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It’s Not How Far You Have to Go, It’s How Far You’ve Come

No matter how much we’ve grown, no matter how far we’ve come, we insist on beating ourselves over the strides we have yet to achieve.

When it comes to self-loathing over one’s vulnerabilities, I’m about the best there is. But I’ve worked hard to break myself of that, because the truth is that I have come a long way since the days when I was owned by my OCD, anxiety, fears and dark impulses.

Do those things still get the better of me? Absolutely. But I’ve found that the more I dwell on it, the longer it takes me to grow into something better.

Mood music:

I used to let myself plunge into days of depression and self-hating every time I made a mistake at work. I binge-ate my way to 280 pounds, and I would let my brain spin for weeks over every possible worst-case scenario for the same reason.

As a kid, I bullied other kids even as I was getting bullied, because finding kids that were seemingly weaker made me feel better about myself.

Thankfully, I’m in better control of myself and my actions than I used to be, though the darker impulses still get the better of me occasionally. I still beat myself over mistakes, which makes the step forward slower. I still give in to laziness when life seems too hard. I still judge other people when I don’t really know them.

But I keep those impulses in check a lot more often than not. When I’m feeling down, I try to celebrate that fact.

Efforts at personal evolution are a life-long thing. The work doesn’t end until we’re dead.

Best to focus on living the best way we can.

baby elephant climbing a steep hill

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Zakk Wylde’s Fallen Heroes Tribute

Of all the great songs Black Label Society frontman Zakk Wylde has written, my favorite is “In This River.” Over time, it’s become a tribute to his close friend, Pantera guitarist Darrell Lance Abbott, more popularly known as Dimebag Darrell.

Dimebag Darrell was gunned down nearly a decade ago while onstage with his post-Pantera band, Damageplan. Wylde was one of his best friends, and I can feel the depth of his loss whenever I listen to the song.

Wylde performed “In This River” as a tribute to the “fallen heroes of the music community” at the Revolver Golden Gods Awards April 23, 2014, at the Nokia Theater in Los Angeles. It’s pretty moving, so I’m sharing it here.

http://youtu.be/J13PNAW4P5I

WyldeWeekend2

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Account Theft: The Worst That Could Happen Wasn’t Much

Because I’m a security writer by profession, one of my biggest fears is that online thieves will suck my bank account dry. I’ve seen it happen to friends and family, and I know how violated they felt. I’ve written too many articles about people I don’t know being victimized.

So when it finally happened to me, I was surprised by my muted, almost calm response.

Mood music:

http://youtu.be/iJ3aVCvM0JY

When I signed in to the family account, I was perplexed to find a few hundred dollars less than I had budgeted. The second I called up the account activity, I knew.

Six transactions in a row, all from the same morning, for $50 apiece, going to Steampowered.com, a well-known entertainment and gaming site. No one in this house uses it, so it instantly raised my suspicion. A few years ago, before learning to cope with my demons, my response would have been panic and rage. I would have visions of the family living on the streets, destitute, with nowhere to go. I would entertain the idea of hunting down the thief and plunging a knife into their chest a few hundred times, and I’d be unable to focus on anything else.

Of course, I’d never actually attack someone that way, and family and friends would keep us off the streets if it really came to that, which it wouldn’t have.

But when the obsessed mind spins beyond control, the victim views all the worst-case scenarios as reality.

Here’s what actually happened:

  1. When I saw the suspicious activity, I called the bank.
  2. The bank immediately canceled my card and arranged to send me a new one.
  3. I went to the bank and went over the last month’s transactions with them in an effort to trace the point when someone successfully penetrated the account. I signed paperwork to get my stolen funds restored.

Within 20 minutes, I had done what was needed and went on with life.

I’m not perfect, by any means. I still entertained the idea of finding the thief and turning the tables. I still cussed up a storm for being inconvenienced.

But I’m grateful for the ability not to go over the rails as my younger self would have.

In recent years, particularly in moments like this, I’ve developed a game called “What’s the worst that can happen?” I’ll picture a bad scenario and play out the absolute worst things that could happen from there. In the end, the answer is usually not much. For this incident, the worst-case scenario was that the account would run dry and all the scheduled bill payments would fail. Then I would have been running up the credit card for handle current expenses.

Those thoughts fizzled pretty quickly, though. I knew the bank would replace the missing funds and I knew I was fortunate to have the resources to keep paying for expenses.

I also knew that I wasn’t a special snowflake. People are robbed this way every day. It’s become a fact of life and banking protocols have changed in response.

The worst that could happen? Nothing really, save for the inconvenience of a trip to the bank.

Before online banking, we all had to do that anyway.

Computer keyboard with a shadowed hand hovering over it

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You See a SecBurnout Cult; I See Common Sense

Some folks are pissed over my recent posts about efforts in the security community to fight job burnout and depression. I won’t change your minds, so I’ll just clarify a few things and move along.

People have made five observations:

  1. The data is far too insufficient to declare a problem specific to the security community.
  2. Without data, all we have is opinion.
  3. The greater InfoSec Burnout movement and I have made it sound like this is an infosec problem or a workplace-centric problem rather than what it truly is: a mental health problem that the individual already has and brings to whatever job they have.
  4. I’m trying to superimpose my issues onto the rest of the community.
  5. I’ve gotten too caught up in the noise coming from the SecBurnout people.

That last line makes it sound like I’ve joined a cult of misguided infosec egotists who can’t see past their upraised noses. What follows is my opinion on each of the points above. I speak as an individual, not as part of any organized movement — security or otherwise.

  1. Data isn’t everything. I write from personal experience. Part of that includes discussions I have with distressed peers. It doesn’t always take a study to see a problem.
  2. Well-formed opinions based on experience are useful.
  3. I’ve said it repeatedly: A mentally ill person can be sent over the edge by their work circumstances, but in the final analysis the problem starts with them. I used to be crazy and work stress was a trigger. But the problem was always my inability to deal with stress. I had to be the change. I had to get treatment and find the coping tools. I had to create a new me. So it is with everyone.
  4. The notion that I’m superimposing my issues on the larger community is laughable. I didn’t start out on a mission specific to this community. It’s still not a security-only thing. But there are people who came to this community with mental illnesses who could use a helping hand. If I can share what I’ve learned in my own recovery with industry peers, I will. Maybe it’ll help them cope better with the stresses of the industry. Or maybe it’ll just help them cope better with life in general. Either way, it’s a win.
  5. I don’t believe I’m caught up in “noise.” I know where I’ve been and who I’ve talked to. When asked, I’ll always share what I’ve learned and who I learned it from. I’ll also be the first to admit I’m imperfect and still a work in progress.

This has never been about suggesting there’s a problem special to infosec. I don’t see a pandemic within the community. I see friends and colleagues grappling with territory I’m familiar with.

It’s as simple as that.

bill the cat giving rock sign

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The Misguided Coping Tool of My Teenage Rage

The first car I ever owned as a kid was a beat-to-shit 1983 Ford LTD wagon. It had a catalytic converter that always flooded and stalled the car. The power steering was gone. And it was the misguided coping tool of my teenage rage.

Mood music:

http://youtu.be/biXnwOMznkg

The LTD’s exterior was a toxic green, covered over in patches with stickers promoting whatever anarchist political causes I espoused at the time. In one inspired move, I took a “No Sludge” bumper sticker that had been proliferated by groups opposed to a sludge burning plant at the Rowe Quarry, cut off the no part and stuck sludge to the rear hatch. (The no-sludge people ultimately won. A massive condo complex sits where Rowe used to be on the Revere-Saugus border in Massachusetts.)

Some days I loved that car. Some days I hated it.

I hated the constant stalling and the smell of gas and oil that always seemed to make its way into the passenger compartment. The steering wheel was thin, which wasn’t masculine enough for my liking. Loose metal around the rear passenger-side wheel well constantly sliced the tires, though that at least gave me plenty of tire-changing practice.

But I loved its battered exterior and the sound system. The speakers were actually blown out, but I liked how it made the bass rattle the car whenever I put an Ozzy cassette in. I loved how I could pack a bunch of friends in the back for trips to the Worcester Centrum, the main place to see the big rock acts before we had the TD Garden and Verizon Center.

I was always told the back was perfect for sex, though I never attempted it. At least two friends did. If I wasn’t in the car at the time, I didn’t care, as long as they cleaned up after themselves.

Despite the engine’s shortcomings, I broke a lot of speed limits with that car. I had a vicious temper and often drove too fast to feel better. I used to blast up and down the causeway between Lynn and Nahant. You had to slow down before reaching Nahant, though, because the police loved to bust kids like me. They often did.

I would drive within an inch of the car in front of me and bang the horn. I would flip off anyone who slowed me down. And I punched the ceiling over the driver’s seat so much the fabric started to sag.

Looking back, I could have killed someone. There were many opportunities to do so. I could have killed myself and my friends in those moments of road rage. By the grace of God, that never happened.

The coping tools I have today — music, my guitars, walks with my wife, the elliptical machine in the garage, my faith, my mindfulness exercises — are far more effective. Nobody gets hurt. Everyone wins, because I’m easier to deal with.

Still, there are occasions, however infrequent, when I miss that wreck on four wheels.

10365338_10200980974005449_1817783465759390831_o

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EddieTheYeti: Art as Mental Therapy

I sucked at a lot of things as a kid, but I could draw. It was the one thing that always got me compliments from people who otherwise ridiculed me.

Those drawings were an exercise in emotion. There were pictures of my favorite rock stars, recreated scenes from my favorite movies (particularly the violent ones) and doodles that captured my frustration during school and periods of depression. A good example of that is the Paul Revere Owl of Rage I wrote about a while back.

Writing eventually replaced drawing, though I’ve maintained a life-long appreciation for art that captures emotion. Which brings me to Eddie Mize, also known as EddieTheYeti.

Mood music:

http://youtu.be/xQvuZvrH0Yw

Eddie is a master at capturing the human element. His latest works, “Faces of Defcon,” are a prime example. He made these images from ink, lime juice, soy sauce, wine, coffee, tea, pencil, acrylic, and water. I know many of the people he captures. They are hackers and other security practitioners who have a burning intensity for their profession. They throw their souls into the work, and you can see it in their eyes.

Eddie has done a lot of rock ‘n’ roll artwork as well, and you can see the influence in his security professionals work.

Much has been written about Eddie’s history with bipolar disorder and depression. He’s been an outspoken advocate for art as a powerful mental health tool.

In a 2010 article on the Mood Letter website, he explains:

My acrylic work is usually the result of mania; the digital darker art is usually created during my depressive phases. People who know me know how I’m doing by the qualities in the work.

Music, art and writing have been critical tools in my own effort to manage mental health, and I appreciate the hell out of people who share their work publicly, where it can then help other people climb out of whatever mental holes they’ve fallen into.

Thanks for all you do, Eddie.

Unibomber by EddieTheYeti

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The Semicolon As Anti-Suicide Symbol

I’ve never been a fan of the semicolon. I always identify it as punctuation used by people clinically incapable of writing the short, crisp sentences I prefer. Who knew it would become a symbol of hope — a battle cry to resist suicidal thoughts and get on with life.

Mood music:

That’s the mission of The Semicolon Project: to turn a piece of punctuation into something new and powerful. A Tumblr blog explains:

The semicolon is used when a sentence could have ended, but didn’t. The movement is for anyone who has ever self-harmed, has a personality disorder, or has tried to commit suicide. The semicolon is a sign of hope. Your sentence is not over yet. If you have ever harmed yourself, attempted suicide, or just want to support the cause, put a semicolon on your wrist or wherever you feel would mean the most. Every time you see it, think of something that makes life worth living.

The movement appears to be catching on, with people even getting the punctuation mark tattooed to wrists and other body parts.

I believe in symbols. They are no replacement for therapy and, as needed, medication. But symbols do something just as important, if not more so: They give the suffer something positive to fixate on, shapes that are as powerful as entire sentences and songs. When life kicks you in the nuts, the right symbolic image seared into the brain can steer you back toward the will to live.

For myself, the Superman S has always been a powerful symbol. The image has surfaced in my mind’s eye whenever I’ve reached low points and realized it was time for a turnaround. I love how, in last year’s Man of Steel movie, Jor-El specifically describes it as the symbol of hope.

But as symbols go, this semicolon idea is growing on me. And I only heard about it a couple days ago.

So here it is, the image to picture when you are at your lowest. May it inspire you to keep your sentence moving.

semi-colon

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So You Wanna Blog About Your Demons

Quite a few people are starting to share stories about their mental health challenges and other demons. Some ponder if they should start blogging about it. Having written such a blog for almost five years now, here’s my take.

Mood music:

If you feel you have reached the right point in your journey to start sharing, then do it. If nothing else, it will help you keep things in perspective. I always feel better after I’ve torn a few skeletons from my closet and tossed them to the light.

Once you expose them, they seem a lot smaller. Chances are you will also touch a few people who need to know they’re not alone; that they’re dealing with the stuff that makes us all human. They need to see proof that they are not freaks.

If you are still at the beginning of figuring out your issues and you’re in that confused state where you don’t know up from down, it might be better to start writing just for yourself. Fill notebooks but don’t share yet. Wait until you reach a point in recovery where you’re ready to come out. Then you can take what you wrote when emotions were still raw and put them out there along with fresh perspective of where you’ve been since then.

When I started this blog, I wanted to break stigmas and make people more comfortable outing their own demons. Not many people were doing it back then. Today, many are taking the leap. Whether I’ve influenced any of it is for others to determine. All I know is that I’m happy to see it.

Whatever you decide to do, know that I admire you and gain extra strength from the experiences you already share.

Godspeed and good luck.

skeleton closet dance

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You Can’t Fight Depression with Unicorns and Rainbows

In recent days I’ve watched an interesting online discussion about depression and bipolar disorder. One one side is author and speaker Natasha Tracy, whose writing pulls no punches about the dark side of such maladies. On the other side is a blogger named Sarah Ryan. She believes the approach to addressing the subject should be uplifting and sunny.

The truth is somewhere in between, in my opinion. But I must say that the sunshine part is useless if we don’t pick apart the darkness first.

Mood music:

Taking a shot at Tracy and her work, Sarah suggests a new voice is needed. Her beef: Tracy’s articles are dark to the point of ridiculous. She writes:

I am struck by the negativity that many major health-care websites are perpetuating, such as healthyplace.com, healthline.com, and answers.com. They are advertising Ms. Tracy as an expert on those sites, so if that is the case, I’m sure the vast majority of her readers will assume they can trust her message and treat it as fact-based. Here’s the rub: I find her message to be wrought with negativity, misinformation, and deeply internalized social stigma.

Sarah hopes to be a “much needed counter balance to this sort of negativity.” Sarah’s blogging is part of a larger project called “Find More Out There,” designed to explore the realities of bipolar disorder via film and other media.

As a long-time sufferer of depression and OCD, I appreciate what she’s doing. Sufferers do need hope, and in my own blogging I try to outline all the light I’ve found at the other side of the darkness.

But I also respect Tracy’s work. Sure she leans more toward the dark side. The titles she uses demonstrate that:

  • How Are You? – I’m Not Fine, I’m Bipolar
  • Can You Die From Bipolar Disorder? (*Saving you more time, the answer is yes)
  • More Ways to Die from Bipolar Disorder
  • Trying Bipolar Therapy You Don’t Believe In – Mindfulness Meditation
  • I’m Too Tired to Keep Fighting Bipolar Disorder

Sarah uses those titles as proof Tracy is too negative.

But here’s the thing: Depression and all the mental disorders that feed it are a nightmare. When you’re in the thick of it, all seems lost. It sucks. People need to say it sucks. My healing — an ongoing process with plenty of setbacks and advances — couldn’t begin until I peeled back every layer of my fear, anxiety and depression. That took years.

For the sufferer to find tools to get better, they have to know they’re not alone. The old cliché that misery loves company is true. When you realize you’re in good company, it becomes easier to stand up and do something about it.

But once the sufferer has that epiphany, they need guidance to start building the tools of recovery. Sarah’s project holds promise there.

I’d love to see these two voices collaborate on something. The fruits of such an effort could be powerful.

unicorn pooping a rainbow

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“A Christmas Story” Made It OK to Be Weird

Sunday, I settled in with Erin and the kids for our annual viewing of A Christmas Story. Like everyone else, I have my 10-15 favorite lines:

“It was… soap poisoning!”

“Notafinga!”

“You used up all the glue … on purpose!”

But those lines, as much as I enjoy them, are not why I consider this movie so special. The main reason is that the movie made it OK to have strange thoughts.

Mood video:

http://youtu.be/Ktzt096mlxs

When I was a kid, I always thought something was wrong with me because I’d dream up all these crazy thoughts and scenarios. If I got punished, I’d dream up all manner of revenge scenarios. If I wanted a certain toy, I’d dream up hundreds of scenarios of me playing with said toy.

All kids do that. For that matter, adults do it to. But it took seeing A Christmas Story for me to get that. Before that, I thought I was just a bizarre kid doomed to a future of sinister thinking that would make me an alien among more “normal” people.

It also taught me that mine wasn’t the only family that failed to fit all the Brady Bunch parameters.

I’m not a special case. The movie was an eye-opener for a lot of people.

The reason those scenes cause us to laugh so vigorously is because there’s a release — or, more to the point, a relief. Relief in knowing we’re not alone in our weird families and weirder thinking.

That’s what I call a Christmas gift.

Ralphie