Except for one Friday. After he moved out the kids started climbing in bed with me. Being a very light sleeper I became increasingly aware of my son's snoring. There were times during the night he would stop breathing altogether and gasp for air. It frightened me to no end. I did what any decent parent would do. We have two family friends who are ENTs and I planned on seeing both of them. I schedule an appointment and contact Satan via email to let him know what's going on.
He responds and insists on being present at the doctor's appointment. He had rarely, if ever, been to a doctor's appointment over the last five years. We were only communicating via email at that time because my attorney suggested I keep a record of our conversations and we couldn't be on the phone without screaming at each other. I told him which doctor I had chosen and told him I would make sure he was willing to accept a phone call so he could discuss the situation with him after the appointment. I proceeded with the appointment. The doctor did in fact take his call and we both agree (again via email) that our son requires surgery to remove his tonsils and adenoids. I respond to his email explaining that prior to having the surgery I wanted to meet with the second doctor. He agrees and the whole argument on who will be present at the doctor's appointment ensues yet again. Same result. Again, Satan speaks with the doctor and we agree our son requires surgery.
After that decision is reached I pick the physician, schedule the surgery, and send an email message letting him know when, where, and who. I, of course, would not keep a parent from being with their child during a surgery. I just choose to stay as far away as possible from him at the hospital. The physician I chose did surgery on Fridays. In the message I tell Satan this and explain that that particular weekend I would keep my son and care for him after surgery. He doesn't respond to my message so I assume he's in agreement.
Friday afternoon following surgery: The police show up at my door. I'm exhausted. I haven't been able to get my son to eat a popsicle or take a sip of water for that matter. I invite them in, but ask them to be quiet. My son is still heavily sedated and hadn't been out of bed all day. They come in to my house, I sit down in the front room, and they show me a copy of the court order giving Satan permission to pick the children up. I told them we had an agreement and offered to provide them the email transactions. They didn't care to see them. I told them my son is very active and bleeding out within the first 48-hours is a risk for active children, as I was instructed by the doctor. Satan was already publically hanging out with his new gal who had a child my daughter's age, and my active little son liked to be in the middle of all the action. I also explain to them that I'm not refusing to let my daughter go with her father, but am refusing to carry my son's dead weight body out the door and place him in his father's car. I'm also refusing to let him enter my home. Not that he would have at this point. I think he was scared of me. He knew he had pushed me too far. I ask them to leave.
Two weeks later I'm served with a Summons for Custodial Interference which states, "REPORT TO THE _____ COUNTY JAIL FOR AN IMMEDIATE BOOK AND RELEASE PRIOR TO YOUR HEARING." I call ahead to see how long the process would take and am told, "Fifteen minutes." I arrive at the jail in the heat of summer in shorts and a halter top for what I assume will be an office procedure, but fifteen minutes of hell nonetheless. Fifteen minutes my ass. I am at the jail for SEVEN hours because those morons can't lift my fingerprints on their state of the art equipment. Yes, I'm booked; they take my mug shot, and "attempt" to fingerprint me. During shift change I'm locked in a cell with someone I'm afraid to breathe the same air with, so the next round of morons can try their hand. My fingerprints have always been hard to lift. They had to run them two or three times when I worked for the police department and the same amount when I worked for the state, but I thought these bozos were supposed to be experts. It's a laser machine for crying out loud! What the hell? There's no thinking involved, just get my hand in the general vicinity. By the time they put me in lock up for shift change I ask for the lovely jail garb everyone else is wearing. I had already been mentally raped about fifteen times, by prisoners and guards alike.
By the time I got out of there that evening I was wiped. I wasn't angry or sad, just numb. I went home and poured myself a glass of wine … at least one.
Upon walking into the courtroom for the hearing I see my ex already in the room. Fucking voyeur with a little hard-on waiting to hear I was going to jail.
I had hired an attorney for the occasion. I was scared of going to jail. I paid him a $500 retainer. He walks in, talks with the prosecutors, and walks back to me with a smile on his face like he had earned a cookie. Fat bastard. He tells me they reached a deal and told me to plead no-contest to some charge. I can't remember if it was the initial charge or something else he copped to. I refused. After all, I didn't do anything wrong. I was looking out for the best interest of my child.
I fire my attorney and approach the stand when the court recorder calls my name. The judge reads the charges and asks how I plead. I respond with, "I don't know Your Honor. I just fired my attorney, would like to tell you my story, and if you think I was reckless and endangered my children, I think you should put me in jail." He's intrigued and tells the court recorder to turn off the tape. She does.
I tell my story. The judge responds with, "Well if I could tell you how to plead, which I can't, I would tell you to do a plea in abeyance, pay a small fine for the courts time, and this will never go on your record." He looks at the court recorder and tells her to start the tape again. She does. Again he says, "How do you plead?"
I say, "Well Your Honor, I think I'll do a plea in abeyance." He accepts my plea and renders his decision. Before I turn to go he gives me a smile and a wink. Satan looks disappointed and exits the courtroom.
What kind of sick bastard tries to have the mother of his children put in jail? If, in fact, all of this is supposed to be about the children's best interest, how exactly does that serve them? I've never done anything to hurt my babies. I'm not a perfect parent, and yes, I discipline them, and when they've needed it I've given them spankings, time outs, restrictions from TV and toys, but I've never abused them. I don't believe there's any doubt in their minds that I love them and live for them, and they respect me as a parent. I can be their friend, giggle with them, enjoy our time together, and be their protector, their leader, their rock. This isn't always easy to do when I'm afraid of their father.
I've tried to cut him out of my life, but he just finds a way to creep back in. He's always been controlling, but seems to be obsessed when he thinks I might be dating someone or involved in a relationship.
Yeah, this is the same guy who developed a relationship with another woman while I was sick and at home taking care of our two children. During the divorce when the children were with him, he'd go visit his whore, bring their pajamas along, have them go to sleep on the couch while he got serviced in the other room, and wake them to go home in the middle of the night to work his way around the court restriction from overnight visitation with the opposite sex while the children were present. Classy.
The last time I attempted a relationship, about a year-and-a-half ago, he background checked the guy. The guy was clean cut and didn't have any sort of record. He ran a credit history on him too. Why? I should have filed stalking charges. The guy I was dating even contacted the Guardian ad Litem four times to do the right thing and request an interview to make everyone comfortable. None of the calls were returned. Satan works for the court system and has far too many people in his pocket. I'm not going to put someone else through that. Life and relationships are difficult enough without a psychotic ex tracking your footsteps. Who needs that?
Although I've dated my ass off over the last few years, I think this is why I've found it difficult to let myself get close to anyone.
He's at it again, even though I'm not involved with anyone. When is enough enough? Leave me alone, leave my family alone, let me live my life and enjoy my children. That's really all I ask.
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