Disturbed

Disturbed.
Current mood: crushed

I'm not even sure what to write here - my head is so convoluted with random thoughts and stress it's hard to make a clear point. But let me just say this about my job....

Investigating sex crimes and specifically INTERNET sex crimes is a lot more intense than merely looking at porn online. Yeah sure, I've seen just about all the different kinds of porn out there (don't ask - because no, I'm not a fan)....but I investigate CHILD porn. There is nothing illegal about hardcore porn or bondage, or fetishes or even the nast bestiality and scat vids you see. That stuff is mildly interesting...in fact, to me - it's not interesting at all.

I investigate and track child pornography. Porn that has children. REAL children. I say this, because I am continually amazed at the naivety of individuals (citizens AND police personnel), who always ask "are they REAL kids in the videos or the computer generated kind?" No people.... These are real kids. Sometimes infants, or toddlers, or 8 or 9 year olds. I'm not talking about your 16 year old school tramp who's making videos of herself masturbating and posting it on YouTube. I deal with babies. Young kids who are subjected to the most heinous and unimaginable sexual acts one can think of. You wouldn't even think it's possible for a grown man to have sex with a 1 or 2 year old...but it is. And I've seen it...over and over and over again.

I guess I might be reaching some kind of breaking point with this new case I'm investigating. Because quite frankly, there is so much CP for me to review, that I can't even begin to wrap my mind around it. I can't fathom the depraivity of a man who would seek bondage and torture videos of 3 year olds. Who relishes videos that have audio, so he can hear the victim saying "No daddy....no" as she is forced to do the most disgusting of things to her father. Who writes in his emails the foulest sexual desires - directed towards 6 year old boys. And although this case is large, with International ties - not too many people are lining up to help me. Because quite honestly, every other agency who investigates this filth is just as overwhelmed as I am.

I didn't even really understand what child porn was when I started this assignment a few years ago. I though it was the 14-16 year olds who were maybe being molested by an uncle or something....and aperhaps a few nude pictures were taken of them. My thoughts on it back then remind me of the saying "ignorance is bliss." I wish I didn't know now....what I didn't know then.

But as these cases roll in, one by one, you start to become immersed in the culture of child rapists and pedophiles. It's a sickening feeling. I can't describe it even. When you start to realize how many of these children are out there, and you start to recognize their photos and videos and know their names and series titles. You start to realize how many homes this is occuring in....where children are routinely raped and videotaped for the pleasure of their abuser. The images and videos are haunting.....I can't imagine what these children endure. Although I've seen it on their faces....they are so young....and yet they look like ghosts. Their stare is vacant, and I know (from speaking with sexual abuse victims) that many of them are simply checked out of reality.

I see these videos and images, and the frustration I feel with not being able to locate these kids, to help them, to save them...leaves me feeling like a failure, and totally helpless. Not a position we in law enforcement are used to....and not one that is easy to deal with. I can only think of a few other times in my career that I have felt this alone with regard to work stressers. There's nothing and no one at home to balance this mess with some normalcy.....some understanding. And the sleepless nights and inability to shake what's going on in my head is really taking its toll. Where do you go to find solice when the demons you are running from face you every day you report to work? I just don't know anymore.... I looked at 833 images of CP today, and another 67 CP videos - all in about 3 hours. But there really aren't enough hours in the day for me to try to identify and find these kids.....and lately since I can't stop thinking about them, why even come home? The only comfort is knowing that many of them have either been previously identified, or are adults now and no longer being abused. But then there are the new victims....the new CP series and videos....and where are those kids? I keep looking for them....at work, online, even in faces in the crowds....but so far...nothing.

No one wants to talk about Child Pornogrpahy. No one wants to know what it is, or what it looks like. It's ugly. It's mankind at it's very worst. It's more revolting and unnatural than any other crime out there....and it is the least talked about. People don't talk about it because they don't understand what it is, but I do. Myself and all the other investigators that work these cases...we know what it is, and what it looks like. And how it is the foundation for so many other crimes in society....drug addicts, prostitutes, gang members, thieves, rapists, child molesters.....people that lack that internal moral compass that dictates right from wrong. People that never stood a chance because someone fucked up their heads so badly when they were kids, that for them to have a normal life is next to impossible. So few of the child victims I've dealt with will have normal lives. Most of them will be so screwed up from their experiences that they will never recover. And I can't help them. All I can do is put these monsters in jail for the rest of their lives, and save future victims from enduring the same fate.

Part of me wishes I could show one of these videos to everyone I know...or put it on the news so society realizes how truly tragic and horrific it is. So maybe people will see what it is that is so important about these cases, and what is so terribly wrong with our society. But I don't want to expose anyone to those images either.....images that leave you sleepless and unsettled, with knots in your stomach and chaos in your head, images that make you look at pictures of your own innocent children in a different way...in a bad way. They just had the Las Vegas case on the news, of the 3 year old who was raped and the video of it found in the desert. As horrific as that case is, I know that it still doesn't resonate in most peoples minds....because a normal person just can not picture a 3 year old being raped. You simply can't wrap your mind around that thought or image. I know this, because until I saw it - I couldn't either. Until you see it, it's still remains an abstract idea.....

Unfortunately, it's not abstract for me any longer. My head is filled with things I wish I could purge, but will never be able to. I've seen the worst of humanity.....and it has robbed me of something that I don't think I will ever get back.....faith.

It's the smallest of things, that make me happy.

It’s the smallest of things, that make me happy.

There really should be a category on this blog feature for "kids" - because it seems like I write a lot of blogs about my boys!

So, I got to see Douglas play football for the first time this week. He has been the starting receiver for his schools JV team, but I missed the first 2 games. He's always played basketball as a little kid - so seeing him play football was a real trip. He was on the team at his old school for two years, and only got about 2 minutes of play time (btw - coach Marrujo is dumb). But now he plays for a different school, and is the starting receiver and cornerback. This poor kid played practically the WHOLE game! But he was pretty good - even with my limited knowledge of football, I think he did really well. Although they lost by 1 point in the 4th, it was a good game (they won their first two, so they are 2-1 now).

Alright, so the best part of seeing the game (aside from hearing other strangers on the sidelines talk about how good my son was) - was when Doug was coming off the field after a play and saw me and his Dad standing on the sidelines. I thought for sure he would ignore me, and just go stand with his team. But he actually came over to where I was standing! I was amazed. This kid always acts like he is mortified to acknowledge me in public, and is always telling me not to "embaress" him (who me?) - and yet, that wasn't the case this time. When he saw me standing there, and made eye contact with me - he walked right up to me and had the same look he used to have when he was a little boy - that "did I do good?" look. I wanted to run up and hug him I was so proud of him! But I didn't (it nearly killed me not to). Seeing that look on his face, that look that seaks validation and acknowledgment - made me realize that no matter how big and how "grown" he may act, he will always be my little boy. He asked me if I saw his play, and saw him run the ball - which of course I did. I could tell he was excited that I got to see him play finally, but of course he was trying to act cool. But that look...that look on his face gave him away. <3

I swear, that moment is frozen in my mind now - and I will never forget it. I'll try to remember it whenever he decides to act like a grumpy teenager. I'll remember and know that deep down - no matter what, he's still my baby. It's amazing how the smallest of gestures, a look, or a few words, can convey so much. My son.....for all his attitude and bravado...still loves me and wants my approval.

And that one sheepish look on his face is all it took to make me happy.

The boys, life, and what's important....

So, the boys are outside tossing around the football - and I'm suddenly inspired by the perfection of this day. The house is a mess, I'm still in sweats and a ponytail, the laundry needs to be done, gotta fix Daryl's bike and clean the patio - but this day is awesome so far. I can't recall a day this good in a while.

It's the simple pleasure of hearing the kids laugh and watching them play. Or having an UN-forced conversation with them. Douglas talking about why he is a better receiver than a QB, or Daryl telling me without hesitation that Douglas has a better arm than he does....it's the nicest, most heartwarming feeling ever. My boys - for all their many, MANY moments of obnoxious, rude behavior - are really good kids at heart. I think all things considered, I did alright with them.

Today Daryl was encouraging my attempts to train and run B2V. He could of easily scoffed at my 12-minute mile time (he can run it in 4:55), but instead he told me, "well that's really good - at least you can run two miles." I was very touched by his positive attitude - and immensly happy that he isn't acting like he hates me anymore (December and January were ROUGH months for us). Now, with him living at his Dads, it seems like when he's here with me - I have my old Daryl back again. The sweet, kind, always willing to laugh and joke around kid - that I love so much. Gosh, he's really terrific. And when he's at his best - it brings Douglas out of his dreary, anti-social, 16-year-old shell. To hear them joke around together and talk trash to each other - might not seem like much, but it's just the best feeling ever.

I snapped a picture of the two of them this morning. Douglas had gotten into Daryl's bed with him, and they were watching TV (The 40 Year Old Virgin - lol) and looking at their yearbook together. At 16 and 13 - the fact that they are still so close and comfortable being near one another - amazes me. Doug was mad I took the pic (of course) - but it's a great reminder of how much they love each other. My boys. They have my whole heart wrapped up inside them - and can bring me to tears with the simplest of gestures.

I'm reading that book - "Tuesdays with Morrie" - and it's a real tearjerker. Very sad, but very profound as well. It's reminded me a lot about what is important in life - and what is not. Having my boys happy, having wonderful friends and family who fill my life with love and laughter, and having a sense of higher purpose - are really the only things in life that give me true satisfaction. Everything else is secondary. Everyone should read that book (and the 5 people you meet in heaven) - and take stock of their lives. Too many times we forget what is important....and life just seems to pass us by without ever leaving much of an impression.

Alright, enough rambling about how perfect this day is....I still have much to do and I have to go and nag Douglas to do his homework before he hooks up his new PS3 (he paid for it himself with money he'd saved over the past 2 years - so I'm very impressed with him meeting his goal!). Daryl has promised to help me "work out" with the weights in the garage, so that will be fun......ahhhhh life....it is only as good as you believe it is. And at this moment, I know that MY life - is pretty darn perfect.

Rainy days.

Rainy days.
Current mood: lonely

The first real rainy day of the season should have started off better. It had all the makings of a perfect morning - no work, no alarm clock ringing, a comfy bed, good company, very very snuggly....but a 7:15 a.m. call from a DA ruined an ideal morning. Questions on a case, emergency victim relocations, gang threats, search warrants - not the way I wanted to start this day. But here I am. Caught in the midst of the life I've created for myself. Too much work, too many people to please, not enough hours in the day. Full time detective, full time college student, part time mom, sometime friend, often times a total stranger to those I love. So many roles to play......when all I want to do is lay in bed staring out the window at the rain.

It's my Dad's birthday today - which doesn't make things any better. I drove right past the cemetary - didn't even stop. It's been years since I went - even though I drive past it pretty often. Hey - at least I wave - and give him the "hang ten" sign (but it's "shaka" now Dad, no one says "hang ten" anymore..:). Leaving flowers at a cemetary seems silly to me. I doubt my Dad would be offended, I don't recall him ever visiting his dad or Daryl there too often either. Cemetary's are for dead people - not the living. What do you say to a headstone in the rain? I miss you? I wish you were here? Did I turn out OK? I wish you could watch the boys play football - or see me graduate next year. Or meet a guy I'm dating, or walk me down the aisle one day. I wish you cared enough to stay healthy - if not for yourself, than for me. I hate that you gave up. Just what exactly do you say to a headstone in the rain? Nothing that you can't say to the air all around you. And that you don't think to yourself - almost all of the time. I'm sure he knows (knew) all those things anyway. It didn't make a difference.

Thirteen years is a long time - but today, it feels like just yesterday. The last conversation, the last time I saw him - it's so vivid. I have pictures of that day - him and Douglas, sitting on my couch.....looking so happy. He had just fixed a broken leg on my table, and taken my trash out for me (Dad's are great). Douglas was only two and a half at the time, but he let him help hold the tools. It was so sweet. A great moment to be frozen in my memory forever. Funny how life changes so quickly. I remember getting the phone call from his friends at the hospital a few days later. They were playing basketball after work and my dad collapsed.....and then I knew. I was at work at the time - and I just knew. The doctor wouldn't tell me over the phone, told me to get there as soon as possible - but I knew it was too late. You can tell these things - and I wasn't even a cop back then. Some sick feeling in the pit of your stomach tells you, "things are not going to be okay this time."

Funny, I never turn my phone off now - waiting for the next call like that. Will it be my kids, my Mom, my Nana, my brother, one of my friends? It's only a matter of time before it comes. I turned my phone on vibrate the night Jen was in her accident - and had she been killed I would have never forgiven myself for missing the call. Bad news travels fastest via cell phones. I keep it on now, no matter what. Rarely does a call go unanswered on my phone....I'm usually dreading the worst. My Dad was the one that called me and told me about my cousin Daryl's car accident. Over the phone. I was only 19 years old at the time....not ready for something like that, and certainly not ready to hear it that way. How do you tell someone over the phone that someone they love is dead? It's not right. I think I told my Nana about my Dad over the phone too - how horrible. I should apologize for that - 13 years later. But I was in total shock - still at the hospital and 8 months pregnant with my Daryl. Dealing with his horrid ex-girlfriend who wanted his wallet and money asap., with the notifications, all the while avoiding his body because I couldn't bear to see my Dad all blue and intubated. I'd rather remember him the way I last saw him....at the house, with Douglas...fixing my table and hanging out. Yes, death brings out the worst in people. Always. I've had to make death notifications at work a few times. It's heartbreaking. It leaves you so empty, and so void of anything at all to say that might comfort someone. Wait, wait, I'm digressing.....

I don't even want to go to work - don't want to write these papers for school - or start on the search warrants I need to write. It's never enough - there's always more to do....I just want to sit on the couch and watch a movie with my boys - or hear them laughing - or see them smile. I gotta get outta this mood - being alone in the rain is a recipe for disaster. Especially on this day. The boys aren't home till Friday - at which time I will forego any stupid arguments with them, and just tell them how much I love them. Life is too short for stupid fights over stupid things.....what difference does it make if their room is a mess, or they don't brush their teeth enough? Or if they get C's instead of A's and B's.....in the end, it just doesn't matter.

Maybe I'll go for a run in the rain....there's got to be a positive side to it. Hey, at least no one will notice that I'm crying.....:)

Independent..circa 2004

As I read my book tonight (Black House) - my mind kept drifting out of focus. I kept rethinking the events of the day, and eventually got to a point where I had stopped reading all together and was just staring at my book, thinking; I am totally independent. It kept echoing over and over in my head, like some horrible tic I couldn't get rid of. Most people would think independence is an asset, but not me. Not this much independence. And the more I thought of it, the more this sinking feeling crept into my head, this realization that my life, which seems functional and mechanically routine, is actually one big lonely blur, filled with task after task, all of which I can do all by myself - without anyone. This modern day feministic culture that has produced me and all the women like me, is a joke - a cruel anomaly of life. It doesn't take one person to make a child, or build a home, or sustain a family - it takes two. Or maybe three or four... but life is certainly not supposed to be undertaken alone. And that is precisely what I've done. My pride has made other people unnecessary to my livelihood, to my daily sustenance, so this solitary life I'm living is completely of my own doing. And I suddenly realized how much I hate being independent, and how that one factor has probably ensured my singleness up to this point, and undoubtedly will, throughout my future.

Today and yesterday I've been sick with strep throat - feeling truly horrible with body aches, a fever of 101.3 and a throat so swollen I could barely swallow yesterday. It was so bad in fact, that a few times I was on the verge of tears just because I felt so crummy. And still, in my sickness and general downtrodden state, I managed to go grocery shopping (twice), shuttle Daryl to his basketball practices, take him to get his hair cut, clean my house, do four loads of laundry, patch a whole in my drywall (courtesy of the kids while I was out of town), re-organize my tool shelves in the garage, deal with having my puppy Peanut carted off by Animal Control (he bit someone, so it's curtains for him), cook several chicken dishes (lunch for work this weekend), and have another nasty telephone fight with the kids Dad. Imagine what I could of done if I wasn't sick. The problem is, I have gotten so used to doing everything by myself, that I have practically made having a man around obsolete. I need them only for sex and emotional support, but even then - I haven't gotten much of that from Adam. He seems wholly uninterested when I ramble on about my problems, or what I'm dealing with at home. Makes me feel like we are only together for the occasional companion - when neither of us is too busy with our real lives, and we have some spare time for one another.

I hate being a single parent. I hate having to do everything myself. I hate taking out the garbage, and not having someone to help me wash the dogs and do the laundry. But most of all, I hate that I don't think I will ever have that - because it's so out of the ordinary from what I'm used to, that I have no idea how to incorporate that in my life. With Adam, I whine about what I want - and it only drives him further away. Even I hate to hear myself complain - I sound like a huge pain in the ass. And I swore I would never be that way. But he is so un-emotional, and so distant. So many times I feel like he is indifferent to our relationship - like if we broke up he wouldn't even give it a second thought. I hate that too. Feeling like you are dispensable and easily replaced. I just want to feel loved and cherished, and valued. When someone loves you, really loves you, don't they want to help you with the yucky stuff? Don't they want to make your life easier and make you feel appreciated? I always thought so. I always want to help people that way - but then, it's always been so easy for me to love and be in love. It's comes so naturally for me. What a cruel bit of irony that no one else seems to feel that way....

Wounded

This wounded soul
- has seen too much
It is broken and bruised
- it is cold to the touch

This empty shell
- is home to despair
Where once there was meaning
- it now just lies bare

How many times can I lose myself?
- before all hope is gone?
How many times can I fail myself
- just to sing this tragic song

This life - it's a circus
- a game, I can't win
I'm lost
and alone
I'm dead from within

This heart that's so battered
- this soul that's so torn
I'm broken and beaten
- yet still, I go on.

Who I am....

Poetry anyone?

Who I am...

The Laughing Girl
who finds humor in every situation
The Crying Woman
who has known too much pain
The Skeptic
who sees suspicion on everyone's faces
and The Cynic
who beleives there's nothing to be gained.

I am The Hopeful
who wants something to hold on to
I am the Faithful
who wants something to believe
I am the Lost Child
who wanders through the darkness,
stumbling through her lifetime,
blindly wishing she could see.
I am The Mother
whose love is unconditional
I am The Father
who wishes I didn't have to be...
I am The Officer
whose intentions are full of honor
who'd give her life,
so selflessly.

I am so much,
so many things
so many sides that you can't see
though you would judge me quickly
and cast your vote
on who I am
on what you see....

Who I Am
is a work in progress
a fragile flower - not yet bloomed,
a delicate spirit
in a soldiers armor
a star filled night
under a luminous moon.

c. February 2002