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.
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.
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.
Yesterday my younger son, Duncan, turned 12. He’s been through a lot, and he makes me proud every day.
Mood music:
I often tell people Duncan is the spitting image of me at that age. He certainly looks like I did at 12. And as I did, he has developmental challenges. As a kid I was never diagnosed with something like ADHD or placed on the autism spectrum. But that was the early 1980s, when kids weren’t regularly tested for such things.
I was sick and hospitalized a lot, and I think people chalked my immaturity and slowness to learn as byproducts of a lot of missed school. As I got older, some teachers labeled me as less than average. In middle school they placed me in the C group for 7th and 8th grade. I don’t think we remember childhood events exactly as they were, but it seems there were more than a few teachers who didn’t think I’d amount to much.
I hope I defied those expectations, but it took a lot of work that didn’t start until adulthood and a proper diagnosis.
Duncan has been through the wringer in his young life, going through neurological testing; switching schools, doctors and medications; and spending many hard hours getting through homework. But in the last two years, he has made enormous progress.
With the assistance of some excellent teachers and administrators — and some great work on the part of the Triumph Center — he has made huge strides. His focus is better, and his social skills have made a quantum leap in the last couple years. I also give Erin a ton of credit for the time and effort she puts in for Duncan every day. Some days can be difficult and he doesn’t always appreciate how relentless his mom can be. But some day he will.
Some things haven’t changed, thankfully. He’s always had a heart as big as the sky, eager to help those in need, including a new student in his class in need of friends. He still has a big range of interests that he works at, most notably cooking and music. And he has a command of vocabulary that’s hard to come by in kids his age. He writes not because he has to — some school assignments notwithstanding — but because he enjoys it.
He cares about all life and has chastised me more than once for killing a fly. The neighbors’ pets love him, coming right up to him when he’s outside. They know his is a gentle, sweet soul. And he’s a dedicated Boy Scout.
At that age, I was usually lucky to get the occasional B or A, often getting Cs and Ds. About all I cared about was going to movies and playing with my Star Wars toys.
Parents dream that their kids will climb to greater heights they they did. Duncan, like his brother, is well on his way to fulfilling that dream for me.
Instead of fighting some mental disorders, such as OCD or ADHD, picture yourself accepting and even embracing them. Then learn to use your disorder to your advantage.
It’s kind of like Luke Skywalker learning to use and control the Force instead of it controlling him, or Superman learning to control his super-senses.
This won’t work for every disorder, of course. Some are more serious than others, like PTSD and schizophrenia. But Edward (Ned) Hallowell, psychiatrist and co-author of Driven to Distraction and Delivered from Distraction, has advocated for years that some disorders can be an advantage, if approached correctly.
In my battle with my own demons, it’s an approach that works.
I’m not the only one. A few years back a friend told me, “Dr. Hallowell shaped a lot of my perceptions about ADHD and how to live with it rather than fighting it.”
Hallowell has written about mental disorder being the stuff legends are made of. The thinking is that you have to be a bit crazy or off-balance to do the things that change who we are and how we live. He often uses ADHD as an example, but it’s also true of people with OCD, like Harrison Ford, Howie Mandel, and the late Joey Ramone.
Early on in my efforts to get control of my life, one of my biggest struggles was that I didn’t want to completely rid myself of the OCD. I knew that I owed some of my career successes to the disorder. It drove me hard to be better than average. I needed that kick in the ass because being smart didn’t come naturally to me. I had to work at it and do my homework.
There was a destructive dark side, of course. When stuck in overdrive, the OCD would leave me with anxiety attacks that raised my fear level and drove me deep into my addictive pursuits. That in turn left me on the couch all the time, a pile of waste.
My challenge became learning to develop what Hallowell calls a set of brakes to slow down my disorder when I needed to.
You could say those are the things my brakes are made of.
I still need a lot of work and the dark side of my OCD still fights constantly with the light, but I’ve come to see the OCD as a close friend. Like a lot of close friends, there are days I want to hug it and days I want to launch my boot between its legs.
But I am in a happier place than I used to be, so it’s a trade-off I’m willing to accept, even if gets me into trouble sometimes.
I got this question from a reader over the weekend, after he read my “Suicide in the Blood” post:
I was just curious after reading this article: As much as I think about suicide and sometimes homicide, am I capable of carrying this out? I’m bipolar and have very serious depression also. Bipolar personality disorder and ADHD make it very hard to keep my mood swings down and my mind focused. I really need some perspective on this. Please help. Thanks.
It’s not an easy question to answer, as no two head cases are the same. I have my own experiences but what worked for me won’t necessarily help everyone. Still, those personal accounts are what I have to offer. These are my experiences with depression, from the circumstances and feelings to the tools I acquired for coping with the demons.
Happily Ever After Is Bullshit & That’s OK: When depression slaps me upside the head, it’s on the heels of a prolonged period of good feelings and positive energy. These setbacks can be discouraging, but you can survive them with the right perspective.
The Mood Swing: When moods shift with little warning, the risks are severe. As with most problems, knowing you have one is the first step to better management.
Metal Saved Me: Hard rock is one of my most powerful coping tools. It’s not for everyone, but there’s a common element: Music heals.
The Bad Pill Kept Me from the Good Pill: I resisted medication for a long time. Here’s why I finally took the leap of faith. Most importantly, here’s what I’ve gained as a result.
Debunking the Shrink Stigma: Many people resist the idea of getting therapy. But in the battle over one’s demons, a shrink is a powerful ally.
Happy Depression: Can you be depressed and happy at the same time? I can.
Last night I attended a parent information night at Sean and Duncan’s new school. It’s a great school, but the kids have been struggling to adjust, especially Duncan. That’s to be expected. But there is always that worry in the back of my brain that teachers will never truly understand Duncan, who has ADHD.
But by the time last night’s event was over, I knew everything would be fine. The fourth-grade teachers showed us this video, which tells me they get it. The video is from a website called Raising Small Souls and is worth a few minutes of your time.
Thanks to Duncan’s teachers for showing they get it.
Note: I’ve often written notes to my kids on their birthday. This was originally written when Duncan turned 1o.
An open letter to my second child on his 10th birthday…
Mood Music:
At 2 a.m. on Sept. 15, 2003, I was jolted awake by your mom shoving me in the shoulder. I had just gone to bed 45 minutes earlier, and I had had a lot of wine the night before.
You weren’t expected for a few more days, so I figured I could drink and watch TV all night. I worked the night desk at The Eagle-Tribune back then, and Sunday night was MY time.
But your mom knew you were coming. And unlike your brother’s slow entry into the world two and a half years before, the labor pains you gave your mother came on fast and furious.
This was the first time you made it clear that you were going to be heard. It certainly hasn’t been the last.
Fun fact: On the ride to the hospital, as I drove over the train tracks, Mom’s water broke. The car was still brand new at that point, and that would be the first of many messes you would make of that car. We were afraid you would be delivered in that car. That’s how intense your Mom’s labor pains were. It was the first and only time Mom let me blow through red lights. Two of them, to be specific. When we reached the hospital, I accidentally slammed Mom’s finger in the car door. She barely noticed, with the labor pains you were giving her.
You entered the world by early afternoon, and you were perfect. You still are.
Sean couldn’t wait to meet you. He had a stomach bug and was throwing up all over the living room the morning after you were born. But he wasn’t going to miss meeting his new little brother. Not for the wide world.
Fun fact: We chose the name Duncan for you early on. Your mom and I each made lists of potential names and Duncan was the only name on both lists. A lot of people think we came up with that name because of Dunkin’ Donuts. But I’m a Starbucks kind of guy and people should know better. Actually, I put the name on my list because your brother was really into Thomas the Tank Engine at that point, and one of the trains was named Duncan. As you now proudly tell people, your name is Scottish for “brown warrior.” You carry the name of a leader; a chief. It’s a name of strength. The key is to put your stamp on it. With your kind heart and strong faith (how many kids your age go to the chapel AFTER Mass to pray a little more because they WANT to?) I know you’ll do great.
You have a beautiful command of language and vocabulary, and one of my great pleasures is watching you with your face buried in a book or writing stories on the computer. You gave yourself an awesome pen name in N.R. Rennerb (Brenner spelled backwards, for those of you who didn’t immediately catch on).
You’re as brave and daring as your name suggests. It was you who talked your brother into going camping with your grandparents for the first time. You also dove into Cub Scouts and basketball without hesitating. Learning to ride a bicycle was a big challenge, but you never gave up. Who would have thought the key was simply raising the seat an inch or so?
You say things that make me laugh. Like the time you walked up to the old man in the van in front of Toys R Us and scolded him for smoking. Your exact words were, “Smoking is dumb, you know. It puts holes in your lungs. You also left your back door (to the van) open.”
You’re one of the most giving, loving souls I’ve ever met. You love unconditionally, whether you’re spending time with your cousins or sharing your artistic gifts with us. I especially love the things you can do with Origami.
I love to snuggle with you on the couch as we watch “Star Wars,” “The Hobbit” or your favorite British comedy, “Keeping Up Appearances.”
I love to take you on road trips with the rest of the family, like the time we drove to Washington D.C. and got a tour of the West Wing of the White House. One of my favorite family photos is the one where we are in the press briefing room:
As you’ve discovered by now, life can be hard. Learning to manage ADHD has been no picnic, but you’ve risen to the challenge. You study hard, take your grades to heart and got honor roll twice last year despite all the trouble you had staying focused.
ADHD hasn’t kept you back. It never will, because you won’t let it.
I can’t believe you are 10 years old. Where does the time go? I guess time flies for a Dad who is blessed with two precious boys like you and Sean.
I’ve had a lot to say lately about my own efforts to manage winter’s depressive effect on my brain, but this is also a challenging month for my younger son, Duncan.
Mood music:
[spotify:track:7BeOWHtwV9IQ7jmqwwvvLP]
I’ve written at length about Duncan and my struggle to help him when his ADHD comes crashing into my OCD. I’m proud of who he’s becoming. But no matter how much progress father and son make on our mental health, December may well remain the month that throws us for a loop.
I feel like I’m having an easier time of it this year. I have depression, but it’s just the tired, memory-challenged kind. So far I’ve mostly escaped the feelings of sadness and outward crankiness of past years. Yesterday I visited the nurse who manages my medication and she doubled my Wellbutrin intake for the winter.
Now it appears to be Duncan’s turn for such an adjustment. His teacher has been praising his behavior all fall but, like clockwork, he started experiencing difficulty in class as the calendar switched to December. We’re hearing about the usual winter outbursts. He’ll argue with classmates, his temper comes to a boil easily and so on.
It kills me every year when this happens, because I know he inherited his mental health challenges from me and my side of the family. It’s not his fault.
The good news is that we’re getting better at anticipating his behavioral changes and responding faster. This afternoon I’m taking him to an appointment where his medication might be adjusted. We’ve also been blessed with some outstanding, nurturing teachers. I was particularly fond of his first-grade teacher, who was there when Duncan first got his ADHD diagnosis. She worked closely with us to make adjustments in the classroom that helped immensely.
His teacher this year is another gem. She meets with us whenever we ask and keeps us informed of Duncan’s progress by email. When he started acting up a couple of weeks ago, she invited us to call her at home in the evening. Few teachers do that these days, and we’re grateful for it. Duncan also has terrific classmates who cheerfully help him stay organized. And when he has a mood swing, they’re patient with him. Impressive, when you consider they are all under the age 10.
I chalk it up to the loving environment of the school. The place is far from perfect, as I’ve noted before. But as time goes on, I’m more convinced he’s exactly where he should be.
The trick now is to get him — and his teacher and classmates — to the other side of winter in one piece.
A friend on Twitter asked what a person is to do when OCD, ADHD and other mental maladies produce the effect illustrated in this comic strip on xkcd.com:
The illustration really hits home for me, having suffered from OCD and ADHD and having a son with ADHD (the alphabet soup alone is enough to short-circuit a person’s mind). All these conditions have one thing in common: the sufferer tries to keep track of everything going on around them, but that stray balloon always takes them off track.
[spotify:track:29bzX8jP7wO07FyMdOkYT7]
Since the sky is always full of too many balloons, we have to learn to let the strays float away so that we can focus on everything else that demands our attention. How to get there is a tough one. But I’m going to try answering my friend’s question based on what’s worked for me in the past.
Getting to the therapist’s office on a regular basis certainly helps, because you can spill out all your cares and a good therapist will help you re-sort the pieces into a picture that makes sense.
But that’s not enough. Since the root cause of these conditions is a brain with misfiring traffic transmitters, I need medication to help the transmitters fire correctly. Prozac helps do that for my OCD, and Wellbutrin helps for the ADHD.
All these things together have made life much better for me and those who have to live with me. But these mental disorders are powerful and no combination of drugs and therapy will drive it from you completely. There are still plenty of those balloon distractions.
I still have a bitch of a time keeping my head in the present moment. If you talk to me for too long, my thoughts will away. I’ll get lost in some memory from the past or get distracted with something coming up in the future. It can be some thing important, like a bill that needs paying, or it can be something trivial, like a family gathering that’s not happening for another month.
Next week I’m starting a weekly mindfulness class where the whole point is to learn to stay in the moment. I’ll be writing about the experience on a regular basis, so stay tuned.
It won’t be a cure-all. But if it helps me let go of a few more stray balloons, it’ll be worth the cost in time and money.
I rushed to the kids’ school this afternoon for a parent-teacher meeting and saw the most excellent sight: Eileen Silva, back in the mix, helping her fellow teachers sort through the usual chaos of afternoon dismissal. The first-grade teacher missed all last year due to illness, but she’s back, and it’s like she never left.
Mood music:
[spotify:track:0ZGLuduCPjgWY1n85ykgMe]
We Brenners love Mrs. Silva for many of the same reasons other parents and students do: She’s a kind, nurturing and patient soul. But she’s particularly special to us because of what she did for Duncan at a very critical stage of his life.
Duncan was in first grade when he was first diagnosed with ADHD, and we didn’t know where to begin when the pediatrician gave us a list of recommendations as thick as a small novel. We brought it to Mrs. Silva during one of our after-school meetings. Some teachers might be overwhelmed to read a big bulleted list of recommendations like that. Teachers have plenty on their plate just dealing with the normal challenges of running a class full of boisterous children. Throw in a few kids with special requirements, and I’m sure it can be too much to take at times. True, every teacher has a few students with extra needs. That’s part of the job. But I’ve seen some handle it better than others.
Mrs. Silva took the list and lit up. She was thrilled to have so many details to work with, and she incorporated it into Duncan’s work load with grit and grace.
From our perspective, we had a big ally in our corner and felt like we might actually be able to get Duncan what he needed after all. Since then we’ve had plenty of support from other teachers and administrators. Duncan has done a lot of hard work himself, and we’re very proud of him.
But Mrs. Silva gets a very special place in our hearts because she helped us get this steamroller moving.
When I was Duncan’s age, I was the student teachers’ nightmares are made of. I had a boulder-sized chip on my shoulder because of serious childhood illness and my parents’ less-than-amicable divorce.
I also had learning difficulties. I received special services like Duncan did, but back then misbehaving kids were more likely to be written off as damaged goods. Today, the better school districts have a more rigorous process in place to ensure kids don’t fall through the cracks.
That’s how it often seems from my perspective, anyway.
There were teachers along the way that I felt were in my corner, rooting for me to overcome my limitations. But none were like Mrs. Silva.
For most parents, the greatest wish is for their kids to have it better than they did. When it comes to Duncan having an ally to guide him through the early rough patches, I got my wish.
