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Infosec’s Mental Health Role Models

This weekend some friends asked about the reaction this blog has had in my industry. Truth is, I was unprepared for what followed the blog’s launch four years ago. In hindsight it makes perfect sense.

Mood music:

Friends asked if my information security colleagues were weirded out by the blog and whether it had an adverse effect on my ability to interview people.

In fact, the opposite happened.

By the time I was done baring my soul, people I had known through my business life were sharing stories about their own run-ins with mental illness. I didn’t expect that because I had been accustomed to dealing with some pretty tough characters. But people who had previously intimidated me were opening up, and I made dear friends when I least expected to.

I shouldn’t have been surprised, because the security industry is full of high stress and paranoia. More importantly, those who are drawn to the world of hacking and infosec have complex personalities and brain chemistry and are given to depression, feelings of loneliness and self-destruction.

Obviously, this isn’t something limited to the infosec community. People from all walks of life are prone to these challenges. But infosec is the world in which I’ve had the most experience observing the human condition.

As someone who has struggled with plenty of mental trauma, I’m thankful as hell to be part of the infosec community. I’ve witnessed extraordinary resilience and honesty among my peers, and they have inspired me to be a better man, constantly working to deal with the ghosts that still haunt me on occasion.

I’m grateful to infosec friends who haven’t taken the scourge of mental illness lying down. There are those who started and maintain The Information Technology Burnout Project to help those suffering with work-induced emotional and psychological distress.

And there are people like Amber Baldet, who has taken her suicide hotline skills to another level with a presentation on suicide prevention tactics that she has given at least twice at security conferences. Her presentation can be viewed online, as well.

Now more than ever, I believe I’m in the right industry. I’ve learned a lot about the technology and culture. But more than that, I’ve learned a lot about how to carry on in a world of perpetual adversity.

Skeleton Headache

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Objects in the Media Are Often Smaller Than They Appear

After yesterday’s post on the Washington Navy Yard massacre fueling the stigma around mental illness, I got the usual assortment of feedback after that post published.

If you’re for gun control, you told me I was minimizing the reality of gun violence by suggesting more gun control laws will accomplish nothing. Those of you who don’t see this as a gun control issue took me to task for picking on NRA Chief Wayne LaPierre for suggesting the mentally ill be committed.

Mood music:

One good friend commented, “What he REALLY said was ‘that the nation needs to do more to lock up mentally ill people who are dangerous.’ He did not make a sweeping generalization about the mentally ill, just the subset that are dangerous.”

Truth be told, I agree with a lot of things LaPierre said on Meet the Press. The mental healthcare system is broken, especially in the schools. I also agree that it takes good guys with guns to stop bad guys with guns and that security personnel at military facilities need to be better armed.

My main criticism here is with the media, which sliced and diced his words to make more dramatic headlines suggesting people are homicidal maniacs if they are mentally ill.

Wife and OCD Diaries editor Erin Brenner said of the phenomena, “Shocking things, like mass murders and mentally unstable people committing murder, get over-reported so that we think there’s an epidemic.” I agree.

I’ve been a journalist for most of my career and will believe in freedom of the press until my dying breath. But we also have the freedom to ignore the press. In my case, I try to find the more objective news sources and avoid the loud, obnoxious networks that are guilty of over-hyping the causes and effects of national and global tragedies.

Perversely, the hyperbolic drama of the mainstream media is contributing to the mental illness of many. When I was at my worst, I watched the news nonstop. If there was a shooting in London or LA, it may as well have been right outside my bedroom window, because in my sickness, that’s how it felt. The music and graphics TV news used magnified the feeling exponentially.

Is there a mental illness epidemic? Yes, but there always has been. Depression and mental disorders have been woven deep into the fabric of humanity since the beginning. But people are much more open about it than they were 20-plus years ago.

You could say that’s good, because a society more open about mental illness is more capable of devising remedies. Or, through the filter of mainstream media, you could say it’s bad; that recent shootings were the handiwork of mentally sick people. Therefore, there’s a mental illness epidemic, and if a depressed soul acquires a firearm, watch out. The truth is probably more of the former than the latter.

Just remember: Objects in the media are often smaller than they appear.

Breaking news alert

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On My Sixth Birthday, the Ramones Changed Everything

I’m tickled to discover that my birthday is a special day to The Ramones, too. Turns out, yesterday was also the 37th anniversary of the band’s debut album. They were always an important band for me, especially after I learned that Joey Ramone was a fellow OCD sufferer.

Mood music:

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=O7PEzQQYWag

I owned multiple Ramones albums on vinyl, and wore them out from playing them so much. A favorite was Halfway to Sanity. Back then I knew nothing about my own OCD, let alone Joey Ramone’s. I just loved that the songs were loud and simple and that the band members were ugly like me. But looking back, they were the ideal personification of OCD. Their songs revolved around simple chord progressions with a lot of repetition. Repetition fits the OCD mind like a glove.

I skipped my senior prom and attempted to get into a Ramones show at The Channel in Boston. I didn’t have a date anyhow and getting kicked in the stomach by punk rock was more appealing than dancing to Bon Jovi.

Also noteworthy: There was a time before Erin and I started dating that she was driving behind me on the way home from Salem State one day, and I noted she was bopping her head up and down and back and forth. It turns out she was listening to The Ramones. I believe it was “All the Hits and More” she had in the tape deck. The strawberry-blond hair flailing around was the most beautiful thing I’d ever seen.

When I was researching famous people who shared my mental disorder and I saw Joey on the list, his status as one of my all-time heroes was cemented. That someone with OCD could stand in front of a raging crowd of punk rockers every night floored me. By the time he died in 2001, he had amassed a body of work that will inspire people forever.

When someone thinks they’re doomed to a less-than-wonderful life because they have a mental illness or physical defect, just look at what Joey Ramone did. Then try to tell me you can’t soar above the things that seem like limitations.

Now if you’ll excuse me, I’m going to go listen to the first Ramones album — repeatedly, obsessively and unapologetically.

The Ramones

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Another Christmas Season, Another Depression Diagnosis

Though I’ve made peace with the demons that left me hating Christmas for many years, I’m still easy prey for winter depression. Last week, after asking me lots of questions and taking lots of notes, my shrink told me what I already knew: I’m once again clinically depressed.

Mood music:

[spotify:track:0feXvJJWws7RDvC0kHfbLr]

When most people hear the word depression, they immediately think of someone who is sad, anguished and afraid to leave the house. In the more extreme cases, death becomes an appealing option for ending the pain. I’ve never been suicidal, but I have experienced the other things in my day.

This depression isn’t like that at all, however.

I’m not sad. I’m not anguished. I’m not even in a bad mood (as I write this, anyway). I feel incredibly blessed every day. I’m in love with my wife, kids and extended family. I immensely enjoyed decorating the Christmas tree yesterday. I recently described this state of mind as happy depression.

In my case, being clinically depressed means three things:

  • I’m tired a lot.
  • I’m forgetful to the point where my wife wants to club me at least once a day.
  • I’m experiencing fluctuations in appetite. That used to result in days and weeks of binge eating. This time it’s a lack of appetite. Frequently at meal time, I’m simply not interested.

For some species, seasonal depression isn’t even considered depression. If you’re a bear, for example, it’s simply time to hibernate for the winter. I guess that makes me part bear, because that’s essentially how I am these days. My body says it’s time to hibernate. But humans don’t get to curl up in a warm cave until spring.

I still have parenting to do, a job to do, family to attend to. And so I do. I just do it in a messy, disorganized fashion this time of year.

To some extent, this is something I have to accept. My family has to accept it to. It’s a medical condition, and you can’t just flip a switch and turn the light back on. I can, however, minimize it. I’m going to get my meds adjusted now instead of halfway through winter. I’m also going to build a routine to use all the new present-awareness tools I acquired during my recent mindfulness-based stress-reduction class.

I meditated this morning for the first time in a couple weeks, and it did make a difference. At the least I started the work day in a calm enough mental state to plow ahead with work.

I’ll keep you posted on my progress.

Christmas Lights

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The Winter Bill Blues

This is a typically a shitty time of year for me, when I come off the high of summer and crash hard onto the cold pavement. When the days grow shorter and the air colder, I become easy prey for seasonal depression.

And when that state of mind sets in, I usually do something very stupid.

Winter 2011: By February, I was forgetting things all the time, including Valentine’s Day. I was traveling on this day of romantic feelings, and I forgot to sign my wife’s card and leave it where she could find it. I left it in my storage drawer in the garage, but I got embarrassed and lied to her, saying I got to San Francisco to find her card still in my laptop bag. At some point during my time away, she went to put a stray pair of gloves in my drawer and found the card.

Winter 2012: It was nearly a year to the day since that last big fuck up, and I was sitting at the airport waiting for another flight to California. Erin called and asked me if I told Duncan he could stop taking medicine we were trying out for his ADHD. The day before he had been freaking out about the potential side effects he heard the doctor mention, and in a moment of weakness I caved. I promptly forgot, and now, while I was at the airport, Erin was dealing with Duncan and what I did the day before. The worst part wasn’t that she had to deal with a difficult child. It was that in a moment of not thinking things through, I arbitrarily made a decision Erin and I should have made together.

A very stupid chap, that Winter Bill is. A hurtful, stupid chap.

The real kick in the ass is that I do deal with winter better than I used to. The last couple winters, the depression came and went. In previous winters, the depression was constant.

And so the challenge is to get through an entire winter both less depressed and more mindful, which will prevent me from doing the really dumb things.

In recent days, signs of the Winter Bill have emerged. I forgot to deposit a check that needed to get into the savings account. I had an episode of crankiness yesterday that came out of nowhere. And yet I’m not dreading the coming winter and shorter days as I have in the past. There are a few reasons for this.

One is that I’m taking a mindfullness course that should give me new skills for getting out of my self-absorbed head.

Another is that I have picked the guitar back up and am looking forward to the joy it’s going to bring me as my skills grow. Nothing gets you out of your head like making music.

In past winters the feeling was all dread. I was annoyed that I’d have to deal with these feelings, that I couldn’t hang on to the good feelings I got from the endless summer sun.

This time, I think I’m eager for the challenge. I want to learn to enjoy life despite the darkness. Oh, I won’t go through it with zero depression. That’s just not realistic. But I think that maybe I can do this without the big annual stumble. I’m ready to try.

I have my eye on you, Winter Bill. You don’t scare me.

 

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Putting a Face on Suicide

There’s a page on Facebook everyone should check out called Putting a Face on Suicide. It’s powerful stuff.

Mood music:

[spotify:track:14YR9VCoseu7zq2dx9Qr6w]

Having lost a close friend to suicide, this page hits me where I live. We hear about suicide statistics all the time. We know of the famous suicides, like Ernest Hemingway and Kurt Cobain. But regular people die by their own hand every day, and their faces are easily forgotten. That’s what makes this Facebook page so important.

Putting a Face on Suicide is the personal project of Mike Purcell. His son, 21-year-old Christopher Lee Purcell, died by suicide in 2008 while serving in the U.S. Navy. Since then, the father has relentlessly worked to break down the bullshit notions about suicide — that those who take their own lives were simply weak, scared, quitters and the like.

Here’s part of Purcell’s mission statement for the project:

Every 40 seconds somewhere around the world someone dies by suicide, that’s 99 people every 66 minutes. Every day, that’s almost 100 people in the United States alone, and over 2160 worldwide. Putting a Face on Suicide (PAFOS) is a suicide awareness project that creates posters and videos to pay tribute to those we have lost to suicide with dignity and respect. PAFOS humanizes the daunting statistics; lovingly replacing numbers with faces.

PAFOS is an ongoing project soliciting pictures of your loved ones who died by suicide. Its objective is to collect 99 photos of people who have died by suicide for each day of the year; i.e., 36135 faces will represent 365 days of loss by suicide in the United States. PAFOS uses each photo in a poster and a video, posts it on the PAFOS Facebook page, and creates a personal tribute page featuring your loved one.

When you visit the page, the first thing that will strike you is how happy many of these victims looked when the pictures were taken. There are smiling teenagers who had promising futures. There are older people who look content to spend their senior years doting on grandchildren. There are veterans of our most recent wars, looking proud, sober and ready for whatever life throws at them.

Whenever someone dies by their own hand, you hear the inevitable comments that start with but:

“But she had everything going for her.”

“But he was always smiling.”

“But he had a beautiful wife and children, a gorgeous house and a high-paying job. How could he do this?”

Those are natural questions to ask when you first hear the news of a suicide. It’s part of the shock and disbelief we feel.

Yet the questions also show how little we understand the insidious nature of depression. Much of the stigma comes from that religious belief that death by suicide is a trip straight to Hell. It’s not necessarily true, and a friend of mine found this bit of clarity in the Catechism of the Catholic Church:

2282 Grave psychological disturbances, anguish, or grave fear of hardship, suffering, or torture can diminish the responsibility of the one committing suicide.

2283 We should not despair of the eternal salvation of persons who have taken their own lives. By ways known to him alone, God can provide the opportunity for salutary repentance. The Church prays for persons who have taken their own lives.

Instead of worrying about where in the afterlife our lost friends and family are, we should do what is in our control: remembering the best these souls gave in life and honoring their memories. The Facebook page does that and more.

PAFOS: Peter

PAFOS: Thomas Edward Albright

PAFOS: Paige Rose