So what really happens to cops in certain assignments? Like undercover work. Drugs? Prostitution? If they are doing online surfing for child predators, do they skate over to delve into the deviance of unlawful solicitation? No. In fact, that question might enrage people. WTF?
What's up with all that, Fargo? Where you comin' frem and wher' ewe goin' ta? Wall I well tell ewe.
Isn't hillbilly writing fun?
|This might be more meaningful than my words.|
Anyway, basically...sometimes you get some mental damage or mental garbage...i.e mind channeling dyscombobulation...going on in your head which may or may not be recognized by yourself or others.
Whew. That was a lot of science in one sentence.
For example, when I had a case involving a creepy creeper child molester (yes, that includes all of them) with multiple child victims and the cases included creepy touching, fetishes, and brutual mental or physical victimization...I sometimes went through periods of time where I could not have sex with my husband. I didn't want to. Anguish. That would describe it. It wasn't like the well went dry to be blunt. It was all up in the head and trickled down to the vagina and no desire. In fact the thought grossed me out a time or two. Nothing against my husband at the time. But I was broken.
Yes, there will be those naysayers out there who say..."Oh, you are just a girl and it is just a hole, stop saying you didn't haven any desire or things didn't want to work that way. Excuses. Lube it up and go." And those who say "a man is sensitive and we can understand about the kiddos, but the vajayjay takes a pounding and no big deal."
See. I still have some issues with wording from my cop days. It just all comes out like that. Crude and shit.
Did I seek any assistance like counseling or some super hot sex therapy or some sexual study?
Was there a magic pill to take?
Cuz there wasn't any. I didn't ask a doctor. Besides, Viagra was new. There was no Viagra for women and that wouldn't have cured the images in my head that were messing with my thoughts. I mean, when a 79 year old tells you the 3 year old was promiscuous and wanted it...it fucks you up. Especially, when you see the sexual assault aftermath to the child.
I couldn't talk about it...OUT LOUD. How embarrassing. IT WASN'T TRUE ANYWAY. I WAS THE QUEEN OF DENIAL. IT WASN'T HAPPENING TO ME. I WAS JUST REALLY TIRED AND OVERWORKED.
I couldn't even talk about it to my husband. Conveniently I would find something to kill that moment whether it was exhaustion, more work, kiddo stuff, or stalling. Occasionally I would have a drink to take the edge off and just be dutiful.
He sometimes noticed I wasn't myself. Or that I was not enjoying anything.
I lied about it.
Anyway...along came some decompression time...patrol duty...and the sexual revolution of me in my 40's. Wahoo! I was alive and horny. Like way.
It still continues. Not the dysfunction. Anyway. TMI.
Endorphins run high at my house! Woop! Woop!
Now you know the rest of the story.
Speaking of mind gunk...
Recently, I realized my antisocial behavior and decompression mode has actually damaged my fun meter and now that I am back at being a social person at work and in my personal life with fishing and cop culture...I feel a little sunshine coming back. And confidence. I'm running and racing. Not winning the pack, but not last. Family (Bug and dogs) stuff is going full bore again.
Yet, I still love my independence and alone time. So I need to find a balance. When you are in the fog of war, you are oblivious to what goes on around you sometimes and how things affect you until it is over. It is true with work issues, depression, family drama, and decompressing from cop life. You just know you aren't on par and sometimes you aren't really happy. It sucks monkey ballz actually. You have to figure it out.
I was in a rut for a long time. Here is briefly what I learned...actually...it's the stripped down commando version...
Book writing saved me during the serial killer moments. Running has helped me physically and mentally. Food is energy, not a crutch. I must never stop drinking on occasion and smelling the roses to make sure they do smell.
And sometimes when life hits you in the kiester, you need to use butt salve and move on with it.
|Yep. There it is.|
|This is new and can't be used by cops.|
That all needed to be said.
Because I know I was not alone out there.