Pages

09 February 2015

OK, Huddle Up. Here's the Plan...


I was talking to a dear friend of mine a little while ago who, like me, had been going through a separation and subsequent divorce.  Its hard just talking about it...let alone living and experiencing it.  And they asked me what have I done to turn it around for me.  With the one year anniversary of my soon-to-be-ex-wife's announcement that she wanted a divorce, I guess its as good a time as any to look back and see what I've done to right the ship and keep her sailing true.  Perhaps it'll help my dear friend.  Or maybe some others.  It'll certainly help me make sure I'm still following my game plan. 

For anyone who has suffered an unexpected and intense loss, your world immediately gets caught in a free fall.  I know.  That's what happened to mine when she told me she wanted out.  As I've been told and have learned since, the end of a marriage is a loss.  Your mind can react as if it was the loss of a loved one.  My mind was out of control.  I couldn't shut off, or even slow down, the racing thoughts screaming through my head.  Sleep was nearly impossible.  I immediately took off a week of work to simply gather myself.



I had to do something to begin to regain some semblance of control with my life and put the brakes on that free fall.  For years, I didn't want to, or perhaps couldn't, admit that the job, my profession that I loved and sacrificed so much, was a significant cause to my now seemingly out of control life.  Having realized the probable affects of all the trauma, despair, and stress I've experienced throughout my career and the now very real need to vomit my thoughts and feelings on someone who could provide me with tangible help, I looked for a therapist who specialized in, or at least had been exposed to, posttraumatic stress like issues.  That...was step number one...

So, for those struggling to find their center, quiet the noise, stop the free fall, or however else you want to describe your desperate desire to pass through the storm, here's what I did and its worked pretty well...

  • Professional help.  Yeah, it super sucks that you have to admit that you can't handle every major league crisis that presents itself in your life by yourself.  But guess what?  You can't.  And that's OK.  I've been a law enforcement officer for 21+ years and for me to seek out assistance was a big blow to my ego.  But it was the best decision I made throughout it all.  Mental health professionals are just that, professionals.  Helping people through rough waters in their lives and helping them self-evaluate is what they do.  People call the police to report a burglary because we're the experts.  They don't call an electrician.  Admittedly, my first therapist was good at listening and that was about it.  I needed more than that...my friends can listen and they're free.  I needed a no-bullshit assessment of me and my life.  But more importantly, I needed tools that I could take with me from my therapy sessions to utilize when something else came along down the road...because, inevitably, something would.  After my first one bombed, with some help from my support (next one on the list), I was able to find a kick ass therapist.
  • Support crew.  Say what you want about Facebook, but it was a saving grace for me.  Because I wasn't finding solace with my first therapist and I was still trying to keep my head above water, I joined a couple of groups (open and closed) on Facebook, Police Survivors of PTSD, Damaged on Duty, Code 9 - Officer Needs Assistance, Surviving the Shield, and Serve & Protect to name a few.  People who like these pages and are active participants in the groups' discussions have been through their own trauma and depression.  They, too, are police officers or other first responders such as paramedics, firefighters, etc.  Joining in the conversation and realizing that you are not alone in your struggles is enormous.  My first open, public remarks about my own problems and my collapsing marriage were made on Code 9.  It was a gamble, but it sure did pay off.  Hundreds, literally hundreds, of people...complete strangers, but brothers and sisters in arms nonetheless...commented, supported, and shared.  It may seem morbid, but it was refreshing to see that I wasn't the only one battling demons.  It was therapeutic.
  • Roots revisited.  Without a doubt, over the years, I drifted from those activities and places that made me who I was...backpacking, hiking, soccer, photography, and more.  I slipped into this mind numbing routine of finding an excuse to not get my ass up and moving to do those things I enjoyed, whether it was by myself or with someone special.  So, they fell by the wayside.  Get back to what made you whole.  I began playing soccer again in a local indoor league and I returned to the outdoors.  We've all heard it...exercise helps reduce stress.  For me, perhaps more importantly, the activities occupied my time.  I wasn't just sitting on my ass in my apartment staring at four bare walls feeling sorry for myself.  I knew I had to pull myself up from the proverbial boot straps and get moving.  So, I did.
  • Do more.  And along with getting back to my roots, I decided that there was no better time than to try and do some activities I've always thought about doing.  I began swimming.  I always enjoyed swimming and, when I was a kid, my siblings and I were on the local pool's swim team.  But that was 30+ years ago.  And I also tried Bikram hot yoga.  Now, my brother swears by it and say what you want about yoga, but until you try the hot yoga, you don't know jack shit.  That first session kicked my ass...probably the most exhausting workout I've ever had.  Admittedly, I was just a tad underprepared...I didn't hydrate.  So, 75 minutes into the 90 minute session, I began to cramp up.  Bad.  My hands and toes curled up and my mouth began to pucker so much that I couldn't talk.  I had to crawl out of the room and into the hall where they gave me a drink powder mix that had electrolytes.  Within minutes, I was OK, but the experience had forever burned a memory into my brain...drink lots of water before yoga.  I went back the next day for my second season.  I loved it.  And then I also signed up for my first triathlon.  Yup.  At 44 years old with zero experience or exposure to such an event, I jumped right into what many in the tri-state triathlon circuit (apparently) consider one of the most difficult courses.  Fun.  Although my goal was to simply finish the tri, I seriously thought I was going to drown within the first hundred yards.  But I gained my composure and, sure enough, proudly finished my first triathlon ever.  I signed up to do five this year.

  • Quiet time.  We all need it.  I know I did, but I never really set aside time to have it...peace and quiet.  I certainly wasn't going to find it at work and when I came home, although I just wanted to "veg out" and do jack shit, I sometimes felt guilty about not playing with my daughter.  But we all need that time to ourselves to recharge.  So, one of the very first things I did was sign up for gentle yoga (the exact opposite of hot yoga).  The first time I ever went to a yoga class, my wife had taken us.  I hated it.  I was the only guy and I didn't know "downward dog" from "doggy style".  I was intimidated by my very amateur level compared to all the women in the class, including my wife.  And for a cop, that's a horrible combination.  But I signed up for my first class during my free fall because I knew of the benefits that yoga can offer.  And when I arrived for that initial session, I was 15 minutes early and there before the instructor.  There was no way I wanted to miss it.  Since then, its been my anchor.  Its that one block of time during my week that I know, for sure, I'll have calm and peace.  That simple 90 minutes allows me to refocus on myself and my healing.  Its a cleansing.
  • Open up.  Easily, however, the most critical aspect of my game plan was to open up about what was going on with me.  Although I've had serious traumatic events throughout my 21+ law enforcement career, the significant one took place in August 2001.  It wasn't until May 2014, after my wife told me she wanted a divorce and I was now sitting on a couch in my psychotherapy nurse's office that everything became so much clearer.  She's asking me questions, screening me, in an attempt to find out what's up with me.  At the end of her inquiries, I pause for a moment or two, anticipating her conclusion, but I got nothing.  I couldn't take it.  I needed to know.  So, I said, "OK.  What does that mean?  What do I have?  What's going on with me?"  She told me I had posttraumatic stress disorder and depression.  Holy shit, I thought.  What a relief...I now finally knew what had been going on with me all of these years.  I was seriously almost overjoyed.  Now knowing what was going on gave me the knowledge to then begin my healing.  For almost 13 years, the demons had been beating me down and my loved ones along with me, but no longer...it was my time to fight back.
That's what I did.  And am still doing.  Its gotta be on going, otherwise, I could slip right back into that well of darkness.  To each his own, of course, but if you're suffering and need some help getting back on your feet and pointed in a different direction other than down, I hope this helps.  Just do something.  And if you need an ear, please reach out.  healingtheblue@gmail.com

02 January 2015

I Admit It, I'm a Fucking Asshole

I worked last night and it was, well...it was New Year's Eve...

Around 0430, I make a car stop.  It's a drunk driver.  A female.  And her boyfriend is in the car, his car.  I arrest her for the DUI and place her in the backseat of my cage car.  As you can imagine, the dude is not happy...his woman is handcuffed and in the back of a police cruiser.  His virility has been challenged.  So, he becomes a little bit lippy...whatever.  I could care less.

But he moves towards my car in an effort to try and talk to his girlfriend when my back up officer tells him to move back.  This pisses him off and says he only wants to make sure she's safe.  I tell him she's fine...she's in our care and custody.  He replies, "Fuck you guys. I don't trust you. It may not have been you (pointing to me) or you (pointing to my back up) that shot them, but you guys kill people.  The police have killed a lot of people.  And for no reason."

So, I ask him if he's being robbed, who is he going to call?  (Two things...Please don't immediately say or think "Ghostbusters" and please know that robbery is the taking of something by force or fear of force. Robbery is usually violent.)  He says, "I'm not calling you guys.  You guys are fucking assholes."

Yeah, I'm the fucking asshole that earlier in my shift was dispatched to a domestic violence in progress, but diverts to a "mayday" call at our county's crisis center because some crazy chick, whose real name is Princess, but believes she's God, is attacking a crisis counselor and security guard with a knife.

Yeah, I'm the fucking asshole who then gets dispatched code 3 to another domestic violence in progress, where the 12 year old caller is scared shitless because his mom and dad are fighting...again.

Yeah, I'm the fucking asshole who responds lights and siren to a suspicious situation for an open 9-1-1 line with sounds of screaming and yelling in the background to find out a boyfriend and girlfriend were fighting while her 4 year old was present.

Yeah, I'm the fucking asshole who stopped and arrested the drunk driver who was racing down a residential street, possibly preventing him from hurting or killing himself...or much worse, someone else...a family,  maybe.

So, yeah, I'm the fucking asshole that stopped and arrested your girlfriend, who was almost twice the legal alcohol limit, while she was driving you home.  Maybe she would've made it unscathed.  Or maybe she would've wrapped herself...and you...around that tree or light pole.  Our maybe she would've crossed that double yellow line and struck that family minivan as it was returning from a gathering of friends and family, hurting or killing all or some on board.  Or maybe she would've struck and dragged that pedestrian who was simply taking her regular early morning walk.

We'll never know because that didn't happen.  No.  I stopped her.  This fucking asshole.  You were able to go home with your buddies who came to get you.  After she was processed, she was able to sleep in her own bed.  That family made it home to spend more time together.  And that walker was able to complete her ritual to start her day.

I'm not looking for thanks...no way.   Not by any stretch.  I just want the respect for what I do.  I don't think that's much...you'd want it to.

So, on behalf of me and the other almost 800,000 fucking assholes I call my brothers and sisters in blue...Happy New Years.  I'm glad you made it home safe.