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Dissecting EddieTheYeti

A few months ago I told you about an artist from the security community named Eddie Mize, a.k.a. EddieTheYeti. I identified with his use of artistic expression as a way to cope with inner demons. Since then, we’ve gotten to know each other better.

Mood music:

I’ve used his art to illustrate several posts in this blog. At DEF CON in August, his art exhibit was one of the more popular attractions, and he kindly personalized my DEF CON badge with some OCD Diaries art.

The more I review his work, the more it stirs up feelings that have been deep inside me.

That’s especially true in recent weeks, as I’ve started fighting back against some resurgent personal demons.

So I put the question to Eddie: What if I did a series of posts where I took specific pieces of his work and wrote a narrative for it based on the emotions the work stirred within me?

Eddie is a gracious guy, so I wasn’t surprised when he said it “sounds like a plan!”

The posts will be an ongoing series. You won’t see me focus on it for several days in a row. I’ll probably settle into a post a week. His gallery on the DeviantArt site is more than 2,000 entries deep, so there’s a lot to sift through.

I have two goals with this series:

  1. Help make EddieTheYeti a household name
  2. Continue the scouring of my soul that is key to my own survival

I don’t expect total victory in either case. But I have high hopes that together, Eddie and I will move some people who badly need it.

Stay tuned.

Pierced_by_EddieTheYeti

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When Anger Was All The Rage

I had a vicious temper when I was younger.

To call it a byproduct of OCD, depression and addiction would be pushing it, because I think the temper would have been there even without the mental illness.

Mood music:

http://youtu.be/A-nULlfJDvk

Examples of my temper include:

  • Hurling a fork or steak knife at my brother in a restaurant on New Years Eve 1979 because he made a joke I didn’t like. The more dramatic among my family members say it was a steak knife, though I’m pretty sure it was a fork. That the utensil could have embedded in my brother’s head and caused serious injury didn’t occur to me.
  • Lighting things on fire out of anger, including a collection of Star Wars action figures that would probably be worth a fortune today. I would pretend they were kids in school who were bullying me. I was a bully, too, but that didn’t matter.
  • Road rage. Tons of it. I was an angry driver. I would tailgate. I would speed. In the winters I would intentionally spin out my putrid-green 1983 Ford LTD station wagon in parking lots during snowstorms. While in college, I nearly hit another car and flipped off the other driver while my future in-laws sat in the back. Traffic jams would infuriate me. Getting lost would fill me with fear and, in turn, more anger.

I could go on, but you get the picture.

There were a lot of legitimate causes of rage for me. The drug I took for Chron’s Disease had a lot of nasty side effects, including violent mood swings. A brother and two close friends dying — one by suicide — gave me a lot of anger. Being stuck in the middle of turf wars and working late nights while at The Eagle-Tribune certainly made me a walking ball of fire.

I’m sure the fear and anxiety that came with my OCD contributed to more anger.

I’m even convinced the anger was useful in a way. Finding things to fixate my rage on had a perverse way of making me feel better, like I was somehow above the insanity because I could point my finger at it and call it names.

But somewhere along the way, it stopped working and started to suck the life from me.

That’s what anger does when you let it rule for too long. The burning feeling starts off as an energy that lifts you. But left unchecked, it becomes a parasite that takes everything and gives nothing.

Once that happened, I had to do something.

I kept going to church and a real faith took root. I found it could sustain me far better than rage could.

I went to therapy and started to face the demons that made me angry so much.

In time, the anger left. It comes back for a visit sometimes, but it no longer rules my life. It’s better that way.

Below: “Unleashed,” by EddieTheYeti

Unleashed Ink by EddieTheYeti

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A Plot Twist to Cure a Bad Mood

This old bastard woke up angry this morning. For two hours, I’ve wanted to punch objects and shout at people. I’ve done neither, but I still suck to be around right now. The rest of the day need not be this way.

I keep thinking of a post I wrote a while back about life’s plot twists and the lessons therein. When problems arise, embrace them, I said at the time. Roll with the punches. Catch the curve balls. Clichés like that.

Mood music:

http://youtu.be/irskrVvKR1E

It’s good advice for someone like me, whose OCD makes schedule changes seem like calamities. But in that context, plot twists are all the inconvenient, annoying and bad things that throw the best-laid plans into turmoil. I woke up in turmoil, so I’m looking for some reverse plot twists: unexpected developments that convert a shitty day into an excellent one.

It’s happened before. There was the day a bad commute got under my skin and I thought the rest of the day would rot my soul. Then I found out I was getting a promotion and a raise.

There have been times when a movie I wanted to see was sold out and, though pissed, I got tickets for another film that turned out to be glorious.

There have been days I thought I’d crumble under the weight of an overpacked schedule. Then a series of cancellations made it all better.

It’s only 7:30 a.m. as I write this, so there’s plenty of time for this day to be salvaged.

Meantime, I’m going to sit in my cube, drink coffee and listen to The Stooges. Approach with caution.

Middle Finger Mushroom Cloud

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Knowing You’re a Punk is the First Step in the Cure

I was an absolute punk this morning. I was incensed over tech problems, dropping F-bombs and punching the desk with my fist.

Mood music:

It’s a typical problem for someone with clinical OCD. You want to control everything, though you know it’s impossible.

In mid-rage, I learned a friend had just lost a sibling.

Rage turned to guilt.

I’m no special case. We all lose our patience from time to time and act like spoiled brats. More often than not, it’s over little things, like missing a favorite TV show or getting stuck in traffic. It’s much easier to blow up than to be stoic when things don’t go our way.

The news I received this morning in the middle of my tantrum just goes to show that someone else always has it worse. I know what it’s like to lose a sibling, and I truly feel for my friend and pray for his family. I needed a hard slap of perspective this morning, but I wish the lesson came from someplace else.

Appreciate what you have. Hug those around you, and don’t sweat the little things. If you fail at any of these, just try again.

I’ll work at following my own advice.

Perspective-is-everything

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The Paul Revere Owl of Rage

A friend of mine from Revere found a drawing I did in junior high school. I had totally forgotten about it, but once I had a look yesterday, I remembered what it was about.

Mood music:

http://youtu.be/JCGvONbVCa0

I was asked to draw something that could be used for the Paul Revere School eighth-grade graduation program. I was a misfit back then, a fat, slovenly kid who sucked at sports and verbally fought with just about everyone. But I could draw, and my peers appreciated the skill. My drawings were one of the few things I’d get praise for. So, naturally, I drew a lot of pictures.

This one was modeled after the scholarly owl in the 1970s kids program New Zoo Review. I decided to inject my attitude into the creature’s face, however, and you can see it best in his angry eyes. The picture is a bit blurry, but the eyes come through clearly enough:

Bill drawing from 1984
To be fair, I was just getting into heavy metal music at the time, and that had some influence on this “owl of rage.” But 1984 was also the worst year of my life up to that point. My brother had just died, and it was the first of my two years at Paul Revere School, where I didn’t fit in the way I had at the Roosevelt School in the Point of Pines.

One thing I remember clearly: My drawings always reflected how I was feeling. And at that time, I was feeling rage.

More on this time period in “Seeds Of Rage At The Paul Revere School

The rage lasted all through high school and beyond, though it moderated and mixed with the chaotic emotions found in all teenagers.

I eventually found God, a stable family life and a career, and today I can’t relate to the look in that owl’s eyes as well as I used to.

This makes me happy.

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Horse Platitudes

PLATITUDE: A banal, trite, or stale remark —Merriam-Webster Collegiate Dictionary

CNN online has an article about “instant outrage,” something that has reached absurd levels in this age of social networking.

In such moments of outrage, we’re dropping platitudes all over the place. A good example came after the Sandy Hook massacre, when the debate about gun control was re-ignited. Those against more gun control trotted out the old, tired, “Guns don’t kill people. People kill people.”

Mood music:

[spotify:track:6vcqR6rCL2k4EDhqH8gzeO]

We’ve become addicted to platitudes. Platitudes about politics, religion, parenting, education and, most annoyingly, celebrities who show their humanity.

The political stuff has been loudest this past year because of the presidential election and President Obama winning a second term. My conservative friends litter Facebook with grand statements about how the president is a freedom-hating, baby-killing, money-stealing dictator. My liberal friends make big statements about Republicans as wealth-obsessed, war-obsessed, mean-spirited bastards who are happy to crash the nation’s economy in an act of spite.

Both sides overreact, but don’t ever try to tell them that. They’ll just drop more platitudes on you.

There are some well-meaning platitudes, and I appreciate the attempt at good feelings. But they still annoy.

For example, there are the countless sayings and cartoons about depression not being about weakness but about being strong for too long. My fight against my own depression and that of others is well known here, but really, people, is the overbearing mush really going to save any lives? I think not.

The same goes for the online platitudes comparing cancer patients to Klingon warriors defeating the evil disease in glorious battle. That one doesn’t bother me quite as much. If it gives the many cancer patients I know the moral boost to fight on, so be it.

Overall, though, the lack of restraint in the proclamations we make has become a problem. They make us feel better about ourselves, and thinking oneself better than others can lead to unfortunate side effects, like being an asshole.

If we don’t rein it in, evolution is going to retaliate by giving us new, larger mouths with larger tongues and teeth. In a few generations, we’ll all resemble Mr. Ed.

What I just said might be interpreted as a hatred of horses because of their big mouths. In no time, there will be pictures of me on the Internet killing horses and putting them in burgers.

It won’t ring true, but it’ll be re-posted often. Because in our addiction to platitudes, we won’t be able to help ourselves.

Horse

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Comparing Politicians to Hitler Is Stupid

The debate over firearms is bringing out extreme levels of stupidity in people. Right-wingers who think gun control means taking away everyone’s right to bear arms are comparing President Obama to Adolf Hitler. Left-wingers did the same to President Bush over his war policies.

It’s the lowest common denominator; the dumbest of the dumb.

Mood music:

[spotify:track:4AlIvHv7kHmhi8aDvn2ctK]

On the Drudge Report, Obama’s picture was lumped in with images of Hitler and Soviet dictator Josef Stalin next to a story about Vice President Biden’s suggestion that Obama will target guns through an executive order. The Hitler comparisons have actually been going on since Obama’s administration began four years ago:

hitlerOBAMA_2

When George W. Bush was in the Oval Office and debate raged over the wars in Iraq and Afghanistan, the left put out the same suggestions:

bush-hitler1

So if you disagree with the president, Republican or Democrat, it’s OK to compare them to a man who sent millions of innocent people to the gas chamber. Wanting to put controls on the type of weapon American citizens can access is suddenly on par with genocide. The logic seems to be that if Obama “takes away” your guns, he is going to invade a bunch of countries next.

I can’t say that I haven’t used the same tactics. Back during the first Gulf War, I used a writing assignment in my college poetry class to compare the first President Bush to Hitler. My professor, who was a lot further to the left than I was at the time, suggested in red marker that I was taking things too far.

When we get angry with our leaders, this is what happens. We go to the extreme.

Frankly, I think both sides oversimplify things. In moments of anger, we turn off the part of the brain that controls reason.

I’ve done a lot of stupid things in my life when my anger turned off that switch. I made a lot of extreme statements about our political leaders. But somewhere along the way, I made an effort to grow up and not let my fear and anger override my reason.

I suggest the folks comparing Obama to Hitler do the same.

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When Life Jerks You Around, Go To Au Bon Pain

Yesterday was one of those days that didn’t go according to plan. I took Duncan to Boston Children’s Hospital at Waltham to have his cast removed and wound up in Boston because of a scheduling glitch. Such things used to throw me into anxiety-fueled rages. Here’s what happened instead.

Mood music:

[spotify:track:1JFQyGHeNDAqUAubIAMiXI]

I got back in the car and thumbed the Rosary hanging off the directional stick next to the steering wheel. I turned on my Android Spotify app, plugged it into the car stereo and blasted some Van Halen and Black Label Society. Then we drove to Boston.

Duncan got his cast removed. We had lunch at Au Bon Pain in the hospital and went home. No tantrums. No anxiety-fueled craziness over the damage to the workday and the fact that we had to go into Boston. Not too many years ago, driving in downtown Boston terrified me. All those one-way streets. The traffic, especially when the Red Sox play. I couldn’t handle it.

In more recent years — as was the case yesterday — I don’t freak out over these curve balls. They still piss me off, to be sure. But I can readjust and move on without incident. It’s a gift you can’t fully appreciate unless you’ve lived under the spell of fear, anger and anxiety.

Rewind to 23 years ago. It was registration day at North Shore Community College, where I was enrolled for the fall semester. I was just out of high school and angry at the world for a variety of reasons. I had been working long hours in my father’s warehouse in Saugus and was rubbed raw. I was frustrated because a girl I liked was getting cold feet about the idea of hooking up with a loose cannon like me. It didn’t take much to trigger a temper tantrum.

That day I was rattled hard by the long lines of college registration. I wasn’t expecting it and was full of fear that I wouldn’t get the classes I needed. Not that it really mattered, since my major was liberal arts.

Two hours in, I realized I had to give them a check for the courses I was taking. I had no money and panicked. They allowed me to drive to Saugus to get a check from my father. I was in full road rage mode on the drive there and back, riding up other people’s rear bumpers and keeping one foot on the break and one on the gas.

By day’s end, I was in supernova mode and breathing into a bag between the chain of cigarettes I was smoking.

That kind of rage was a daily thing for a time. And it always struck in moments when life didn’t go according to plan.

I’m glad I’m older and slower. I’m glad I found the tools to keep such things from happening: that renewed appreciation for rock ‘n’ roll, a little prayer and the brain-balancing effects of Prozac and Wellbutrin. It’s also summertime. My brain functions better this time of year.

I was able to put on a calm face for my son, and he was calm as a result. And despite the scheduling mess, the cast came off as planned.

Cast Removal