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.

It's the little things....

Current mood: happy

Here are a few of my favorite things. I have no real idea why I am writing this down....except to say that I have been trying to compile a list in my head of things that I really really love, and things that make me feel very happy. And these are the things that I keep dwelling on. Noticably absent from the list are my kids, my friends, and my family. Because I think it goes without saying that they provide the absolute happiest moments in my life. My kids and my friends are AMAZING. But next to spending time with them, these are the (sometimes sad, and somewhat inane) things that make me smile....

1. Waking up, getting into a hot shower, and then jumping right back into bed for another hour or so. Way cozy. This tops my list - because every time I do this, I can't stop thinking about how much I love it. Couple it with number 6 and you have all the makings of a perfect day.
2. Going to starbucks or the Equator with my coworkers and friends. I'm not a huge starbucks or coffee fan, but something about the ambience and the cop and "life" chats we have there, is just fucking priceless. Yeah, those are really great times.

3. Laughing with people. And I mean anyone. Laughing WITH, not AT. I can usually find the humor in any situation....and since laughter is the best form of therapy...I feel compelled to laugh at life. Regularly. And sometimes maniacally.

4. Cooking for people. I love that. Especially when they tell me the food doesn't suck. I suppose at the heart of things, I'm really a very nurturing person. Hmmm. Odd.

5. Going to the movies (or pretty much anywhere in public) with my boys. I love that we laugh at the same things...and like the same movies (mostly). They are totally cool. And the fact that we are so keyed in to one another, like last week when some weird random guy ran past us at the movie theatre, and he's doing this weird hunched forward - like he has a pole stuck up his rear end run, and both my kids shoot me the sideways glance to see if I've noticed this phenomenal new running style, and then we all just kinda shake our heads and chuckle at the absurdity of the weird running guy. Yeah, that stuff is totally awesome. My kids are just the coolest. Oh, and no, we don't always make fun of people - that's not nice. But sometimes, this weird stuff and weird people are just impossible to miss.

6. Making out. Yes, I said it. Don't act like I'm the only one that likes it. You probably do too. Preferably with someone that knows how to kiss. That's just hot.....and I really wish I could do more of it. Damn it. Singleness sucks.

7. Random acts of kindness directed at total strangers. Sound corny? Try it sometime. It'll make you feel good all day. And people appreciate it. Besides, no one likes an asshole. So don't be one.

8. Good hair days. I know, I'm shallow. And for the record....today is NOT one of them.

9. A clean house. Because really, who doesn't feel happier going home to a spic and span domain. I love that. Thank god for housekeepers.

10. Music. And the invention of the IPOD. Now I can finally throw away these fucking CD's....they take up way too much space in my car and my house.

11. Old journals and things I've written. I tell ya, I've got to scan and post some of this stuff someday. I wrote some heavy papers for school when I was a teenager. Weird - not much has changed as far as my perspectives and rationale.

12. Making people laugh. This is different than number 3...which is just ME laughing. I think I'm pretty good at this, because one of the gals in the office just about peed her pants today as I relayed a story....and I seem to have that affect on many of my friends. Maybe they are all just battling incontinence? Or perhaps (as I've often mused) I really am one of the funniest people on the planet.

13. A good massage. And I mean a GOOD one. Not the kind where the chick is fucking yapping through the whole thing about some shit you don't really want to hear about. A good, deep, warm lotion, dark-room, trippy-music-in-the-background, clean-comfy-sheets-and-blanky-on-the-massage-table, MASSAGE. Preferably from a really hot chick - so I can fantasize about how she's getting turned on by rubbing me down. Alright, so that's not as important as the other factors....and I've never actually had one from a really hot chick...but it might be cool. On second thought....I'd be freaked out and wouldn't be able to relax. Scratch that last. I'll just keep that part in the fantasy file.

14. The smell of the mountains in the winter (or the summer). But just now...as I stepped out of my car into the crisp, clear, snow covered beauty of Big Bear at night....the smell automatically made me recall being a kid up here with my Dad and my grandpa...sledding and learning to ski when I was like 9 years old....and suddenly I'm all warm and fuzzy and perfectly happy inside. Ahhhh...the wonderful smells and memories of my youth.

15. Vine ripened tomatoes. Great big juicy beefstake (is that a variety?) ones. Ohhhh...and if they are warm from the sun, like you just picked them....that's even better. My Grandparents grew tomatoes when I was a kid, and every time I'd go over - I'd grab one off the counter and eat it like an apple. Yeah, I suppose my love of tomatoes goes way back to my happy childhood days at the Grandparents house....how wonderful things were back then.

16. Avocados. Still the perfect food as far as I'm concerned. Pair an avo with a vine ripened tomato on a sammy.....with some good CHEESE and maybe some turkey. God that's yummy. Okay, I'm starving now....

17. The smell of sex. I know...sounds nasty huh? Whatever. It isn't. And I love it. Well, when it's the smell of MY sex.

18. Clean sheets. Preferrably flannel or jersey knit...or high thread count egyptian cotton. Not the sateen ones...I don't like those. But the really compfy, can't wait to jump into bed kind. Oh, and goose down comforters. Ahhhhhh.

19. Long hot baths. Alone. With wine. And candles. And music. Okay, well honestly...at the end of the bath it would be even better if someone joined me....but only at the end - when I was already done relaxing.

20. 5 mushroom pizza from Abbots Pizza in Venice Beach....it's the BOMB. I haven't had it in years...and I'm craving it RIGHT NOW. Too bad I'm on a health kick...I'll stick with the avocados and tomatoes....

21. Sunsets on the water. Especially when they go all red/orange/pink/purplish. Sometimes I get so awestruck, I get really emotional. Honestly, I rarely have religious moments...but when I see those types of sunsets and sunrises, I know that there is a higher power in the universe....and I am truly humbled and amazed by life.

Running....and remembering.

running....and remembering.
Current mood: forgotten

In light of my current disasterous situation - the impending move from my home, the lack of support and understanding from my children, and the soon-to-be undeserved large payments to my shameless and unconscionable ex....I decided to go for a run tonight. I figured it would help burn off some stress...and take my mind off of things for a bit.

Boy, was I wrong.

Taking off my from my house I had my IPOD tuned in to my favorite running music...Audislave's album "Cochise." Quite possibly one of the best albums of all time if I may say so. As I started out, things were okay....it was dark, pretty late to be running at 9:00 p.m. - but my neighborhood isn't THAT bad, so I figured what the hell. Actually, as I hit the first long stretch of deserted roadway, I was imagining what would happen if some asshole gangster decided to cross my path. There aren't a lot of shitbags in my neighborhood, but every now and then I come across one...and realize that East Anaheim isn't what it used to be.

And I start thinking it would be a bad idea for someone to try and jam me up for my IPOD tonight, since I'm carrying my brick of a cellphone/PDA in my right hand (which is, incidently, my striking hand) and I'm in such a shit mood - that I'm liable to kill someone with my bare hands if I get the chance. I'm imagining how satisfying it would be to come across some piece of shit asshole who thinks it would be fun to screw with the lone female runner at 9:30 p.m. - on a deserted stretch of roadway. And I'm relishing the thought of what a HUGE surprise he would be in for, when I unleashed all this pent up anger and fury on him - and kicked his fucking ass. I keep visualizing the swiftness in which I could wack him square in the nose with this large metal cell phone I've got a death grip on - effectually busting his nose wide open and stunning him - before I decide to deliver a full force kick to his nuts. I'm further playing out this little scenario in my mind, by kicking this fucker in his head as he lays writhing in pain on the ground....as I'm calling for Anaheim PD to come and rescue his ass and haul him off to jail.

Fortunately (or unfortunatley), I didn't come across any gang bangers, or trouble makers, or ner-do-wells, and my little violent fantasy didn't come to fruition. In fact, my pent up hostility got channeled into a full blown melt down as I hit the second mile....and saw the fireworks from Disneyland off in the distance.

Actually, the first thing I saw was a man and a little boy, standing on the freeway overpass - watching the fireworks. The same way I used to take the boys to watch them when they were little. That was always one of the benefits of living in Anaheim - you could always see the Disneyland fireworks everynight at 9:30. And I used to watch them all the time with the kids when they were young....

So I'm running southbound on Glassell, past this man and his son....and I make the mistake of stopping to look. First at them, then at the fireworks. And I see the past 10 years of my life all rolled up into this little boys face, and the wonder in his eyes at the fireworks, and I'm so sad and lonely all of sudden - and wanting to tell this man - this stranger - that this is the best it's ever going to get. Watching some fireworks on the side of the road with your kid. I'm so suddenly stricken with loss, and with this sense of melancholy and sadness....that I decide to just keep running. Away from the little boy, and the fireworks, and the memories of what my life used to be. So on I go.....

I run faster...and faster....until my heart rate monitor tops out at 196 beats per minute, and I'm sure I'm going to die of over exertion. I slow down....and then it happens. Just as the song on my IPOD clicks to the next one...."Like a Stone" - I come into view of the school where my kids used to have their basketball practices. Where I used to watch them and their team mates....and offer tips and help them with their lay-ups. Twice a week, never missing a practice - always hoping their Dad would show up, and thankful for their sake that he did (sometimes) manage to come. As the song played on, I walked over to the fence just outside the courts....and suddenly the floodgates opened, and the tears and heartbreak poured out of me. Given the exertion with the running, and now the full blown sobbing, I was having a hard time choking back the sobs....let alone breathing. Luckily, the loud gasping sound that I was making found no audience in the empty parking lot....and I stood there crying, and remembering - all by myself.

Where did the time go? When did they become so grown that they no longer needed me? And why didn't I realize how precious and wonderful those afternoons at basketball practice were? It felt like he was singing about my life in that song....and every verse brought more and more tears, until I couldn't take it anymore...and again I started to run. Running....from the memories and the pain, from my fear of failure as a parent, from my life. Faster and faster I went, trying to escape the haunting sense of familiarity that only served as a reminder of what used to be. But no matter how fast I ran....or how loud I turned up the sound of Chris Cornell's voice drowning out my sobs, I just couldn't escape it. And so on I went....on a path filled with ghostly reminders of the past.

On past the riverbed trail, where Daryl and I used to ride our bikes. On past my parents old house - where the boys and I lived during the police academy - and where I could always go when I needed a sense of "home." Where the kids and I spent every Holiday before my parents retired and moved to Arizona in 2003. On past Rio Vista elementary school, where the boys spent their entire adolescence, and I spent every Monday and Wednesday and countless hours in between volunteering in their classes, or chaperoning field trips, or taking them their favorite Del Taco lunches (which always made their friends jealous - and them very happy). On past the park where they both used to play basketball with their friends after school and every weekend, where I took them from the time they were 3 and 4 to play on the jungle gyms and swings, where Douglas and Christopher got their first taste of independence walking to school alone for the first time in the 2nd grade (okay, so I cheated and followed them in the car taking pictures - but they never saw me). On past the cement steps and bleachers of the baseball field where I videotaped them and their friends skateboarding in the 4th and 5th grade - doing their little "ollies" and grinding rails that made them so pleased with themselves. On past the greenbelts of my condo complex, where they used to spend their days playing football, or tag, or throwing water balloons at their friends, on past the community pool where it seemed as though I was the only parent who ever took the time to take all the neighborhood kids swimming....where the boys used to beg me to take them "night swimming" because it was so much cooler to go to the pool when it was dark outside. On and on this journey into the memories of my past went....

And then finally, I was back at my house. A house which used to be filled with so much laughter, and love, and arguing, and life. Only now, it's empty. And as I stepped inside my back door, Chris Cornell's voice was still blaring in my ears...echoing the sentiments swirling in my head with the lyrics of "Shadow on the Sun." Which is equally prolific, and equally appropriate for my current state of affairs.

Checking my watch, I see I've finished the 3 mile run in my best time ever - and everyone who knows me knows how much I loathe running. I'm now thoroughly exhausted. Physically, emotionally, and mentally - just exhausted.

And as I start to end this blog with the words, "My run is done" - I realize that phrase has so much more meaning to it than a mere excercise reference. For 13 years I shared everything with two amazing boys, so many wonderful times, filled with such love and happy memories. But now it's someone else's turn to share their lives, and I'm no longer their "go to" person. I'm no longer a factor in any of their decisions, their hopes and dreams, their lives. So yes, hard as it is to accept, it would appear that not only as a nod to my recent workout, but as a parent as well......my run is done.

"Like a Stone"

On a cobwed afternoon
In a room of emptiness
By a freeway I confess
I was lost in the pages
Of a book full of death
Reading how we'll die alone
And if we're good we'll lay to rest
Anywhere we want to go

In your house I long to be
Room by room patiently
I'll wait for you there
Like a stone I'll wait for you there
Alone

On my deathbed I will pray
To the gods and the angels
Like a pagan to anyone
Who will take me to heaven
To a place I recall
I was there so long ago
The sky was bruised
The wine was bled
And there you led me on

And on I read
Until the day was gone
And I sat in regret
Of all the things I've done
For all that I've blessed
And all that I've wronged
In dreams until my death
I will wonder on

Irish wisdom

Do Not Stand at My Grave and Weep

Do not stand at my grave and weep,
I am not there... I do not sleep.
I am the thousand winds that blow...
I am the diamond glints on snow...
I am the sunlight on ripened grain...
I am the gentle autumn rain.
When you waken in the morning's hush,
I am the swift uplifting rush
Of gentle birds in circling flight...
I am the soft star that shines at night.
Do not stand at my grave and cry—
I am not there... I did not die...

Drunk and Single.

Drunk and Single.

So. For all of you who think being single is so fun and exciting...who relish the dating stories I dole out so enthusiastically, and who wish you had the freedom and spontanaity that my singleness affords me...let me give you a little glimpse into the downside of being single. The murky dredge of lonely nights, and no one to go home to. It goes a little something like THIS:

I'm driving home tonight after work, after what was kind of a shit day at work because I spent a good 2 hours pretty much YELLING at a couple of fucking morons who decided they (and their attorneys) were going to use the police department and yours truly to fabricate some kind of child molest/child abduction bullshit to facilitate their own interests in some civil lawsuit they have filed against eachother....if it sounds convoluted, it's because it is...and why these two fucking assholes ever had a child together I don't know....but they are both in their 40's and 50's - so one would think they knew better. They didn't.

Anyway, both these assholes got me so riled up today making false accusations against eachother, and trying to use the system (and me) to further their own agendas...that by the time I got out of work at 5:30 - I was in SERIOUS need of a fucking drink to mellow me out. No really. If there had been a bottle in my office, I'd of cracked it open at 5..I was so frustrated. People are so fucking stupid....and refuse to listen to reason at times...it's like I have to deal with god damn 6 year olds. WTF?!?!?! GROW THE FUCK UP YOU MORONS. Sorry...I'm digressing.

So. I get in my car to come home....and as I'm driving I'm thinking of who to call - that might calm me down....Jen's not home...Sandy is busy with house stuff....Vicki is training to beat the shit out of the god damn steroid driven American Gladiators (don't worry - she's just gonna run under their legs)....so I'm coming up with a blank. There's my guy friends...but I just saw them yesterday, and they're probably still hungover....besides, they can't offer the kind of ego-stroking, mushy-sensitive, sexually charged, self-worth validating, stimulating conversation that I'm really looking for.

And as I'm pondering my lack of options, I get a call from some guy who I know is interested in me....but alas, I couldn't be less interested in him. He's nice, but just not my cup of tea. So I chit chat for a few minutes...then find an awkward "out" of the conversation....something to the effect of "yeah - I don't know about getting together because I've really got alot going on" - which I'm sure left him thinking "WTF just happened?" You got blown off buddy....that's what just happened. I didn't feel too bad actually...and I erase the exchange from memory even before I'd hung up the phone. I know. What a BITCH.

So then I decide that the perfect sounding board for my misery is this other guy - who I dated briefly last year...who is super cool...who I still consider to be a friend....and who is probably just as miserable as I am. Well, he's got drama at least...so he can sympathise - right? And it's true that misery loves company.....so I sent him a text...and I wait. As I'm driving in the ridiculous traffic of SoCal...waiting for a response so I can blah blah blah all my fucking angst away to this guy....it suddenly dawns on me that he very well could be banging some hot chick right now - and is not about to stop to answer my text message. Which only adds to my frustration and sense of isolation. FUCK.

So I send a second (increasingly pathetic) text....requesting a response to the first. SHAZAAM. Like the heavens unfolding....I get a dingity ding on my piece of shit cell phone....alerting me to an incoming text. Only it's Dana. Shit. Wrong fucking person. Am I the only person in the world that HATES IT when you are hoping to hear from someone, hoping when the phone rings it's gonna be that person...and then when the phone rings you get so excited you'd think you hit the fucking California Lottery? Only to look at the incoming number and see that it's someone else?!?!?! It could be your mother, your best friend, your kids...but at that moment you actually LOATHE that person for calling you while your'e waiting patiently for a call from some other dipshit. Damn it I hate that. Develop some fucking ESP and know when I'm waiting for a call from someone else before you go texting or calling me. JEEZUS.

So I discount Dana's text...and continue driving 10 miles a fucking hour in LA traffic....waiting to hear back from someone who I'm hoping is going to allow me an outlet for all this pent up frustration and angst I'm dealing with.

Then it comes. And I'm very releived I at least garnered a response from this guy - because he's a notorious non-responder. But the text is something to the effect of..."sorry - I've got alot going on" - so he doesn't feel like talking or hanging out. Ah...KARMA. Isn't that just what I told Joe Schmo on the phone? Yes - you asshole Shannon - it is. And suddenly the irony and the tragedy of this fucking situation has come full circle and slapped me in my arrogant and egomaniacal face. That's what I get I guess. Payback is a BITCH (just like yours truly).

So on I drive....or should I say crawl.....another 30 minutes in the shitty (now Orange County) traffic, with a knot in my throat, feeling like I'm about to start crying for no good fucking reason - only to get home to my empty old house. With no one there to listen to my shitty-day tirade....and no one around who wants to talk to me (except that guy I'm not interested in) or make me feel better about being alone and overworked and totally underappreciated.

Fuck it. As this long rambling blog has probably indicated...I've decided to drown my sorrows in alcohol and sad country love songs. As a serendipitous footnote to the emotional commute from hell...as I pulled into my driveway and got the last text from my friend...thanking me for being "so cool and understanding" about the fact that he doesn't want to talk to me - this old 1980 song by Johnny Lee comes on the radio.....HOW FUCKING BRILLIANT AND IRONIC is the timing of THAT?!?!? God, that's just priceless. Que the soundtrack to the last fucking 10 years of my life.

Yeah...I guess I'm looking for love (understanding, friendship, support and company) in all the wrong places. Tou-fucking-che'.

I'm having another vodka cranberry and pouring my ass into bed. Tommorrow's gotta be better than this.

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.