Posted on

Fear, Anxiety And Storms: From the Blizzard of ’78 to Sandy

Written in the hours before Superstorm Sandy hit. For those who get scared about the weather…

A lot of people are anxious over this “Frankenstorm” weather forecasters say could hit us early next week. They use words like “historic” and “unprecedented.” They draw comparisons to the “Perfect Storm” of 1991, saying this one could be worse.

It’s the type of verbiage that alarms people.

I feel for those who are freaked out right about now. Growing up in Coastal New England did plenty to feed my fear and anxiety over the years.

Mood music:

[spotify:track:7cJ8yUXYVKJ9vSr0kSD75b]

My reaction to hurricanes and nor’easters has long been a source of family amusement. My sister Stacey loves to tell the story of how I ran through the house with duct tape as Hurricane Bob approached in 1991.

When people ask where this fear came from, I don’t have to think it over. It started with the Blizzard of 1978.

That storm started like any other for a second grader. I was thrilled that we got two feet of snow because it meant school was canceled. I remember my mother making us French toast that first morning. The toys we got for Christmas were still shiny and new, and I could play with them all day.

Then the ocean spilled into the street in front of my house and kept rising. I’d never seen anything like that before, and all my 7-year-old mind could do was picture the house floating away into the great unknown.

Then the pumping station down the street got flooded out and our basement, where the playroom and most of the toys were, filled with sewage.

The ocean ripped apart my neighborhood along the northern edge of Revere Beach that week. Houses were torn from their foundations. The wind tore the roofing off some of the pavilions lining the beach, and schoolmates had to stay in hotels for a year or more while their homes were rebuilt.

Every winter since then, every nor’easter riding up the coast fills me with anxiety. The TV news doesn’t help. Impending storms are more often than not pitched as the coming apocalypse.

From the late 1970s straight through the 1990s, I’d shake from weather reports mentioning the Blizzard of ’78 with each new storm. As a young adult, I developed a pattern of throwing a blanket over my head and going to sleep. That’s exactly what I did in 1985 when Hurricane Gloria grazed us and, at age 21 in August 1991, when New England took a direct blow from Hurricane Bob.

In more recent years, I’ve been a lot less anxious about stormy weather. Some of that is because I don’t live on the coast anymore. Some of it is because I’ve gotten much better control of my anxiety. When Hurricane Irene came through here last year, I was calm and even drove around a bit.

But I remember how I used to feel.

So if you know some people who are freaked out by Hurricane Sandy right now, don’t make fun of them. Weather-based anxiety is serious business, and ridicule can make things worse.

reverehome

Posted on

Your Excuse Is Invalid

Like everyone else, I find it hard to motivate myself some days. Then I read tales and see photos of people doing big things despite big disadvantages. My own problems then seem microscopic, and I can move on.

Mood music:

[spotify:track:3G6Pmvb6lsEu7dFkW0bpQc]

Today I’d like to thank three people for giving me a much-needed kick in the ass.  Whenever I’m feeling overwhelmed and sorry for myself, I can look to them and see my excuses for personal adversity are invalid.

My aunt Robin, who is fighting breast cancer with grace and good humor:

Aunt Robin

Amandita Sullivan, one of my Facebook connections. I don’t know her personally, but I connected with her because she uses the social network to inspire people daily with her story of recovery after getting hit by two different cars inside of a week. She also devotes a lot of space to others who have bounced back from adversity:

Amandita Sullivan

And this guy, a friend of Amandita’s who lost two legs but not his lust for life:

Climbing mountains

Rock on, folks.

Posted on

Led Zeppelin Gets Me Through the Rain

A while back I wrote about how Van Halen’s music helps me through  the winter blues. Too much rain can depress me, too, and for that I’m finding a remedy in Led Zeppelin.

Mood music:

http://youtu.be/S4v-_p5dU34

Like most teenage rock fans, I listened to Led Zeppelin nonstop, studied every lyric and guitar solo and read any book in which they were at least mentioned. I remember reading Hammer of the Gods when I was 15, and though I know the band members never liked that book, I absorbed it obsessively. There were always rumors that the band was cursed for making a deal with the devil. I never believed that. They had their lows like any band, including the deatha of Robert Plant’s son and drummer John Bonham. But for me, the music is all that ever mattered. And this music didn’t come from Hell. No fucking way.

These guys channeled something that came straight from Heaven. They rocked hard, but some of my favorite songs were done acoustically. Zeppelin drew from every culture and used every obscure instrument known to man to get their sound. Folk is as integral to their sound as heavy metal. The song I used for today’s Mood Music is one of my favorites and cuts to the heart of the matter on rainy days like this, when I’ve given to blue moods:

These are the seasons of emotion and like the winds they rise and fall

This is the wonder of devotion — I see the torch we all must hold.

This is the mystery of the quotient — Upon us all a little rain must fall.

Which brings me to another point: Robert Plant has always gotten his due respect for vocal prowess, but he is also one of the most underrated lyricists who has ever lived. Those lyrics in particular speak to me on a day like this, when I’m given to cursing the sky for handing me more gray instead of the sunlight I crave.

I’d even go as far as to say that a song like this makes me appreciate the rain.

I stopped listening to Led Zeppelin for a long time, not because they fell out of favor with me, but because I was simply exploring other bands and genres. My interest was rekindled by the film It Might Get Loud, in which Jimmy Page, U2’s The Edge and Jack White get together to share the stories and techniques behind their best-known songs.

Here’s a preview:

Also rekindling my interest is the new concert film Celebration Day, in which the surviving members of Zeppelin and John Bonham’s son, Jason, do a reunion performance in 2007. Here’s a preview:

This stuff permeates my soul and helps me see the joy in life, even on my most depressed, pissed-off days. Thanks, gents.

Led Zeppelin Flower

Posted on

Too Many Balloons in the Air

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:

ADD

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.

Posted on

The Song Remains Not the Same

My fingertips are sore and black because I’ve practiced my guitar playing every day since pulling it from its box on my birthday 11 days ago. They hurt like hell, but it’s a very satisfying pain.

Mood music:

[spotify:track:69GD80i2vo9xdHbxFw4USw]

My technique is still all wrong because I haven’t had face-to-face lessons yet, though I’ve been using several lessons I found on YouTube. Despite my lack of proper chording so far, I’m finding that I can make sounds that sound good to me. I define “good” by the sound’s ability to take my brain someplace else while mysteriously helping me exist in the moment at the same time.

That may sound strange, but it’s how I feel.

I’ve also quickly remembered where I left off 19 years ago, when I last played the instrument.

Once my skills and confidence are at a more comfortable level, I’ll start recording bits of what I’ve been doing and put them on the SoundCloud page I set up this week.

I’ll even start singing and writing lyrics again, making the best with what I have.

Future posts in this blog will be more musical as a result, with my own stuff for mood music, complete with lyrics to follow along with. How long will it take me to get there? I don’t know, but I’m in no great hurry.

I love that I’m able to do more with music than simply being a bystander. For me, rock ‘n’ roll has always been a source of strength in times of trouble. As I’ve said before, the more angry metal I listened to as a kid wrung out any real violence in me and probably steered  me away from a life of crime.

My musical tastes remain heavy but not quite so angry. I don’t consider Van Halen an angry band. They play hard, but the lyrics are all about living, loving and having a good time, troubles be damned.

But I don’t think rock is the only vehicle.

I know others get the same salvation from classical, country, folk and jazz.

If the music takes you from your ugly place, it’s all good — no matter how out of tune it may be.

That said, I really need to get on the ball and get those lessons.

Bill on guitar

Posted on

Welcome Back, Mrs. Silva

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.

Thanks, Mrs. Silva, and welcome back.

Mrs. Silva

Posted on

The Five Colors of the Anxiety Rainbow

I broke free from fear-based anxiety a long time ago. But I still have episodes of anxiety. We all do, and it’s usually when we have trouble sorting through our emotions. To get a better handle on it, I’ve been trying to label the different kinds of anxiousness based on the colors of a rainbow.

I decided to use the first five colors of Newton’s primary color system because if I broke this down by all seven colors, I’d be stretching things. Understand that this isn’t a scientific breakdown; it’s simply how I’ve learned to process what I feel.

  • Red. This is the worst of the worst, the type of anxiety that makes you feel like you’re at death’s door. I used to suffer from this one all the time: a cold sweat breaking out on my forehead, my heart pounding so violently that I thought it would break bones, my feet tingling and a constant feeling of having to throw up. Fear is the trigger for this one, the kind of fear that made me not want to go places, take risks and live life in general. For me, Prozac has been a very effective weapon against red anxiety, as has my faith.
  • Orange. Fear plays a big role in this anxiety as well, but unlike red, orange is usually rooted in something stressful that is really happening in your life. You could be fighting a serious medical issue and worrying about losing the fight. You could be having financial trouble that results in routine stress but the anxiety magnifies it to monstrous proportions. I’ve had both varieties, with the disease taking the form of Crohn’s Disease and excrutiating back pain. Medication has helped here, too, but therapy to sort reality from a runaway imagination was key.
  • Yellow. This anxiety is usually triggered by a lot of sustained stress at work or home. Maybe your marriage has hit a rough patch or your job is riding on the success or failure of a huge project. To get through it, your body pumps more adrenaline than you need, and you get the overwhelmed feeling that keeps you from seeing the order of work items and their level of completion. The news business is a perfect place to experience this because you face daily deadlines and a tongue lashing from your bosses if a competitor gets a big story instead of you. I don’t experience that today, but when I worked for newspapers, this yellow anxiety was always with me. Remedies here include therapy, medicine, a heart-to-heart talk with the boss and, if necessary, a job or even a career change.
  • Green. This anxiety appears when the less-frequent stresses spark up. Yesterday was a perfect example in my world: I was already ramped up from spending the previous evening at the hospital holding vigil while my father faced emergency surgery that ultimately didn’t happen. The plumber was coming to install a new dishwasher, and to pound my mind into submission, I went on a chore spree. Then my cell phone died for good, and I had to spend the afternoon replacing it. The latter two events are problems we’re lucky to have, since the alternative is being too broke to afford these things. But it sent the day on a trajectory I hadn’t anticipated. The only cure for this one right now is to reach the end of the day and go to bed.
  • Blue. This is a small, sustained level of anxiety so slight that you usually don’t see it for what it is. It’s generally a byproduct of depression. In my case, blue anxiety shows itself in the winter, when a lack of daylight sends me into blue moods. Last winter I started taking Wellbutrin to help the Prozac work better when I’m in this state, and it helped. But what helps me the most is activity. Writing helps a lot and, this winter, I’m thinking the guitar my family got me for my birthday will be a lifesaver.

Whatever level of anxiety you have, none of it has to be permanent. You simply have to choose to do something about it and ask those around you to help you stick to whatever you go with. Without Erin and the kids, I’m pretty sure I’d still be hiding under a rock somewhere.

Puking Cloud

Posted on

Update on Dad

Thanks to everyone who left prayers for Dad on my Facebook page yesterday, and thanks to my sister-in-law Robin for dropping everything to watch the kids so Erin and I could go to the hospital last night.

Mood music:

[spotify:track:7gUfl0F0N9YE4XC3FKkfy8]

Dad had emergency surgery last night for a malfunctioning heart. In the end, it turned out the heart was pumping fine, but that the blood has nowhere to go. All but one artery is blocked, as it was explained to me. There’s not much they can do about that because of his overall health right now, so once he’s up and about the doctors will manage it as best they can with medication.

Dad’s a stubborn one, and I can see how it’s rubbed off on me over the years. He’ll overdo an activity when his doctors tell him to take it easy. He’ll eat things he knows he shouldn’t eat. He’ll get schemes in his head and won’t listen to anyone once he sets his mind on something. Like father, like son.

When you’ve had two or more strokes like he has, that behavior is all the riskier.

As infuriating as it can be, I have to give the man credit: He’s not willing to let physical disabilities keep him down. He keeps pushing, and that’s admirable.

With everyone’s continued prayers and good vibes, I think he’ll be back on his feet before long.

Heart Pinata

Posted on

Five Traveling Tips for OCD Heads

Staying healthy while traveling has never been easy for an OCD case like me. When I traveled to New York in June, I pushed myself to the point where I was lying on the floor of the airport as I typed away, waiting for the flight home. My LA trip the month before ended pretty much the same way.

I don’t really sleep on these trips. There’s too much to do and see, too many interesting people to talk to. I work hard, but I always make time to catch up with friends and family in the city I’m visiting. Next week I fly to Las Vegas for the Black Hat and BSidesLV security conferences. I won’t get destroyed on the road as badly as I used to, because I’ve learned to follow these five steps:

Mood music:

[spotify:track:0ggJgQnyUD6UuFlwuu36qG]

  • Don’t eat junk. This one is easier for me because I don’t eat flour and sugar. But it’s still a challenge because I’m not weighing my portions on the little scale like I do at home. That makes it easy to overeat. For the most part, I’ve been able to hold it together, and the better I do, the better I feel when I get home. When I used to junk it up on the road, I’d be useless the first three days at home.
  • Pack lightly. I used to try cramming most of my wardrobe into the suitcase, along with five books, boots, shoes and so on. I feared being caught far from home without enough shirts and socks. Now I keep it light because I can breeze through the airport and get on and off the plane more quickly. If I run low on pants, I’ll wear the same pair more than once. Many of you do this but won’t admit it. Shirts are a different story. Wearing the same shirt twice would be gross because you can’t hide the stench your armpits leave behind.
  • Wear sleepwear to the airport. I usually sleep in cut-off gym pants and a t-shirt. I wear them to the airport, too. That way I don’t waste time in the security line removing the belt, rings and bracelets. I keep the jewelry in the suitcase and avoid laced footwear, too. If you have business meetings straight from the airport, you can’t do this. That’s why I never, ever book meetings for the day I land.
  • Remember the music. The radio stations you get on the airplane almost always suck, so remember the iPod. For me, music is the required way of passing the time on a five-hour flight.
  • Use the first day to screw your head on straight. The first day in the city I’ve traveled to is not for business briefings and conference calls. I use the time to explore the city I’m in for a couple hours, then I go back to the hotel and look over the agenda for the coming days. At night I meet up with friends, family and business associates for dinner.

From there, I’m ready to work my ass off.

And when I get home, my recovery time is much faster than it used to be. With the busy family life I have, that’s pretty essential.

Suitcases

Posted on

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