One year ago today....

I was lamenting on a blog about the shitty start of my day, the fact that it was my Dad's birthday, that it was raining, that I had too much work to do, and that my life had spun so far out of control that all I wanted to do was crawl into bed and stare out the window.
Oddly enough, not much has changed. Well, it's not raining at least... But it's still my Dad's birthday...he's still prematurely dead...and I still feel like my life is travelling a course all it's own - often times against my own better judgement. School has fallen by the wayside due to lack of time (and more importantly) a lack of interest, work is still much too much for me to handle on a daily basis, my boys are still growing up too fast and becoming less and less dependent on me - leaving me to wander around my empty house alone - remembering a time in the not so distant past when it was filled with love, laughter, the occasional yelling match, and the sound of what was (in retrospect) a wonderful life, and my solution for everything continues to be losing myself in whatever event, person, vacation, case, or seemingly meaningless task comes my way.
But the sad fact remains, that no matter how busy I make myself, no matter how certain I am of my own good intentions and place in life, no matter how glossy everything looks on the exterior....I still have to go home to that empty house, those people who I love the most are still gone, and I still feel like there is something inherently absent in my life.
c. November 29, 2007

Haters, Naysayers, and Malcontents.

Current mood: ecstatic

Well alright....I haven't written in a while, but just now, while listening to the ever-prolific (albeit unintelligable) Mazzy Star while taking a Cabernet-induced bubble bath, I decided to address a few topics that have been on my mind as of late. Follow along....as I make the leap from thought to thought....and get to the jist of this blog.

I'm in the bath, and I'm really relaxed and enjoying my wine....and I'm thinking about all the funny comments I've received on my page today regarding my super gay and super over-the-top rainbow layout and cheeseball song "Walking on Sunshine." Which in case you are totally out of the loop, was merely a joke to raz Nicole about my newfound joy and happiness, courtesy of a much younger (yet equally fantastic) guy that I recently met. (don't worry, he's over 18).

So the thing is this....the funny "cougar" comments don't really bother me. They are silly, they are somewhat true, and they are not meant with any malice at all. Yet I know, that undoubtedly, there are those select few (or many?) people on my friends list, and at work, that look down on my antics and "Shannanigins" with distaste and harsh judgment of my personal ethics. I know this, because those people don't joke or laugh or make any comment at all....they just remain stoic and silent in their disaproval (which personaly makes me think they lack any kind of balls or spine or whatever....but hey....that's them). A few of them have commented that perhaps I should "settle down" at some point. But settle down to what I ask? I've had plenty of opportunities to settle down with Joe Average guy, but why would I do that? So I can end up in a miserable, loveless, passionless, convenient, 20 year marriage - like everyone else? I should think not. I'm hardly a commitment-phobe, but I will settle down with someone when I find the right guy to settle down with....and not a moment before.

And then I got to thinking about my married friends who do support my antics and dating exploits, because, as I've heard from more than one of them "I wish I had done more of that when I was single." Yes, the dating Shannanigins stop when you're married (at least they should), and so you are left with nothing but regrets about what (or whom) you didn't do when you had the chance. Well, I for one refuse to live my life with regrets. Sure, I have a few....like everyone...but for the most part I march to the beat of my own drum. Which then got me to thinking about how much shit that particular "beat of my own drum" has gotten me into over the years. Law Enforcement is a profession full of conformists, which of course, I am NOT. But that is a whole other story....for a whole other time.

For now, all I can think of is all the people I know or have known who have lived their lives with too many reservations, existing for the happiness of other people, and full of excuses and timid explanations as to why they can't do what they really want to do. And I feel an overwhelming sadness and pity for them, that they limit themselves and stifle their desires...all because they are afraid of what other people will think. Well, I don't particulary care what other people think. And that's pretty fucking liberating if you ask me. Say what you want about me....but what you see is always what you get....and then some.

I'm ridiculously happy this week. Probably next week too. And who knows, if I'm lucky, maybe even the week after that. But since no day is guaranteed to us, why should I live my life today worrying about what might happen a year or two from now? It's just pointless. And very self-defeating. Life is so fragile, and we can go at any time. Most of us have known that type of unexpected loss of a loved one, and how difficult it is to accept. Even more difficult is the after-the-fact wishing, the - "I wish he'd have taken that dream vacation he wanted to go on" or "I wish she'd have spent some of her hard earned money while she was alive." It's so sad. And I refuse to fall victim to such unnecesary regrets. So I'm going to do it all NOW. Before it's too late.

So whether I die tomorrow or live to be 100, I'm going to continue living each day as if it was my last....and enjoying every single bit of my life to the fullest extent (which includes taking too many vacations, spending too much money on myself, and consorting with this particular hot younger guy). Don't be jealous, you too can live a life of no regrets! Just stop being such a hater, a naysayer, or a malcontent...and start living. I guarantee you.....it's more fun than a greased up whore at a bachellor party.

And hey, at the very least...when I die, there's gonna be one HELL of a photo slideshow at the funeral service.

a look inside my head (or, the "I'm depressed but NOT suicidal blog")

How many subject lines I have written, none of which fit my current thought process. Sitting here trying to get shit faced in the middle of the day, so I can black out before I do something unspeakable, makes my thoughts run together in such a way that they only make sense to me.

I want so badly to find a copy of the eulogy spoken at Wes Brights funeral. It must have been 10 years ago now, but it made so much sense to me that I've never forgotten it. Wes was so funny, and full of life, and until the last few months before he died, you'd have never guess he was so fucked in the head. He was an instructor in the academy, and to me, a friend. And I remember talking to him on the phone about 6 months befor he died, and he was so depressed, and sad, and I just couldn't get to him. But I remember talking to him and thinking, "he's not going to be okay." I was right. He ended up shooting himself in the head when his marriage fell apart.

How do you eulogize a cop who killed himself? It seems the ultimate cowardly act. But at the funeral, as the minister was speaking, he talked about the symbolic "backpack" that everyone carries throughout their life. And how, as you move on through hardships, you pick up things, heavy things, things that are hard to bare the weight of, and you carry them in your backpack. Sometimes, there are people there to help you carry that load, and sometimes, you bare the weight of it alone. He talked about how Wes's pack got too full, and he couldn't carry it anymore. How he decided the day he took his life to simply, "set his pack down." And he spoke so fondly of Wes, and assured him that now, in his passing, that we understood his load was too heavy, and we would carry his pack for him. It sounds so simple, and to me, it was. I had a great affection for Wes Bright. And much as I wanted to be angry that he killed himself, I couldn't. I understood that weight that he carried, and I understood the hasty choice he made that day.

Same as I understood the decision of Matt Acker, and the Vietnam Vet who slashed his wrists - and who I watched die - back in 1997 in Pacific Division. And the young girl who hanged herself in her bedroom, and who's mom found her, and Lamar Youngblood who overdosed over a failed relationship, and that kid that blew his brains out with a shotgun in the manors a few years back. I understand those peoples choices, because on days life this, when I'm alone and no one is here to help me with my pack, I want to set it down too. I want to check out and stop hurting - the same way that they did. But I know that I can't.

I look at the pictures of my boys with their Dad and Stepmom, and see what a family looks like. A family that I don't have....and I feel invisible. I feel like they won't notice if I'm gone. They don't call me, they don't email me, they don't even put me in their MySpace top friends - that's for their stepmom. They won't even miss me. But maybe, just maybe, I keep telling myself - they would. And I don't want to take that chance. The chance at ruining a future filled with the love and affection of my kids. It's not here today, but maybe one day....maybe....it will be. So I keep holding on. I keep carrying this pack that's way too heavy for me, and I keep hoping that someday, someone will come along that will want to help me carry these burdens.....but the wait it killing me.

It may not be killing me literally, I may not have put a gun to my head, or hung myself, but I'm dying every day a little more. Everyday I lose more and more of the person that I used to be, and everyday I move closer to just giving up all together. My friends are not naive....they see it happening. And so, they either distance themselves from me, or they try in vain to assure me things will get better. I appreciate their sentiments. I do. I know how hard it is to talk to someone on the edge of insanity....I've done it myself - to no avail. Once someone has decided they want to crawl into oblivion, there's little anyone can do to coax them out.

And that's where I am. Lost. With nothing but memories of what my life used to be. I used to be happy, and carefree, and fun...and alive. And now, I'm a ghost. Waiting for something to take me off this course of self destruction. I drive the freeway waiting for an accident to put me out of my misery, or wondering why I'm not stricken wiht some terminal illness. I have all the health and vitality I need to live a long life...only I have no will to live it.

My dad was in this place when he died of a heart attack. He had lost hope, lost his will to live...I remember. We even talked about it. And so, while I was devastated by his death....I took comfort in the fact that he was out of his misery. He didn't have that pack to carry any longer. I remember standing at his casket at 22 years old, and wispering to him, "take me with you." Some people are just pre-disposed to depression I guess. And it would seem I'm one of them. Such is life. The highs may be very high, but the lows, are almost unbearable.

The saddest part it, as was the case with Wes Bright, if I post this blog - which is what I truly want to do - people may be so concerned about my well being that they alert my department. And then I get to joing the "rubber gun" squad - which is no place to be. Which is all together ridiculous, because I'm such a vain and squeemish person that If I was gonna kill myself, I'd never in a million years shoot myself. But such is the case with law enforcement. We aren't supposed to get weak, or depressed, or have thoughts of suicide.....otherwise we are considered "defective" and "not strong enough." I've worried for so long about anyone realizing how truly fucked I was in the head, that honestly, at this point...I just don't give a shit anymore.

I'm on my third drink at 3 p.m. - one more and I'll hopefully be sleeping the rest of this shit day away.....
DISCLAIMER UPDATE - 11-13-08: Depressed, YES. Horribly shitty day of my life, YES. Suicidal, NO. Cry for help, NO. Just a blog, an outlet for my frustration and emotional turmoil, a mental mind-dump of sorts. Sorry for the undue stress it may have caused some of you. I truly am. So yeah. Probably not a good idea to post these types of blogs without first assuring everyone that you are in fact - NOT going to kill yourself.
Fear not my friends...I will live to blog again!

c. November 13, 2008

Failure

Current mood: apathetic

Does anyone ever get the feeling that no matter what you do, you're never going to be good enough for some people? No matter what good things you do in life, or how much you try to be the best you can, there will always be things that fall by the wayside....things that try as you might, you just can't seem to accomplish.

I'm a huge failure in this area. In the area of the small, oft-overlooked things in life. My dishes don't get done, my house is usually chaotic and always needs dusting, I don't walk my dog, I rarely make my bed, I don't service my car every 3,000 miles, and most of the time - I don't even wash my car. I rationalize these oversights as not being a priority in my life. Heck, they have never been a priority to me. I guess at some point 15 or so years ago, when I was commuting and working 50+ hours a week, while trying to raise two kids in diapers all by myself, I came to the conclusion that dirty dishes and unmade beds were the least of my concerns. So I let those things go. And somehow, over the past 15 years, they have ceased to ever become much of a priority to me.

It's interesting to me, how different people view such oversights. How those oversights can bother some people so much, and yet, to others - such as myself - they don't even raise an eyebrow. I guess I've always kind of figured that everyone has their own personal oversights - things they put off doing, or make excuses for. And because of that, I'm not usually one to point those oversights out to others. I figure, hey - people in glass houses shouldn't throw stones - right? Right.

Unfortunately people do throw stones. And lately, all sorts of people have been throwing those proverbial "stones" right at me. From the evil step-mother of my boys, who constantly berates me on her Myspace page and in emails, telling me what a better mother than me she is, to my girlfriends who seemingly find me so self-involved and inconsiderate that they don't even return my calls or emails, to my usually-terrific boyfriend - who can't seem to stop mentioning the fact that I don't do my dishes in a timely manner.

I guess whatever else I'm making a priority in my life, is no justification for my current daily failures. The insane schedule I've kept for the past 3 weeks, the stress over my kids and the child support I can't afford to pay, the burden of having to work overtime on my days off - just so I can pay my bills, the emotional toll of not only my criminal cases, but this damn custody battle....... No, I guess there is still no good reason for me not to get those dishes done, or make my bed, or go to the gym, or give a shit about how I look. I should be superwoman. I guess there's no excuse for me not to handle everything in my life perfectly.....

Except maybe that my life isn't perfect. And since I'd rather write this blog and drink wine than do those damn dishes that are sitting in the sink, I'm thinking my life isn't going to get any more perfect anytime soon.

Fuck it.

Disturbed - Part 3

Dsturbed - Part 3
Current mood: depressed

I wonder if maybe I should be on meds. You see, every so often there comes a time in my life where the planets seem to align themselves with bad-joo-joo all at the same time, and I'm forced to deal with a multitude of fucked up situations, all at once. It's during these collosal bouts of misfortune, that I sometimes feels as though I'm going to go completely insane, get in my car, and drive for days on end...only to end up a-la "Brittney Spears - she of epic meltdowns" - at some truck stop motel in Albequerque...shaving my head, drinking myself into oblivion, and then calling someone to come and get me.

Okay, that's a little extreme. Everyone knows I'm too vain to ever shave my head during a meltdown...that goes way beyond what's acceptable-crazy.

But I've been in this jury trial for two weeks now....two weeks of having to hear some sleezebag defense attorney talk about how the police (and yours truly) have manipulated this little 8 year old girl into saying her step-dad sodomized her and forced her to orally copulate him mulitple times. Nevermind that there are 3 independent witnesses who observed the child giving him a BJ in a public parking lot. Nevermind that his DNA (via his semen) was found on the little girls pants - from where she spit it out after he tried to force her to swallow it. Nevermind the anal tearing and bruising to her poor little 8 year old body - that was discovered during her rape exam. Nevermind her consistent statements over the past year to authorities and children services....about what happened. Nevermind that.

This lowlife defense attorney sits there day in and day out, claiming that I have threatened this little girl with taking her out of her home and putting her in foster care - if she doesn't tell me these things about her step-dad. He chalks up the anal tearing and bruising to the notion that maybe she stuck her finger inside her own anus and scratched so hard that she ruptured her mucosal membrane. The semen on her pants? Well, they all live together....and aren't very tidy, so perhaps he and her mom used the little girls clothing as a wipe-rag after sex.

And while I hope that this defense sounds as ridiculous to the jury - as it does to me, to have to sit there, day in and day out, and quietly listen to my integrity and my moral ethics be so maligned and called into question - disgusts me. I suppose the worst part of this case isn't even the sexual abuse the little girl has had to endure...the worst part is the fact that her own mother is on the side of the perpetrator. So much so, that her children have been taken from her and placed with their grandparents - because she poses a risk to their emotional well being. The mother is just as sick and twisted as the molester himself, and has threatened to take the little girl away so she can't testify. She has also told the little girl that she is a liar, and a bitch, and that she needs to tell the jury that the sexual abuse never happened....so that daddy can come home.

This all played out in court the other day when the little girl was being questioned by the sleezeball defense attorney, and blurted out that she had made the whole story up, because the police told her to. She said that it never happened, that she doesn't know why she lied, that the police told her what to say. However, this testimony came on day two of her testimony, after she had already talked in detail about the abuse on day one. And after she had spent the entire morning with her mother.....

The poor little girl also said her mom told her she wants her daddy home. That she loves her mom. That she doesn't get to live with her mom anymore. Then, when the prosecution began their questions, I sat and watched as this poor little girl completely broke down, sobbing and so visibly upset that I couldnt' help but sit there at the counsel table and cry right along with her.

No. She didn't make it up. No, the police never told her what to say. Her step-dad did put his pee pee in her butt, and it hurt. And he made her put his private part in his mouth - several times - and told her to "suck it." To watch the expressions on this little girls face, as she alternated between the horror of having to relive what she had been through, and the guilt she must have been feeling over disapointing her mother by not lying about it, and then her expression as she looked at me - probably afraid that I too was going to be mad at her....was truly, and undoubtedly one of the most tragic things I have ever witnessed. Her face and her anguish will be forever embedded in my mind....and I wish I could erase it. As she came off the stand and grabbed my hand (as she has done every time she sees me), I walked her out of the courtroom and gave her a hug. I told her it would all be okay, that it was a tough day for her, that's it's okay to be sad and to cry about it, and that she did the best she could and that things were going to get better. And then as we walked outside, she saw her mother sitting there - and ran straight over to her and gave her a big hug. I know she was seeking her mothers love and approval. But I also know, that sadly, she will never get it.

Her step dad will probably be convicted, and is looking at a life sentence. Just like this little girl is going to be stuck with this mother, and her resentment of her, and her emotional abuse, for the rest of her life. I can make sure he never molests her again...but I can't do anything about the rest of her famly. And so, in my heart, I know this girl is lost.

In the midst of this jury trial, I had yesterday morning open to interview another little girl. This one is only 5. And she's beautiful, and sweet, and social, and smart - and just about one of the most adorable little girls I have ever spoken to. I sat behind the one way glass interview room, and monitored a forensic interview of the girl.....in which a forensic child phsychologist asked her open ended questions about her, and what she liked to do, and who she lived with, and her family.

It was an endearing interview to watch...children at that age are so precious. they have so little reference of truly negative images of the world. They know the difference between truths and lies, and they know that lies are bad. They are indeed pure in their thoughts and perceptions, and don't have the cognitive abilities to formulate complex lies, or stories. If they story-tell, their brains are not developed enough to recall the same stories without discrepencies. Therefore, it is almost impossible for a young child to consistently tell the same story - unless it
is an actual memory which they are recalling.

As the little girl talked about her dolls, and coloring, and what kind of games she played with her mommy...I sat there listening in, and smiling. She was just the cutest thing. But then she started to talk about her daddy. And that he had done "bad touching" to her. That 3 times he had spit on his fingers and touched her "cookie" (what she called her vagina). In her adorable, sweet little girl voice she said, "he put his finger in my cookie HARD - and it hurt - and I said "No Daddy - I don't like that" - but he did it anyway." She said her daddy told her not to tell her mommy, that he was the only one allowed to touch her cookie, but she told her mommy anyway. She said then her daddy lied to her mommy and said he didn't do it, but she told her mommy the truth. She said her daddy isn't her daddy anymore.

I was glad to be behind that one way glass, glad that the adorable little girl, with the cute high pitched little girl voice, who was busy coloring a picture while she matter-of-factly was talking about the disgusting things her daddy had done to her, couldn't see that I was crying.

I don't like the idea of psychotropic meds for depression, and I dont' like drinking myself into oblivion to forget that the world is full of monsters, so I guess the only thing to do is just wait this out. Hope that I get a break after this trial ends next week. Hope that there is some bright spot on the horizon. Hope that despite the overwhelming feelings and emotions I've been facing lately, I don't end up lost somewhere in Albequerque.

UPDATE: Hell yeah....2 days of jury deliberations and that bastard was found GUILTY of 6 of the 7 counts against him. 270 years to life.....sick fuck. Now if only he would drop dead quickly so my tax dollars don't have to pay for his incarceration. After all, 270 years is a LONG time....

I hate this word.

I hate this word.

Maybe.

Worst word in the human language. Well, at least to me. Hopeful, foolish, stick-our-head-in-the-sand and ignore the situation, saps that I am. Gosh, what I wouldn't give to be naive and ignorant again. If only.

And here it is, 5 years after writing this little diddy, and I still pretty much hate to ever hear anyone say "maybe." Blech. I'll take a stiff dose of reality over false hopes and maybe's any day of the week. I think. But then again....just maybe.

12-31-03

Maybe is so far away
it's a ghost that haunts my heart
maybe keeps me holding on
it keeps me wishing on a star

Maybe makes me lose my pride
it makes me grovel at your feet
it makes me think that one day you might see...
that you could fall in love with me

A thousand times I tell myself
this love it has no chance
the lies, regret, the loss of you
is more than happenstance

But this soul that weeps, that knows no peace
is still foolish enough to believe
in forgiveness and in salvation
in the hope that one day
maybe...

Disturbed - Part 2

Disturbed - Part 2
Current mood: distraught

As is the case with most of the difficult days of my life, I find myself alone. Which in this case is probably for the best....because save for a few select people who are able to read my thoughts and gage my emotions absent an explanation, I would have no words to adequetly describe what this feels like. I would stutter and stammer, and offer contrived statements like, "It's nothing," or "I'm just tired," or "It was a bad day at work." And none of those statements even come close to reflecting what's going on in my head. Why my brow has been continually furrowed since I drove away from work 2 hours ago....or why my only emotions are feelings of defeat and sadness.

I should be triumphant and satisfied today. I'm handling a high profile sexual perversion case, with multiple victims, and a truly pathological suspect. I interviewed him for the second time today. A two hour match of verbal judo in which I was unequivocablly the winner. I have the facts, and the truth on my side. All he had was.....well, his lies.

I'm good at what I do. I realize that. I know that is why I get these cases, and why my Sgt. thinks I can handle anything. Because my track record in Detectives is good. Confessions and convictions.....that's what I've always gotten. But getting these confessions takes a toll. I don't just talk to people....I believe in them. I sell them hope, and they buy it everytime. I readily accept their lies and their excuses and their version of reality. I buy into it so much and so convincingly, that they actually beleive I am on their side. That I understand them. That I am their friend. They believe that. And they thank me, and they cry on my shoulder, and they beg for my understanding.....and for the time it takes to listen to their web of lies....I give them that.

Often I feel guilty for showing such compassion and understanding to these monsters. Not guilt because I tricked them....but guilt that I actually feel compassion and understanding for them. Everyone I know wants these people dead....these sexual predators. And yet, I feel pity and sadness for them - much more so than hatred and violence. Sure, I want them locked away for the rest of their lives - there is no doubt about that. But I can't muster any emotion towards them other than just general despair at their sickness. They are pathetic. And desperate. And disturbed. And when I speak to them, all I see is their entire lives about to end....courtesy of one of my convictions. I see their families, and their friends - seemingly inncocent people who never even knew the dark side of this person. And I see the far reaching mass destruction and chaos that sexual perversion and predation brings about.

And then I see Matthew.

That poor kid who jumped from the bridge 6 years ago, while I was trying to talk him down. For 45 minutes I stood there face to face pleading with a kid who was so empty inside, that he could find no other solution to his problems. And then I'm reminded of what true anguish looks like, and what hopeless despair really it is. The despair of the victim. And what molestation and sexual victimization must do to ones psyche. And I try to reconcile my feelings of compassion for these monsters, with my feelings of needing vindication for someone like Matt....who must have endured so much, must have endured too much. And yet, there is no reconciling those two emotions. I can not play both sides.....offering salvation while handing out retribution. But I always do. Every time. Not always happily, and not always with exuberance - or filled with pride. But always with the steadfast conviction that what I'm doing is the right thing....and that somewhere down the line, it will make a difference and count for something. I know in my heart that much is true. And still, the reality of what I see on a regular basis takes a heavy toll on my belief in humanity. In my perception of the line between fact and fiction, real and imagined, sinners and saints.

It's funny.....people say that what I'm doing is the "Lords work." But after all I've seen, at the end of the day, all I can wonder is....

What Lord?

I have a new case waiting for me tomorrow. I think a press release just went out. A 39 year old man who forcibly dragged a 5 year old neighbor girl into his apartment and began sexual assaulting her before her Mother interrupted and he fled. He was caught, and is in jail now, waiting for me to interview him first thing in the morning. At which time I have no doubt I will convince him that I am on his side...and that no matter what he tells me, I believe in him and his reasons....and I understand.

And so it will begin again.