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TV News and Depression: How I Learned To Turn It Off

This week’s news coverage of the Boston Marathon bombings and the aftermath only hardened the feelings I express below. I have nothing but contempt for the big three: CNN, Fox and MSNBC. Local news did a far more admirable job covering this tragedy.

 

I find myself increasingly outraged at what I see on the TV news channels lately. I’m not talking about the news itself, but the way it’s presented with loud graphics, dramatic music and louder newscasters.

To watch CNN, Fox News, MSNBC or any number of local news affiliates is to be rattled. And, in fact, before I learned to turn it off, I couldn’t take my eyes away. It took an already depressed, out-of-control person and made him three times worse.

I should probably laugh it off and move on. But the fact of the matter is that this stuff used to leave me a crippled mess.

When you have an out-of-control case of obsessive compulsive disorder (OCD), you latch onto all the things you can’t control and worry about them nonstop. Nothing feeds that devil like the cable news networks. I’ve written before about the anxiety and fear I used to have over current events. I would think about all the things going on in the world over and over again, until it left me physically ill. I personally wanted to set everything right and control the shape of events, which of course is delusional, dangerous thinking.

Right after 9-11 I realized the obsession had taken a much darker, deeper tone. This time, I had the Internet as well as the TV networks to fill me with horror. Everyone was filled with horror on 9-11, obviously, but while others were able to go about their business in a depressed haze, I froze. Two weeks after the event, I refused to get on a plane to go to a wedding in Arizona. Everyone was afraid to fly at that point, but I let my fear own me. It’s one of my big regrets.

Part of the problem was my inability to take my eyes off the news. To do so for a five-hour plane ride was unthinkable. To not know what was going on for five hours? Holy shit. If I don’t know about it, I can’t control it!

I really used to think like that.

The start of the War on Terror brought out the rock-bottom worst in TV news. Every possible danger, no matter how unsupported by facts, was flashed on the screen with the urgency of imminent doom. I remember how Wolf Blitzer of CNN used the word “alarming” just about every night as the analysts discussed the hundred different ways the terrorists could really kick us in the balls next time:

— Releasing smallpox back into the air

–Detonating a nuclear device in front of the White House

–Diving planes into nuclear power plants.

In a time when the right answer would have been to hold our heads up and show the bad guys we don’t hide in the face of danger, this stuff brought out the worst in us, especially an already emotionally sick guy like me.

It didn’t have to be matters of war and peace, either.

In the weeks leading up to the 2004 presidential election, all the TV news commentators could talk about was the last election and how there was growing fear that a repeat of the electoral deadlock of 2000 would repeat itself.

Analysts talked about all the glitches that could happen as if they were watching a knife go into their chest. Already consumed by fear and anxiety, I freaked over this, too.

A year later, right after Hurricane Katrina hit, TV news stations felt the need to go over every conceivable disaster that might wipe us out next: Bird flu, nuclear plant meltdowns, earthquakes and other unpredictable events. It made a mess of me.

I can’t pinpoint the exact period where I decided this stuff no longer had meaning to me, but I think it was around the time I started taking the right medication for OCD in early 2007.

All of the sudden, I didn’t care as much about watching the news. I simply lost interest. And I’ve been a lot happier as a result.

The timing may be a coincidence. My Faith also started to deepen around that time, and the more I learned to trust God and let go of the things I couldn’t control, the more meaningless CNN’s loudness became.

Today, I’m as addicted to the Internet as I used to be to the TV. But I don’t really watch the news online. I’ll quickly glance over the headlines and maybe stick around if a political analysis intrigues me enough. But I’m much more likely to get sucked into all the music videos available on YouTube or who is saying what on Facebook and Twitter. That too is something I know I need to be careful of, but it’s fair to say that that stuff doesn’t send me into shock and panic like CNN and Fox used to.

Somewhere along the way, as I watched news reports of bomb explosions and natural calamities half a world away, I looked up and realized everything outside my living room window was tranquil and uneventful.

I’ve operated on that mindset ever since.

Call me apathetic or ignorant. Tell me I’m in denial.

All I can tell you is that things in the world look much different to me now than they did just a few short years ago.

And though I consumed more news this past week than I have in a long time, I still managed to walk away quite a bit. That’s probably why I’m able to type this without my hands shaking.

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When People Don’t Like A Discussion, They Call It Drama

Since I write a lot about how we talk to each other in this blog and my professional one, I hear the word drama a lot. It’s almost always used to describe something people don’t want to discuss. It’s a one-word arsenal meant to shoot down anyone you disagree with. I get shot at a lot. And I’m perfectly fine with it.

Yesterday I publicly took a local newsman to task for relishing his coverage of the Boston Marathon bombings a little too much. He was on Facebook, telling us about how he had the best information and the best inside sources at the hospitals and in law enforcement. He ripped politicians who didn’t come right out and call this a terrorist attack. He kept track of the death count like a scorekeeper at a ballgame, going on about how the media was reporting three deaths but his tally was four.

He boasted that his info was the best, better than Fox, better than the Eagle-Tribune, a local newspaper he competes with fiercely. He carried on exactly as he has in the past, and that’s why I wrote this post a few weeks ago. When all you can do is toot your horn during your reporting, you become part of the problem in media today.

The reaction to my criticism was swift. Some agreed with me, while others defended him. The defenders accused me of creating drama, as if covering a national tragedy like a ballgame wasn’t drama itself. One person said I was engaging in a “form of adult bullying.” Another told me I needed to “get laid.”

As my 9 year old likes to say: “Whatever.”

Facebook is a place where everyone loves to express their outrage and pride with memes and sayings that are not fact-checked. That’s drama, too.

If I smell something that stinks, I’m going to say something about it. As a writer, that’s what I do. If it offends you, unfriend me or unsubscribe from my posts.

Better yet, do something about the drama you create.

kirk yelling at kahn

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Hearts Bigger Than Boston or Any Bomb

Whenever we experience the kind of evil we saw in Boston yesterday, pictures emerge to restore some hope in the human race: EMTs, police, firefighters and many bystanders leaping to action, giving victims medical care and getting survivors to safety.

As a lifelong Bay Stater who tends to be prideful of my Boston roots, those scenes warmed my heart. But I don’t want to be selfish. What we saw wasn’t merely a Boston thing. It was something you’ll see anywhere in the world when bad things happen.

We sure as hell saw it in NYC on and after 9/11. We saw it after the horrific earthquake in Haiti. We saw it after the London bombings in 2005.

Though evil is everywhere, so is goodness. Evil can never be strong enough to beat the good at the core of most people. No matter who we are &dmash; a businessperson preoccupied with the next sale, the driver stuck in traffic and losing their temper, the addict enslaved by the addiction, anyone — we have the ability to cast aside our demons and leap to action when someone is in danger.

That’s why evil will never win. It can kill a lot of people and damage a lot of property. It can make us do a lot of stupid things in life. It can break our hearts.

But it can’t destroy our hearts.

Helpers in Boston

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Boston Marathon Explosion: Observations and Helpful Links

I wasn’t in Boston for the marathon today, but I’m in that specific area all the time and am stunned. Far as I can tell, everyone in my family is safe and accounted for.

I’ve started this post to use for communications. If anyone has information regarding the rail lines, alternate routes out of the city or wants to find out about friends and loved ones, I’m hoping the comments thread or the Facebook and Twitter threads from this post will help people get the information they need.

Otherwise, some random thoughts:

–I’m grateful for all the messages I’ve gotten from around the world asking if me and mine are OK. It goes to show that even in the face of evil, good people always come through. You’ll hear a lot more about that in the coming days — stories of stranger helping stranger. As Mister Rogers’ mom once told him, always watch for the helpers. They always arrive.

–There’s already a lot of speculation on motive, including suggestions that this was timed to coincide with anniversaries of the Columbine massacre, the Oklahoma City bombing and the violent end of the Waco standoff. At this point, all that matters to me is that those who are hurt are getting medical assistance. Also, it’s far too early to draw conclusions. Do yourself a favor. Stay away from the big news networks for now. They jump to conclusions and spread misinformation every time.

I’m sticking to local news outlets, two of which are below.

–If you were in Boston today and you’re reading this, I’m thankful you’re OK.

I’ll update this post as needed.

Helpful links for information:

Those trying to locate loved ones can call 617-635-4500; people with tips can call 1-800-494-TIPS

WCVB’s live video feed.

Boston.com’s live tweet feed.

Be safe, folks.

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Some People You Just Can’t Save

I just learned that a young man from my extended family was murdered recently. I only met him once, when he was a baby in the late 1980s, and I’m told he had a troubled adulthood that led him to seedy neighborhoods and bad crowds.

Mood music:

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When good kids fall in with the wrong crowds and go tragically astray, it’s hard on their family, especially those who offer help. That’s an obvious statement, but it’s easy to forget when you’re not at the center of the storm.

This post is for one particular family member.

I know that you tried hard to reach this kid but you still feel like you should have done a lot more. I went through that when my best friend spiraled into depression and eventually took his life. This wasn’t a case where I only saw him once in a while. I saw him all the time. We took walks on Revere Beach every Sunday. We spoke several times a week on the phone. We never lost touch.

Yet I was still oblivious to just how bad things were getting for him. I knew he was depressed. But it never occurred to me that he’d kill himself over it. In the years that followed, I continuously churned the events around in my head, looking for clues I should have seen and pondering my failure as a friend. Surely, I could have done a lot more to make him feel loved and see that his was a life worth living.

In hindsight, I think I did the best I could. I was there all the time, but a lot of the man’s pain was out of view from most of us. Not the general state of depression. He talked pretty openly about that. It’s the part of him that was secretly plotting his exit. None of us saw it coming, even though we think we should have.

I suspect it was the same for you. You saw the boy’s troubles and hoped you could talk him into a better life. But you couldn’t. It’s not your fault.

Sometimes, our best isn’t going to be good enough. Because the path someone takes isn’t up to us.

I doubt these words are going to help much, if at all. I just wanted you to know I’m thinking of you.

—Bill

Lost soul

Art by Bill Fennell
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Return From the Overeaters Anonymous Wilderness

Last summer I wrote a post about being lost in the Overeaters Anonymous wilderness, filled with discontent and a fair amount of self-righteousness. I have no regrets. We all need to step back from time to time and reevaluate pieces of our lives. Now that I’ve done that, I’ve decided to return from the wilderness.

Mood music:

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I’ve made peace with what I see as the program’s imperfections, and I’ve gained the wisdom to understand that it’s not about the egos who show up and periodically annoy me (as I’m sure I’ve annoyed others). It’s not all about simply abstaining from binging, either, though controlling the food is certainly of vital importance.

The biggest reason I’ve returned is that I need the 12 steps of recovery to help me keep my head screwed on properly. A couple of weeks ago, I got a new sponsor. Yesterday, I attended my first OA meeting in a long time.

Related content: Resources for those with eating disorders

I’ve mostly stuck with the food plan a previous sponsor helped me carve out when I first decided to tackle this monster in 2008, but it’s becoming clear that the plan needs some major adjustments. To fix that, I’m going to see a nutritionist.

In recent weeks I’ve felt adrift, more inclined to enter a stupor over things I can’t control. I forgot that I have to put my trust in God.

Break time is over.

Overeaters Anonymous Medallions

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People Without Filters

My closest friends know that a true sign of affection from me is when I pick on them. For one friend’s birthday recently, I called him a “broken-down barge” on Facebook. He loved it, because he knows that when I talk that way, I cherish the friendship.

I’m all too aware, though, that this trait is a double-edged sword that can cut deep when turned the wrong way.

Mood music:

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I guess you could say I’m one of those people lacking a filter.

I get a lot of this from my father. He’s always been the type to share his observations with you, no matter how insensitive. He’ll look a friend or family member in the eye and tell them they’re getting fat. If someone doesn’t stop for him at a crosswalk, he’ll give them the middle finger and call them an asshole loud enough for people to hear at the other end of the street.

I’ve always worked hard to keep my observations about a person’s weight to myself. Having fought the battle of the bulge my whole life, I know people get zero benefit from being told in public that they’re fat. I would never flip someone off in the street today, though the 20-something version of me would have. Just ask my parents-in-law, who were sitting in the back of my beat-up 1985 Chevy Monte Carlo when I flipped someone off for cutting me off in traffic. Or maybe I was the one doing the cutting.

The present me is a lot more docile in that regard. I might tell someone to go fuck themselves in the heat of heavy traffic, but I do it from the privacy of my car with the windows up and the kids absent, though my boys will probably be able to recall moments when I slipped. They love it when I have to drop change in the curse jar.

I let the sarcasm fly, though. I like to tease — mostly because I like trying to get people to laugh. Yet I know I take it too far sometimes.

I may be too old to change my personality, but you’re never too old to refine your communication skills. So if you run into me on the street or in the grocery store and my words are too cutting, remove your own filter long enough to tell me so.

I’ll keep working to do better.
motormouth

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Julian Assange: Autistic Hacker Or Just An A-hole?

Last year I wrote a post about a report suggesting autism is an affliction of the brilliant. One man mentioned as an example was WikiLeaks founder Julian Assange, who has described himself as having the “hacker’s disease.” Yesterday, a reader’s comment inspired me to revisit the issue.

Mood music:

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The reader said in part:

This compares a neurological disorder to genius people whose curiosity takes finite state machines to places that their creators never imagined. How’s that? Julian (who I met once) is an egomaniac and an arrogant prick, and Daniel (who I do know) and the rest of them have given him the Heisman. If he’s representative of hackers, then I’m cancelling my membership! Kids have always been a PITA for parents, especially ones that “won’t behave”. First it was “hyperactive” – then it was “ADD” then “ADHD”. It’s always some excuse for f**ked up parents who hit their kids, kids who are too smart and see through their parents’ bullshit.

 

A friend in the security community once took me to task for using the autism angle because he felt it was unfair to compare someone with a neurological disorder with me and my OCD struggle. He was right that the two are vastly different things, but for me it wasn’t simply about comparing myself with someone who has autism. It was more about my interest in people who have abilities within them, diseases and disorders be damned.

We’ve seen countless stories about people who rise above physical and mental limitations to achieve greatness, and I’m always inspired after hearing about them.

As for the reader’s comment, I agree with one thing: A lot of parents do make excuses for kids who don’t fall in line, and that often leads to a misguided diagnosis. But that’s beside the point.

Is something like autism a hacker’s disease? I have no idea. Frankly, I don’t care.

Each of us has something from within that can either hold us back or propel us forward: A blessing hidden inside a perceived curse.  That’s what OCD has been for me: A curse when left to rage out of control, and a blessing when managed and properly harnessed.

Some of us are afflicted with disorders that can’t be managed so easily; maladies that force people into wheelchairs or psychiatric hospitals. The victim has little control over it, and is trapped. For some, the affliction attacks the nerves and muscles. For others, the disease targets the brain and disables basic functions. In both cases, all or part of the brain still burns brightly, and the individual is able to ride that to something good. Like Stephen Hawking. And, in some cases, like hackers.

The one constant is that we’re all handed challenges in life. If the mind works, what matters from there are the choices we make and the lengths we’re willing to travel to rise above.

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The Worst Abuse of All

I’m taking a lot of abuse lately, the kind that leaves me mentally tired and physically aching. It’s not abuse from family, work colleagues or law enforcement, however. I’m doing it to myself.

Mood music:

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In the past, I’d binge myself sick in times of uncertainty, but these days the abuse takes other forms: I allow myself to get lost in the deep weeds of worry. The kicker is that I’m not worried about anything bad. No medical scares or fresh family strife in my world. Deep-fried worry over those things would be more understandable.

In this case, I’m worrying about potentially awesome changes in my life. Someone with a more balanced mind would enjoy the potential for good things and take it a day at a time. But when you have OCD, anticipation is the spiked club you use to repeatedly club yourself. We crave control like a newborn craves mother’s milk. In reality, however, there are few things an individual can control.

So here I am, walking around in a daze, waking up in the middle of the night and having trouble going back to sleep, checking my computer way too often for some sign that answers will come.

I keep repeating a phrase that I learned in a recent course I took on mindfulness-based stress reduction: “The past is history, tomorrow is a mystery, and the present is a gift.” I know these words to be true. Knowing them and living them isn’t necessarily the same thing in my world.

Eventually all this will pass; it always does.

I’ve been praying a lot. Some of you scowl at the idea of praying, but it really helps me. If nothing else, it calms me down and reminds me that I’m not a soul adrift or alone. I have all the support I could ever ask for, and that’ll see me through.

I did a lot of house cleaning this weekend. Ironically, this activity, often conducted in OCD overdrive, helped me wring out some of the anxiety. I guess I needed the exercise that comes with running up and down three flights of stairs all day.

I played a lot of guitar, too. Few things have been better at helping me stay in the moment. And I feel younger when my kids tell me to turn it down.

I used to be a mental mess most of the time, so I’m grateful that these worry binges only come in waves now. The trick is to take them from frequent or even infrequent events to absolutely rare moments.

Out of control

Art by Bill Fennell
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Control Freak-Out

OCD sometimes makes me feel adrift even when things are going well. I’m feeling it a lot these days and this post, originally written in 2010, captures the malady well.

Mood music:

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There’s another byproduct of OCD that I’ve described indirectly before, but never head on. A byproduct for my own special blend of dysfunction, that is.

Sometimes, no matter how well things are going — and no matter how good my mood is when I wake up — I’ll sit at my desk and suddenly feel awash in melancholy.

It comes over me suddenly, and it can be even more frustrating than the black moods that hit me when there are visible troubles to spark it. When a wave of melancholy hits for no good reason, I sit here feeling like an idiot.

I start to contemplate doing things that are bad for me, like going and binging on $30 of junk food. It used to be that less than 10 minutes after a thought like that entered my head, I’d be doing just that. (See “The Most Uncool Addiction” for a better explanation of why this used to happen)

Things are going very well for me these days. Yet the blues persist. 

As I sit here analyzing my head, an answer is emerging. What I’m feeling is adrift. Not in the sense that my life is adrift, because it’s never been more full of purpose. The adrift feeling is over things I can’t control.

Why yes, everything you’ve heard about OCD and control freakism is true. People like us crave control like a junkie craves a shot of smack to the arm. It grabs us by the nose and drags us down the road until our emotions are raw and bleeding.

That’s why I used to be such an asshole at The Eagle-Tribune. Every story I edited then went through three more editors and then to the page designer. Along the way, everyone after me had to take a whack at it. I’d hover over the poor page designers because it was the closest thing I had to control. Ultimate control would have meant laying out the pages myself. That would have been a stupid thing to do, mind you. I couldn’t lay out a news page to save my life.

When I was the assistant news editor for the paper’s New Hampshire editions, I was out a week when my son Sean was born. I came in one night to catch up on e-mail and saw the message where my boss announced my son’s birth. In it, he joked that I probably stood over the doctor and told him how to deliver the baby.

I wanted to punch him.

I saw red.

Because I knew that was something I could easily be pictured doing. It hit too close to the truth.

The control freak has emerged in a variety of other ways over the years. Getting stuck in traffic would send me into a rage because all I could do is sit and wait. Getting on a plane filled me with dread because I could only sit there and wait. There was the fear that the plane might crash. But the bigger problem for me was that I was at the mercy of the pilots, the air traffic and the weather. I had no control over the schedule, and that incensed me. Today, I love flying.

So what’s my problem now?

I think it’s that all the cool things going on right now are still in play. The various projects are set in motion, but now I have to sit and wait on others to work through their processes. A more normal person would just take these things as they come and just live in the moment. But I’m not normal.

I have to wait my turn. I don’t like that.

But then it’s appropriate that I should be made to feel uncomfortable about it, since I really have no business trying to control any of these things. Other people have their jobs to do, and I should trust them.

I’m working on it.

I handle it better than I used to.

And this particular strain of melancholy is like New England weather:

If I wait an hour, it’ll change.