To Be or Not to Be

I have a lot of trouble making decisions.

Like a lot of people with OCD, the decision making process can be an agonizing one. There are always so many factors to weigh, so many positive and negatives to sort through. For someone who already has trouble knowing when to worry and when not to, even the simplest of decisions can become a morass of self doubt and/or poor judgment.

Most of the conflict comes back to the standard "to be or not to be" tug that plagued Hamlet. Is it truly better to suffer the "slings and arrows" of life, i.e. be passive and try to adapt to circumstances, or should one "take up arms" against your enemies, i.e. be proactive and throw caution to the wind? Everyone, everywhere, struggles with this conflict every day I would imagine, but for the OCD sufferer, the final decision gets put off by "overthinking" and truthfully, an inability to be confident with that decision.

It's tempting to counsel such a person to just "go for it" and stop worrying so much. After all, to most people, the OCD sufferer would seem to be too hesitant to take action and should be encouraged to stop fingernail biting and do something. "You should just ask that girl out, what's the worst that can happen?"...."Take a chance, that job might be just what you need..." The problem with that approach is, sometimes you shouldn't "go for it", and people with OCD often have a hard time understanding and negotiating that difference. Just as it's bad to always be passive and shrink from decisions (and probably let opportunities pass), it's just as bad (if not worse) to make bad decisions and assert yourself into situations that are harmful or ill-advised. You shouldn't, for example, be so paralyzed with fear that you never ask a girl out, but that doesn't mean you should marry the first girl you kiss either. It's all a matter of balance, and OCD sufferers have a hard time with balance. We like things black or white, and unfortunately, the world is very seldom a "black and white" place.

Most actions require at least some risk, some acknowledgement of the unknown. The vast majority of people can factor in that risk factor with little difficulty. OCD sufferers cannot. It's as if their (our) brains simply don't know when to "greenlight" a decision, preferring or at least opting, to dwell in the "testing" mode, endlessly reviewing possible scenarios and means of dealing with potential problems.

I'm luckier than some, I suppose. I've read stories of people who waste hours of every day in meaningless ritual, all intended to make the person feel "safe" about the world. I waste time, too, but I mostly internalize my obsessions, I don't act them out. For instance, while some people wash their hands dozens of times a day, or drive around the block for hours to be sure they haven't hit someone, I just worry about potential harm coming to someone, silently, privately. To the outside world it seems as if I'm fine; there are no telltale signs of the inner agony I'm experiencing.

But ultimately, time wasted is time wasted, whether in deed or thought. No, maybe I was never late for dinner driving around the block endlessly, but all the hundreds or thousands of hours I've spent worrying and mulling over some meaningless conversation with a friend or some equally unimportant mistake at work could have been spent jotting down ideas for a novel, or painting the porch, or socializing or even sleeping soundly. I shudder to think where I would be if I didn't have OCD, about what type of person I'd be.

And yet, here's the ironic thing about that. I am who I am partly because of my OCD, and that's not all bad. Yes, it's a terrible thing to have to endure and fight every day, but it's been instructive as well. It's taught me a person's psychology can really affect their mood and outlook, and made me judge them less harshly. It made me appreciate and understand other's mental ailments as well, like my mother's agoraphobia, my brother's alcoholism, and my father's hypertension. It's given me a unique perspective on so many things; I'm certainly more introspective than most people and perhaps being so has helped my writing.

I no longer think of terms of "beating" my OCD, just in terms of living with it and being aware of it so that it no longer stops me from doing things I really want to do. I'm not always successful, of course, and there are times I just want to scream and rage about how unfair it is that I have it. But like the blind man who's sense of hearing is heightened by his loss of sight, I have gained a certain amount of insight that I don't think I would have if I didn't have OCD. A man with a permanently damaged leg doesn't cut it off; he just learns to live with it and realizes it's a part of him. Maybe, for instance, I'm able to write about OCD hopefully, help others, precisely BECAUSE I have OCD. That's an interesting paradox, if nothing else.

I'll probably never be able to make decisions as easily as most people. I still fear new situations and tend to overthink and dwell on possible negative outcomes more than is healthy. But I'm learning to live with the unknown; it's as much a fact of life as the air we breathe.

And we all know how clean THAT is, right?

RIGHT????

??

100 Posts

I'm not sure what to think of the fact that I've posted 100 times here now.

Certainly I don't post with the regularity of most bloggers, nor with the consistency of topic. My daily life is like most people's, I guess; full of drudgery and boredom and anxiety and frustration. A great deal of my time is spent trying to anticipate what disaster is going to hit next and calculate how best to counter it. I go to work in the early AM, struggle through the petty backbiting and nitpicking and general crudity and foolishness of a group of controlling, insecure co workers, then tired and worn, I drive home to the sight of my lonely, appreciate cats. From there it's usually "which thing am I out of most?", i.e. gas, cash, cat food, detergent, checks, cell phone power, fruit or food in general. I try to walk, catch the news, check email, clean what's the most gross within range of me, maybe take an hour nap or so.

I try to spend some quality time with the cats. They are pretty much my only family now, at least physically close family, and they deserve it. I worry about house issues; moisture, cleanliness, appearance, the yard, things constantly breaking down. The lawn mower was on the fritz, the car had a flat tire, the furnace needed to be checked, the sink had a leak, the ceiling fixture in the bathroom kept overloading. The list goes on. I have to balance my checkbook, make sure the bills are paid, the dishes are washed, the clothes are clean, the yard is mowed, the carpets vacuumed. I have all the same responsibilities as everyone else, I guess. I just wish there were a day when I could eliminate their pressure from my mind, when I could drift away into my imagination like I used to and be creative and reflect more.

I'm hardly as busy as most. I have no spouse or kids to be responsible for. I'm a long ways from rich, but my bills are paid with no problems and I have no debts to pay off, besides my car. My job does have overtime, but its rarely so frequent that it becomes limiting in any real way. And the extra money is actually often welcome.

I wish that I felt the blog entries I make were affecting someone else somehow, but I understand that with such sporadic posting, I'm not likely to get many readers. I sometimes run off copies of entries that I thought worked fairly well and show them to trusted friends. But mainly they just sit here on the internet, waiting to be opened and experienced. I guess in that they are a bit like myself.

Ultimately, the simple act of posting makes it worthwhile. When I started this blog about three years ago, I had no idea of how long I'd keep up with it or how it would work out. I did assume that people would comment on it more, but I can't really complain about that, at least not with a straight face, since I am notoriously bad at reading other people's blogs as well. Like me, perhaps most other people really MEAN to, but just never seem to get around to it.

The blog is for me. It's not for others. It would be wonderful if I got more input, certainly. I'd like to know if what I'm writing resonates with anyone, if my sentence structure needs any work, if my ideas flow naturally from one to the next. But in the end, the simple act of logging these thoughts down, of creating a repository of ideas and perceptions is really an end to itself. I don't assume I'm ever going to acquire any notoriety from these posts, or become rich. I may never write for a living, though that thought is a bit depressing. But I can write WHILE I'm living. The saying goes that "life is all about the journey". Maybe this blog is now my journey. Maybe when I'm gone people can look back at it and gain some kind of insight into what I was all about, what I hoped for and what I feared, what I cared about and what made me angry or sad.

And on a less morbid note, maybe while I'm still here, the blog will allow me to express myself in a way I don't normally, thereby (hopefully) allowing me to understand myself in a way I wouldn't be able to without it. Sure half the time I'm writing about a movie or a comic or some ridiculous pop culture occurrence, but those are all parts of me too. They're what I think about, and extrapolate ideas from. They are parts of what makes me "me".

I still wish I posted more regularly. Part of my problem is my apparent inability to construct short posts; I tend to gravitate more toward epic ones. And part of it is just pure ennui; I struggle to find subjects that interest me and might interest others. The former is easy to find; the latter, not so much.

A lot of things have happened since I started this blog. My mom passed away, around two and half years ago. I became executor of her estate shortly afterward, and within a year I bought a home and moved away. Within six months, my older brother died. I had to help my niece and nephew sell what had become his house. I have a different job at work. I struggle every day to find meaning and purpose and the will and inclination to go on; my whole world has drastically changed, my equilibrium has been more or less destroyed.

On one of the rare comments to this blog, someone mentioned that blogging is good for OCD. That might be true. Certainly its a far better use of my energies that a lot of habits might be. I try to be true to myself and my writing roots. I try to never lose touch with that part of me that is a writer, and resist the oh so powerful urge to just let life wash over me and mark the days until I can see my family again. The blog represents moving forward, at least in those posts that don't revolve around nostalgia.

One hundred posts. I wonder what the next one hundred will bring?

Marvel's Thunderbolts - Not Your Father's Comic Book

In the old days, comics were simple. A bad guy would do something bad (rob a bank, kidnap someone, plot to kill someone), the hero would rush to the rescue. Usually the hero would be initially thwarted, perhaps in some nefarious, elaborate trap set by the villain. But the hero would eventually find a way to break free and undo the villain's evil plans, generally saving a heroine in the process.

Admittedly, this plot couldn't last forever. Times change and if the comics didn't change with them, they'd have never lasted. So in the 1960's, Marvel had great success with heroes like SpiderMan and the Fantastic Four and the Hulk; heroes who had personal issues to confront while taking on the villains, real people who wore masks and fought evil but had to overcome their own weaknesses while doing so. This approach struck a chord with the 60's youth, keying in on the and greater introspection of the times. Kennedy had been killed, the country was moving further and further into the Vietnam War, and the country was splitting apart over the war, the generation gap, and civil right issues. Questions of right and wrong weren't so easily answered as in the 40's and 50's and this new moral ambiguity found its way into all forms of mass entertainment; motion pictures, music, television, and comics.

In the 1970's, this trend toward more complicated heroes continued, and we saw Marvel's biggest competitor, DC Comics, inserting complexity and doubt into it's heroes as well. Stories dealing with drug abuse and politics came to the fore. By the 1980's, many comics were written for adult audiences, bypassing completely the "black and white" morality of decades past. Titles like Frank Miller's "Daredevil" and Alan Moore's "Watchmen" depicted harrowingly realistic tales of heroes who were psychologically scarred and driven by personal demons, operating in uinverses that were brutal and violent. There weren't any dogs running around in capes in these heroes's worlds, nor planets bouncing off good guy's chests, or cute teen sidekicks to trade clever quips with. This material was raw and searingly dramatic, and it touched a chord in an audience that hungered for comics that reflected the world they saw outside their windows, not one that was glimpsed through rose colored glasses.

By the 1990's, this form of "realistic" comic storytelling had become more the rule than the exception. The classic superhero title was rapidly fading from prominence and was being replaced by angst ridden teenagers fighting prejudice, tormented family men lashing out in anger at a world that had scarred them, and superhero teams that seemed just as likely to battle each other as their arch foes.

As I was growing older as well, this trend did not bother me. In fact, I welcomed it. I still enjoyed some classic comic titles, but I wanted to read about characters that seemed to mirror my own conflicts, characters that weren't born with an innate sense of right and wrong but had to struggle to find it. My timing actually could not have been better, for I was growing up at the same time that comics were, and both my own expectations and those of comics themselves had altered quite a bit.

All of which brings me to Marvel's "Thunderbolts".

Initially a "Dirty Dozen" type of book, with a cadre of longtime Marvel villains posing as heroes in order to ingratiate themselves with the United States government in order to eventually conquer the world, "Thunderbolts" broke a lot of barriers. It was, to my knowledge, one of the first attempts to construct on ongoing comic title from the point of view of the villains. It also dealt quite originally with the notion of what villainy and heroism is; several of the villains became so enamored of their "fake" hero roles that they began to consider actually going straight as a result. This, in turn, led to a very insightful examination of how difficult it is to really change; not only to change yourself but also to change other's perceptions of you. The book was an instant critical and financial success, due in large part to Kurt Busiek's superb, measured and complex handling of the characters. It was the type of book I love; strong on characterization, full of morally complex situations that test both the character's mettle and the reader's perceptions, and possessed of an unpredictability that is quite rare in comics.

Busiek moved off the book a few years ago, and turned the writing reins over to Fabian Nicieza. I still enjoyed the book, but it became a bit overly dense in its plot and featured such a large cast of characters it was hard to really streamline the plot in a way that made the book stand out and define itself.

Nicieza's tenure ended about a year ago, and fan favorite Warren Ellis grabbed the reins. Ellis is well known for his dark, slyly humorous, satirical and wildly unique vision in comics, and he brings theses strengths to the newest version of the Thunderbolts, and it shows. This team has even fewer likable characters than previous versions. Now the team is under government control, and is used to capture and detain those heroes who haven't complied with the new registration act. It features Bullseye, who brags about hundreds of murders and believes that every kill he makes brings him strength, making him like unto God. Moonstone, the team leader, and psychologically manipulates all the other team members in order to secure her power base. The Swordsman, formerly somewhat sympathetic, is seen brutally striking a paralyzed opponent. Venom is a former third rate criminal (the Scorpion) who is possessed by an alien symbiote that would just as soon devour the brains of the heroes the group now chases instead of capturing them.

The book is riveting reading, full of double and triple crosses, complex, deeply damaged psyches and enough twists and turns to keep M. Knight Shymalan guessing. Cast in present day America, THE NEW THUNDERBOLTS is socially and culturally relevant, dealing with issues such an national security vs. freedom of the individual, the questionable use of force and survelliance and the accountability of governmental shadow agencies to the public. The book has terrifically tense and exciting action sequences and brilliant characterization. The team's first mission is to capture one "Jack Flag" a virtually forgotten hero from a the early 90s, and Ellis manages, in two issues, to make him a character we instantly care about and empathize with, making his eventual downfall all the more engaging and tragic. The art by Mike Deodato is a nice compromise between comic book heroics and a noir, fatalistic tone that works quite well for this book.

Why then, do I feel badly about liking it?

Maybe it's because, unlike in the past, where my monthly buys balanced more "realistic" titles with those that featured old fashioned "good vs. evil" heroics, NEW THUNDERBOLTS is an example of a mainstream (not even an "adult") title that isn't balanced by anything possessing that old style. Instead of being a trend on the fringe of comics, "NT" is now perfectly mainstream, it's cynicism and darkness not offset by anything lighter, at least not at Marvel or DC, homes of the majority of my comics buys. This is the tone that predominates now, and while again, I do enjoy the book, I bemoan the fact that times have changed so much as to make this the new "normal". I miss the simpler, more romanticized books that posited some sort of ideals for younger readers to key in on. I might personally be able to relate to stories with more complex moralities, but kids need to walk before they can run and books like THUNDERBOLTS don't do much to engender any type of hope or role models. There is time enough for children to become more circumspect and view the world in a complicated way. For a an all too brief, special time, kids need to believe that there are heroes that stand for truth and justice, that aren't possessed of multiple motives.

I"m not arguing for a return of the tone of the comics of the 30's and 40's, where good guys all wore white and were so devoid of depth that they practically bored you to death. Some internal conflict is both interesting and instructive, even to younger readers. But even such complex heroes as SpiderMan, the Fantastic Four and Daredevil were essentially decent human beings at heart. But as perversely entertaining as NEW THUNDERBOLTS (and many other books like it) is, I tend to walk away from it feeling a bit depressed. I don't necessarily need comics to be an escape valve all the time, but many modern comics are just the opposite, reinforcing a type of cynicism that pervades almost all aspects of our society.

I'm so torn. I love so much about this book but I don't "like" liking it so much.

Maybe I keep coming back to it because even deep within this morass of psychopathology, political corruption, power plays and almost totally absent morality, there blooms a flower of hope in the character of Songbird. A former criminal who lead the old Thunderbolts in the service of truly reforming and redeeming themselves, Songbird tries to disrupt Moonstone's plans (and those of the group's malevolent and insane supervisor, Norman Osborne AKA the Green Goblin) and protect civilians from the team's disorganized rampages. One suspects that the bad guys won't always win. Bullseye recently was totally paralyzed and rendered speechless in a battle with true "good guys" (usually not something I'd cheer for, but Bullseye is a monster), Venom tried to commit murder in front of dozens of civilian witnesses, and the true heroes of the group, Songbird and Radioactive Man (incredibly), were publicly seen saving innocents while Venom rampaged.

I guess we all see what we want to see sometimes, but for now, there is still enough humanity in this book to make me feel OK about continuing to buy it. All the technical elements of excellence are already there; characterization, plotting, pacing, etc. It just needed a shot of decency to make the experience palatable.

I still wish there were a lot more "light" books on the shelves. I miss putting down a comic and feeling good about the world. But maybe if I can find hope in NEW THUNDERBOLTS, I can find hope in comics in general. And maybe, ultimately, the rarity of that hope makes it all the more precious.