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When Living in the Past Is Your Only Sanctuary

I had coffee with a friend and former coworker recently, and we reminisced about some of the colorful characters we’ve worked with. One person we particularly admired has suffered through a life of depression, fear and anxiety and is mostly a recluse these days.

Mood music:

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When this person does surface to talk to someone, the topic is always the old days. He carefully avoids the present because it’s so painful. Talking about the past is safer. We’ve been there. There are no strangers to deal with, no surprises. The past is etched in stone. It’s a safe cave you can hide in without worrying about the walls crashing in.

I understand why people with fear and anxiety hide in the past, because I used to do it all the time when my demons were getting the better of me.

I’ve always been a history buff, and I’ve read a ton of books on the subject, though lately I’ve been reading more music-related books. My interest is partly because I need lessons on how people in the past lived right and wrong. I want to read about the strengths someone used to make a mark on the ages and try incorporating some of that into my life.

But I’ll be honest: Those history books were a big, thick blanket I could hide under. Instead of trying to deal with the present, I’d loiter in FDR’s second-floor study in the White House (today’s Yellow Oval Room). I’d hang out in the smoke-filled rooms of Capitol Hill, enjoying a smoke of my own and watching the masters make grand bargains.

I did something similar by hiding in movies. By watching a Star Trek film, I could witness some adventure without getting shot or stabbed in the real world.

I think one of the reasons I don’t read quite as much history or watch as many science fiction films anymore is that I beat the fear and anxiety. I still have moments of anxiety, but not the fearful variety. With that fear gone, I’m more comfortable hanging out in the present and even participating in it. Good thing, too, because my work and family life leaves little time for the old ways.

True, reading a rock star biography deals with the past, too, but I also get a lot of information about how favorite songs I listen to today came about. Since I’m playing guitar again, I enjoy them even more.

I also go back to the history books on occasion. The difference is that I’m not afraid to leave the past when reading time is done. In fact, I’m usually eager to return to the present.

I’m praying hard that it’ll turn out that way for my old friend, because he deserves better.

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WebMD’s Symptom Checker: Crack for OCD Heads

WebMD has a fantastic thing called the Symptom Checker. Have a headache and numbness in the toes? Just punch it into the symptom checker and get a diagnosis.

Mood music:

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In the hands of an OCD patient, this thing can provide hours of obsessive-compulsive fun, as you pinpoint every ache and pain in your body and have the Symptom Checker tell you what’s the matter.

The first thing you do is point to parts of a human body displayed in the first column on the page. If the problem area is the abdomen, click there and a list of possible symptoms pop up. Click the different symptoms (bloating, lumps, etc.) to collect them in the second column. The third column gives you a list of possible ailments. Click bloody vomit or vomit that resembles coffee grounds, and a red box pops up telling you to get “emergency medical attention.” Given all the coffee I consume, it’s hard to imagine my vomit not looking like coffee grounds.

Occasionally you’ll get a diagnosis for something you’ve probably never heard of, like Mallory-Weiss Syndrome. This affliction is some pretty serious shit. WebMD describes it this way:

Mallory-Weiss syndrome occurs in the mucous membrane where the esophagus and stomach connect. Vomiting or coughing strongly or for a long period of time can cause the membrane to tear and possibly bleed. Seizures may also cause tearing. People in their 40s or 50s are most likely to have Mallory-Weiss tears, but children can have them, too. Pregnant women are also at risk due to vomiting in the first trimester. Mallory-Weiss tears often heal on their own in a few days. In rare cases, surgery is required. Blood loss is a concern, so get medical care right away.

I get a lot of headaches, so I played around with the Symptom Checker for a while. I already know my trouble stems from sinuses that refuse to drain properly, but WebMD offers a much wider list of possible ailments: brain tumor, brain bleed, and so on. Go back a decade, when I would feel a pain and instantly assume the worst, and this potential diagnosis would have catapulted me straight to the nearest emergency room.

It turns out that pulling whiskers from my beard is a sign of bone infection. I always thought I did it as a distraction when the kids ignore my commands to pick up the room or shut the TV.

Bottom line: This can be a useful tool, but if you’re an OCD case it can be the catalyst for endless worry and panic. Like any medical symptom tool to be found online, it lists everything from the slightest to most serious conditions. I can poke fun now, but back when my fear and anxiety were out of control I’d have played with this thing for hours, breaking into a cold sweat and assuming the worst.

If you’re in that situation now, my advice is to walk away. A tool like this is dangerous in the hands of an unstable mind. If you’re in a calmer state of mind, it’s nothing more than a time-sucking distraction.

It’s a lot like Facebook, actually.

Sympton Checker

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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:

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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

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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

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Empire State Shootings Bring Back Old Fears, Timeless Lessons

The shooting spree outside the Empire State Building this morning reminds me of the mind-numbing fear I used to carry inside me every day — the feelings of dread that kept me indoors, away from the life I should have been living. It also reminds me of some critical lessons I’ve learned from my experiences.

Mood music:

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As CNN reported news that Jeffrey Johnson, 58, had opened fire on a former co-worker and police outside the NYC landmark, I remembered:

The latter is what apparently happened today. According to reports, Johnson was apparently fired from his job as a designer of women’s accessories at Hazan Imports last year, and the 41-year-old man he shot to death may have been his former boss. Several people were injured in the crossfire before police shot Johnson dead.

Big crowds used to scare me senseless. I’d worry that if some crazy bastard came around the corner with a knife or a shotgun, I’d be trapped in the human traffic jam. I’d really freak out if I got lost in the crowd with no clue as to where I was or how to get back to familiar roads and neighborhoods. These feelings intensified after 9/11.

I also used to carry around a lot of bottled-up rage, especially over work situations. In one job I was trapped under a micro-managing viper who would blame you for everything that went wrong and take all the credit for things that went right. I can’t say I ever daydreamed about killing the man. I’ve always been either too law-abiding or too chicken for that. But I definitely dreamed up scenarios where I got to administer the beating I felt he so richly deserved.

Fortunately, I outgrew those emotions. Therapy and medication helped, but my deepening faith in God was the real game changer. I choose to worry less about other people’s motives and attitudes and focus on keeping my own in check instead.

I think the bad wiring that sent Johnson on the warpath is in all of us. It lies dormant until traumatic experiences, like getting fired, bring it to the surface and severs the rest of the brain from the part that powers our self-control.

I’m thankful that I have my own self-awareness today. I pray that you have your own awareness and that it keeps you from a tragic loss of control in the future.

Finally, I pray for those who got hurt today. Specifically, I pray this experience doesn’t send them into hiding, afraid to live their lives over the bad things that might happen.

Photo by SEAN SENATORE, New York Daily News

 

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Stoned and Panicked on the Interstate

The memory was buried until yesterday, and frankly I’d have been happy had it stayed buried. Funny thing about suppressed memories — they spill out during the damndest moments, like a drive down I-95 in Maine.

We were returning from a family camping trip near Old Orchard Beach yesterday, and as I drove the camper south, my stare caught the north-bound lanes.

Sometime in the summer of 1991, Sean Marley, a couple others and I sped north into Maine around midnight. We were in my beat-up 1981 Mercury Marque, and Sean was driving. I was in the back, about to have a panic attack thanks to my decision to read a newspaper after smoking weed.

Mood music:

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I can’t remember if Sean was high, but I do remember him being in the midst of some fucked-up sleeping experiments. One phase of the experiment involved him sleeping in a different room of his house each night, the goal being to break himself of the comfort you get from going to the same familiar bed at the end of each day. Another part of the experiment involved not sleeping at all for multiple days.

He was pretty gone at that point and kept chanting “Jesuses penises” over and over. The more he did it, the more unhinged I became. My uneasiness was based on four things:

  • I was paranoid from the weed.
  • It was dark, lonely and scary on that highway — probably because I was stoned and paranoid.
  • Sean was driving my car like an asshole, which had already suffered a smash in the rear from a hit-and-run driver a month before.
  • There was a newspaper in the back seat.

News about scary world events used to trigger my anxiety back then, and this was just after the first Gulf War. A headline in the paper said something about Saddam Hussein having come closer to getting a nuclear bomb than anyone has previously thought. I spent the next week worrying that my corner of the world would go up in a mushroom cloud, courtesy of an evil dictator pissed off over all the bombs we dropped on his country a few months before.

It’s kind of amusing that the headline set me off, given that we would learn 12 years later there were no weapons of mass destruction.

But at that moment in the middle of the night, it seemed like an imminent threat. In reality, the more imminent threat was of the car sliding off the road and into a tree.

Three years later, the sleep and drug experiments caught up with Sean, and he had a breakdown. Two years after that, he died by his own hand, another victim of depression.

I would be done with marijuana within two years of that night, but I’d spend the following decade and a half living with a more muted but persistent depression and continuing bouts of anxiety and panic. I would occasionally lean on pills (prescribed for back pain) and alcohol to numb the fear. More often than not, I would simply shove a massive amount of food down my throat.

But I survived and eventually got well. Now I can travel at all hours and not freak out over it. I might get tired and annoyed, but I don’t get scared. In a way, you could say I’ve come full circle, traveling that same stretch of road clean and sober, hauling a camper with a Chevy Tahoe full of family.

But that old memory still bothers me a little, because it shows how unhinged two close friends were slowly becoming.

Bill and Sean

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Impostor Syndrome

A friend of mine, announcing on Twitter that he had landed a new, prestigious position, noted that he was feeling a bit of “Impostor Syndrome,” the fear that someday people will discover you’re really not as smart and talented as they currently think you are. It’s a feeling I’m very familiar with.

I’ve had a lot of good luck in my career. I’ve survived the rough patches, such as when I was floundering as night editor of The Eagle-Tribune. Working nights was taking this morning person and wringing out the editing skills that once seemed easy and instinctive. I moved on to a job writing about cybersecurity and haven’t looked back. I’ve been on the board of directors for a security user group. I’ve been invited to give a lot of presentations. I’ve had a few promotions. People read my security blog and this blog and actually like what I do.

Along the way, I have moments of cold fear when I think about how far I’ve come, and I wonder when people are going to wake up and realize that I’m not even close to being as good as they say I am. True, I have my critics and they’re always happy to take me down a few pegs. I’m grateful for them, because they keep me honest. But those people who think my skills are so sharp that they invite me to speak and write and to share my work on the social networks? Surely they’ll wake up one morning to find that I’m just a fake.

That’s a thought that goes through my head every day.

It’s good, I suppose. If I believed all the good stuff people said about me, I’d become another person — the kind you don’t want to meet. Even with Impostor Syndrome, my ego sometimes gets the better of me.

But I’ve also gotten comfortable with the idea that I wouldn’t have gotten the breaks without some level of ability. I’ve seen people with sparkling resumés get hired to write and edit and arrive on a cloud of praise, only to flounder and choke within a few short weeks. When the skills aren’t really there, you get found out pretty quickly.

Surely, then, if you last a while in a position and people keep honoring you with prestigious titles, there has to be something there, right?

Whatever the case, I choose to enjoy the ride as long as people keep letting me take the wheel.

I’m sure my friend is doing the same.

Girl Behind the Mask

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Camping? Don’t Let Fear and Anxiety Ruin It for You

I just got back from a weekend camping trip with the family. It’s the second time we did this in a camper, and I’ve done a few Cub Scout camping trips in the last year and a half. No small deal since OCD and anxiety used to make me fear such things.

Mood music:

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Fear of dangerous situations used to keep me on the couch, and camping was one of those things that made me tremble in terror. I’d go crazy worrying if someone was ransacking our house while we were away. I’d freak out every time the kids got dirty or bitten by bugs. The thought of eating food cooked in a dingy camper or over a campfire would give me the willies.

After years of therapy and the assistance of Prozac and Wellbutrin, I’ve actually learned to enjoy these outings.

Oh, I’m still not a fan of eating inside a camper. Ours is in great condition, but the inside has seen better days (I admit I’m a snob on this point).

Jayco Camper

Disease-laden mosquitoes still worry me. But such concerns don’t paralyze me like they used to. I can still get on with life and enjoy moments despite whatever worry has crawled into the recesses of my brain.

Duncan had a cast for this latest outing, and he got a bunch of nasty-looking bites on the last trip, including one we were fairly certain was a tick bite. It had the bulls-eye look but turned out to be nothing. I worried about these things but didn’t freak out. Not even close.

The first morning we spent at Bayley’s Camping Resort in Scarborough, Maine, I got up at 5:30 and walked to the beach. The ocean always rekindles my spirit, and this beach did not dissapoint.

Sunrise at Pine Point

The trolley ride to Old Orchard Beach that afternoon was fun. We found a discount bookstore where I acquired an illustrated bio of Led Zeppelin, and we played a few rounds of skeeball at a local arcade. This stretch of beach is a bit more circus-like than I prefer, but it made for some good people-watching.

Old Orchard Beach

The next morning we ate breakfast in a schoolhouse-turned-restaurant. Then it was off to Fort Williams Park and a visit to the Portland Head Lighthouse. This place was once a military base, which was more interesting to me than the lighthouse itself.

Portland Head Lighthouse Erin and the Boys

This was not a relaxing trip, truth be told. It was full of all the kid-related chaos that comes with family outings. But it was worth it. And Erin and I did break away for dinner and a beach walk our last night camping. We had a beautiful sunset for the walk.

Sunset on Old Orchard Beach

We were happy as hell to get home last night, especially the part where we slept in our own beds. But we made some great family memories this weekend, and you can’t do that when fear and anxiety keep you pinned to a couch in front of a TV.

I’m grateful.

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Financial Fear and Anxiety? Try This Four-Step Exercise

An old friend is racked with fear and anxiety. A clinical OCD case like me, he obsesses about the family budget, which he recently took over. He’s obsessed about everything that could go wrong with him in control. I know exactly what he’s going through.

Mood music:

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Early in our marriage, Erin was chief budget keeper and bill payer. She insisted I try doing the bills so that I could get a better sense of what I was spending and how it fed into the bigger picture. I was scared shitless, and I made mistakes. I dreaded every morning.

Erin and I now have a system where I handle the finances for six months, then she does six months. She remains a far better budget keeper than me, but I have learned to pay the bills on time most of the time. Progress is progress.

The treatment I’ve had to bring my OCD under control was a big factor in my progress. I still have daily OCD moments, but the fear and anxiety are gone.

Which brings me to a little exercise worth trying in fearful moments. This is mainly directed toward my friend and people in our mental situation. If you really are living in poverty and it’s not all in your head as it is for us, this won’t change things. But if you’re like us, maybe this will help.

  • Remember that most people struggle with money. Even if you’re filthy rich, you struggle to manage all the money coming in and going out. If you’re middle class or lower, there’s never enough money. The budget is always out of alignment because life happens. Cars break down unexpectedly. Water heaters die at the most inconvenient time. Your situation is unremarkable. Remembering that will at least give you the comfort of not being alone.
  • Ask yourself, what’s the worst that can happen? So you discover that you forgot to make the monthly car payment. What’s the worst that can happen? Will your car get repossessed? Unlikely, since you pay on time most of the time. You just fix the mistake by paying up and move on. Will you end up homeless because money is tight? You haven’t been tossed out up to this point and you’re financial situation is basically the same as always, so I doubt it. When we ask what’s the worst that can happen, we find that the worst isn’t so bad.
  • Seek out people smarter than you. Worried that you don’t have enough to pay every bill on time and having trouble prioritizing? Get help. Find the smartest financial brain in the family and get their advice. They can help you prioritize and make the best of what you have to work with. Read up on finance basics (Erin recommends Get a Financial Life, a book she worked on.) Get a financial adviser to guide you along. We have an adviser, and he’s been very helpful when it comes to assessing the full financial picture and how to work with what you have. If you keep your concerns inside and don’t get help, you’re setting yourself up for trouble.
  • Appreciate what you have. Money troubles may persist, but if you stop to remember what you have, things look a lot better. Your family still loves you. You still have your health and the ability to make positive changes in your life. Remember those things, take a deep breath and get back to the task.

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Sometimes, Sobriety Sucks

Some days I wish I could have a glass of wine or six. This leaves me with two choices: Fall off the wagon with zeal or stay sober and resent the world with zeal.

It’s funny, because binge eating was the addictive behavior that got me into the most trouble and I don’t get this way over the flour and sugar I used to stuff myself with.

Mood music:

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Yesterday afternoon I was really feeling it. The pressures of the day were weighing me down like a board loaded with bricks. It wasn’t even a bad day, really. I got to spend most of the work day on the back deck with Erin (I love working in the open air. It’s even better when my beautiful bride is working next to me). We got a walk in. I got a lot of work done.

And yet …

This resentment usually takes hold when I have family concerns on my mind or the work day has wiped me out. Sometimes, in that state, I want the release a buzz can provide. Since I’ve pretty much given up everything else, I badly want something I can use as my crutch. No booze. No sweets. No cigars. What else is there?

I came to my senses last night and went to bed instead of contemplating a fall off the wagon. I’m thankful that I can do that when the tension gets to be too much.

In the final analysis, I know it has to be this way, because I have absolutely zero ability to enjoy these things in moderation. When you have an addictive personality, moderation doesn’t exist. It’s as foreign a concept as walking on Mars. I have to have it all. Other addicts know this feeling.

So I have to abstain. I have no choice.

Ninety-nine percent of the time, I’m grateful the substance demons aren’t running my life anymore. It’s a freedom unlike any other. I experience more life more often as a result. It’s better that way.

But one percent of the time, I despise the universe for giving me an addictive mind. In those moments, I want a bottle of wine so badly it makes my head hurt.

I survived it last night. I’ll take satisfaction in that and move on.