P1 First Person: Battling back: My path to sobriety

By John O’Connor
Police1 Member

Perdition: A state of final spiritual ruin; loss of the soul; damnation.

I knelt there on the pavement my wings clipped, sword shattered, clutching at my badge, which was the last piece of the protector’s armor that I had no choice but to surrender.

I had always wanted to be a police officer. I came from a police family, generations of NYPD and New York State Police it was only logical that I would carry it through to the next generation. It was in my blood of course, and I couldn’t wait to get to my 21st birthday.

So I did the next best thing — in 2000, I enlisted in the U.S. Army as a Military Police Officer. I was a successful soldier, promoted to Sergeant, a paratrooper, a K-9 Handler, Patrol Supervisor, among other law enforcement positions. I served in Kosovo and Iraq. During my tour of duty I saw my fair share or combat, and was awarded the Purple Heart and Army Commendation Medal with Valor Device. I was on the way up until my injuries made it so I was not viable for deployment. It was a desk job or get out of the Army and move on with my life.

“I’m no desk jockey,” I said to myself so I’m out of here.

I started looking for a job in law enforcement, besides that’s where I wanted to be anyway. I was soon hired at a large agency in Maryland that was fighting with high crime, plenty of calls, and there was work to be done. This is any cops dream. It might just be holding back the floodgates, but heck it was fun and I loved every minute of it.

My fall from grace began before I knew it was happening. I did not realize I had more to worry about than the physical injuries. I had fought the good fight while I was over there and I brought it all back with me. My faith was gone — there could be no God.

I lost a total of 27 friends and family members in two years — some to suicide, some to war, and some just because it was their time. Amazing Grace and TAPS adorned a new meaning to me that no one but me of course could ever understand. The pain I felt was like nothing I had ever felt before in my life — it was like I was fighting for my life everyday.

“I can’t talk about this,” I’d said to myself. “They’ll take me off the street and I can’t have that.”

So I found a way to fix this without even trying to look. It was easy... just a quick stop at a party, surround my self with other cops, have a few drinks and on to the next day and the next shift. Soon, I found it hard to sit at home. No sirens, no buddies, just me and my thoughts. That was an easy fix I would only have one drink enough to relax. After a short time I found myself looking at the bottom of an empty bottle wondering how it got that way.

Ah, hell, who cares — I mean, really, it was just one bottle. I said if the signs are there my leaders will see it and say something. I’m good! This is what we do! Little did I know I was hiding it very well.

It was Police Week, and I was in Washington DC, out with a group of fellow officers. We hit the streets, visit the memorial, hit the bars, and indulged in the... well, I wish I could remember the rest in the middle. Most of it is a blank, but what I do remember is leaving them and ending up at a Metro station where I left my cruiser. I don’t remember hitting the sidewalk or flattening the tires to even out the damage, but what I do remember is the supervisor showing up.

“Oh shit, what did I do? This isn’t me.”

I had hit bottom and I felt the fall. It is a gut wrenching feeling, my mind is in disarray, and the emotional pain is excruciating.

The fall from grace is not a pleasant one. It had all caught up with me. The trip to IAD and then the drive home as a passenger felt like an eternity. My life was over “what am I going to do now?” I sat there on the pavement in ruins and all I could do is fall to my knees.

“What did I do? Someone please help me.”

Then the phone rang. It was my father. A call I did not want to answer, as I had to reveal to him what had happened. That call would be the call I needed and not the one I wanted.

“You’ve got a problem son, and you need to get some [bleeping] help.”

I did seek help, but this was a living hell I was in. The shame of dishonoring all that I and other brave men and woman stood for. I could not look anyone in the eyes. I still could not believe there was a God.

Screw that not with everything I saw and of course He let this happen to me. What a fool I was.

I ended up at a friends uncle’s house on Thanksgiving. He didn’t want me to be alone he said to me. It was obvious I was in pain and suffering. Everyone saw it in my eyes — I know they did. I made it through most of the night with my head down and not a soul bothering me about it until his uncle sat down next to me looked over and placed his hand on my shoulder, “You know God isn’t mad at you, why don’t you come to church this Sunday.”

He got up and left.

I realized he was the Pastor of the church.

I did and I found my faith again. It helped in not just my recovery from Alcoholism, but the unseen terrors of war the four letters that most cops cringe at PTSD. I soon found myself in the rooms of Alcoholic’s Anonymous and a Police and Combat Veteran PTSD expert.

I asked myself, “Will I ever be a cop again?”

I mean, this is my calling. I loved helping people, getting the bad guy, and just the job all the way around. It seemed impossible. Who would want me? I’m not perfect. Look at this black eye.

The traffic tickets were dropped in court my record was expunged. Why could they not see past all of this? It wasn’t me I am not that person I never really was.

I thought you have to be perfect to be a cop. I of course got denied at every turn but I would not stop until I could redeem myself. I needed to give back. I had taken so much. I found just the place — or I should say, this agency found me.

It was a small one-officer agency. They could not afford to pay another officer, but needed one. They had just started a reserve program so I took the job. For a year I worked 30 plus hours a week as a volunteer police officer for this municipal agency working hard and giving back. I faced constant ridicule from former colleagues, and there was no doubt the whispers were there. It made it tough, but I had made my amends I needed to focus on what was important.

This was the most rewarding police job I ever had.

Sobriety and dealing with problems instead of putting them in a small box was working. Soon a chief from another local agency heard and saw my work and offered me a grant-based position at his agency. It was not much, but after no real income for a nearly two years it was a huge blessing, my pension was just not cutting the mustard anymore. Through all of this I stayed faithful I reached out for help when I needed it, and stayed in the rooms. The small antidotes got me through the memories that were there and I joined a Veterans Group that dealt with issues similar to mine.

I have since that time left that agency, and am now the director of a successful training firm that helps provide great training to law enforcement officers. I had to do what was best for my family. I know that I will return one day to the blue line and be able to serve, but this is the path that He has laid out before me.

Some might say this story ends it all — well, you sealed the deal buddy, you will never be a cop again after you have this published.

Well, I have to tell the story to every background investigator, so what’s the difference if it’s published?

If it helps just one veteran or officer I can live with that outcome.

I have written this because there are veterans and police who are — or who have been — in the same situation as me. We all know one, and unfortunately we might know one that has taken their own life as a result of knowing the shame that will come as they fall. I have lived through this hell and hope that even if one fellow officer reads this they will know there is a way but its not easy, I can promise you that, but there is redemption thorough your perdition and no matter how hard or long the fall is what really matters is how you get back up!