if I still worked for The Eagle-Tribune. The newroom’s culture wouldn’t have allowed for it. I have no idea if the culture has changed, but I suspect not.

I’ve gotten a ton of support from those I work with. That was true when I started this five years ago, during another job, and it’s true today, in my current job.

Does that mean everyone should put their demons out in the open as I have?

It’s not going to be the right decision for everyone to make. There are a lot of honorable reasons for people to keep their demons private. In many cases, the veil is what you use to protect others as well as yourself. But my veil blew away in the storm that was my life. Walking forward without it was all I could do.

As the line in Mötley Crüe’s “Home Sweet Home” goes, “My life is an open book, for the whole world to read.”

For my own development as a human being, I think it’s best that way.

Close to My Heart by EddieTheYeti“Close to My Heart” by EddieTheYeti. Read more of my ongoing series with EddieTheYeti.

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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.