Hello, All,
I have been retired for two and a half years from a 32-year LE career that began in Northern Indiana and ended in South Florida. Last December 30, I was diagnosed with PTSD and Clinical Depression. I also suffer from a number of stress-related illnesses that have wondering if I will live long enough to collect Social Security. I am on an SNRI medication and I am receiving cognitive therapy.
I used to think I was a tough guy and that the job would never affect me. I shook my head in disbelief when my brothers-in-arms “cracked-up” and got fired, or took their own lives. I KNEW it would never happen to me. I was a smug bastard and I was in denial for years. That smugness cost me my soul mate, and two failed relationships after the divorce. I live alone now, voluntarily sequestered inside my home as if it was a jail cell. I have exactly two friends, and both live out of town. I am, however, blessed with three great sons, my salvation, none of whom, by design, followed me into police work. Even in denial I realized at some level there was a serious inherent danger, and I don’t mean the nonsense they showcase in stupid movies and TV shows.
Like the rest of you, I’ve seen the blood and guts, held dead children in my arms, had a shootout, and all the rest. That wasn’t nearly as damaging as the abjectly poor, malevolent management endemic in police work. We all know the kind, they move up the ladder, their skill and commitment inversely proportional to their personal ambition. I’ll spare you all the gory details. Let it suffice to say I retired a sergeant, working midnights in the ghetto, punished for being right. And not for the first time. Had fun, by the way!
Am I bitter? Hell yes, I’m bitter! I put my heart and soul into the job. Seven of my last ten annual evaluations were the highest score possible. I authored a good portion of the agency’s operations manual. I flew helicopters in the aviation unit. Yet I retired a sergeant, working for individuals I FTO’d years before.
I suspect many of you reading this have had similar experiences and that is the point of my post. PTSD has a set of diagnostic criteria that includes the assaults on our integrity. Every time we work hard and are slapped down, we are left wondering what is wrong with us. We ask ourselves what could we have done better. We internalize comments, threats, demotions, and other indignities by individuals who are unfit to shine our shoes, and we know this, even as we allow them to damage us.
That’s the bad news.
The good news is this.
1. We are human beings, not robots. Things that affect us, negative or positive, become part of us. Who of us would want to be so cold as to remain unaffected by, for instance,the death of a child? Our humanity is also the key to our salvation.
2. We can still be “tough” and be emotionally affected by our experiences. My last year, on midnights, I led from the front. Age before beauty, boys. I WAS a tough man. Still am.
3. Our condition is treatable. Very, very treatable. We can learn to put the negatives in their proper place in our lives and go on. We can be happy.
These things I have already discerned from my treatment, although I have a long way to go.
Boys and girls (I’m a boy), if you are affected and know it, get treated. You are not a wuss, a weenie, or other more colorful adjectives for doing so. If you had appendicitis you would get treatment. Same thing.
You wade through blood and guts as easily as anyone else takes an evening stroll. You are fearless in the face of danger that would have weaker individuals peeing their pants. You are one of the very few from whom others find comfort and safety. You are a superhero.
You are hard. Born again hard, Hard as granite. You can also suffer from PTSD and guess what? If you do, you are still all those things. Maybe even harder, braver, and more selfless that those who, thankfully, do not share your burden.
You know how you can be even better?
Get treated.
Godspeed.
