Flashback to when my case began. March 1, 2007.
I was 18 years old. I had called off from work that day to stay home with the baby my son's father had with another woman. He had been living with her when he met me the year before. Later, I'd learn he was still living with her at that time. My son's father had called me one time and said he was making a drug sale. I asked him where the baby was and he said he had left him at home by himself. When he went back to the house, the baby was crying hysterically. That child wasn't even four months old. From then on, anytime he'd ask, I'd babysit.
A few days before that, he had beat me up. The baby's mother and him had gotten into an argument over me, I assume, because in between punching me in my face and kicking me, he'd yell, "You ungrateful bitches!!... You know she flushed my shit?!" From that, I knew he'd move his drugs somewhere else.
When the detectives knocked at my door, they told me they were there to discuss my friend's sister, a minor who had run away from home. When we found where she was, I was the one who went to pick her up. The detectives asked to come inside so we could speak privately and I let them.
As soon as I sat down, they informed me they were also investigating a Silent Observer tip that I was running a meth lab from my home. One of them said he could already tell that wasn't true but wanted to know if there were any other drugs in the house. My heart dropped to my stomach. I knew my son's father had moved his drugs and it was very likely he had moved them into my apartment. The detectives asked to search my apartment. I said no and asked them to leave. The other one said, "We can do this the easy way and you let us take a look around or we'll leave and come right back to kick your door down, call CPS to take that baby and take you to jail."
I asked them to leave at least three or four times and they refused. I was so afraid I began to cry. I didn't know what to do. My son's father was calling my phone back to back. He knew they were there. I was afraid to answer but the detectives knew it was him calling. I ended up answering once and he told me to tell them to get out. I did again but they still wouldn't go. They asked me to agree to a "walk through" where they wouldn't touch
anything, just walk through the house and leave. I just wanted them to
go. I said yes and they immediately began opening up cabinets and searching drawers.
The detectives found money, a scale, ripped baggies in the garbage can and close to 4.5 oz of crack cocaine. They put it all in a grocery bag and told me not to tell anyone they were there but that if they found my finger prints on any of those things, I would be going to jail. Before they left, they asked me to call my son's father and say "Why'd you leave drugs in my house?" so they could record it for evidence that the drugs were his. I refused. They asked me if I was afraid of him. At that point I was crying so hard I couldn't speak anymore. I shook my head no and they left saying they'd be in touch soon.
Over the next few months, they introduced me to the DEA and attempted to federally indict me on a conspiracy charge in connection with another investigation they had going on with a drug dealer who was affiliated with my son's father. I worked at Target at that time and the detective would come while I was at work and just stand there watching me. They followed me several times, trying to get me to make a statement against my son's father. I refused every time. They threatened me with federal indictments. It scared the hell out of me but for whatever reason, I never even thought to cooperate. At that time, I saw law enforcement as my enemy. They had turned my life into a living hell. Popping up at my job, calling my phone all hours of the day, pounding on the windows of my apartment to get me to answer the door. That went on for almost two months, then I rarely ever heard from the DEA or those detectives.
Sunday, August 18, 2013
Saturday, August 17, 2013
"... I didn't want to stay, I felt OBLIGATED to."
It wasn't ALL bad, ALL the time. There were times that we laughed, yes. But I think the moment I learned I was pregnant was when I realized that that was not the life I wanted. Even though we barely talked, I remember calling my sister, breaking down and confessing that I didn't want to have a baby by him. Even in the blindness of love and infatuation, something about knowing you'll be responsible for another life allows you to see things so much more clear.
At that time I knew of six other children of his before mine. Six children by six different women. Of those children, he'd pick and choose which ones he wanted to deal with. I even heard him telling his mother one time, "If I don't fuck with them, you don't fuck with them either!" (Yep, in regard to his own children.) To me, that meant I'd have to be a slave to that relationship in order for him to be a father. That's not what I wanted for my baby - a sometimey, whenever-I-feel-like-it father. But I had already been charged with Delivery and Manufacturing of a narcotic, had lost my job because of it and was fighting the case, now pregnant. I didn't even know if I myself could be there for my baby.
After I had my son, I was sentenced to prison, signed up for boot camp while there, completed the program and was able to come home early. Now after that, I honestly can't remember any good times with my son's father. No laughing, not even a desire to be there. The beatings became worse. He dragged me down flights of stairs, beating me in front of neighbors. I, myself, became angry all the time. I couldn't believe I had gone to prison and come home to the same bullshit: him putting his hands on me, women knocking on my door, calling my phone, calling my parole officer to get me sent back to prison. And we had a baby now. But I realized that that was it; that was what life would be like as long as I stayed.
Thankfully, my son never saw his father hit me. He did beat me in another room while my baby was in the house. I called my friends to come get my son because I wanted to kill him. I really did. To this day, I have never been more angry. But I saw it hurt him more when he came towards me and my baby pushed him away and began crying. My baby was afraid and he could sense his father was hurting me. My heart broke. I didn't want my son growing up feeling like he had to protect me from his own father. And at not even a year old, that's what he was doing.
I sat my son's father down to talk and told him I had to leave; that I couldn't do it anymore. I was miserable and I wanted better for my son. His voice cracked when he told me he needed me to stay. He was being investigated by the DEA (Drug Enforcement Agency) and felt his time was running short. Although I didn't want to stay, I felt obligated to. WHY was I so weak?! He had so much control over me. I think more than he himself even knew.
He would spend nights away from home with another female. I found out about her, she knew about me and while she'd try to argue, I'd try to get her to get him to leave me for her. I'm not sure if she thought I was being sarcastic. I remember telling her she could have him. I felt bad for her because I knew she didn't know what she was getting herself into but I wanted out. Every night I prayed. I WEPT, begging God to get me out of that relationship, no matter what it took. I was too weak to leave on my own. Whatever that hold was over me, I couldn't break it.
He was federally indicted soon after. I had only been home for 6 months. I'm unsure where I or my son would be now if he hadn't. Not saying I wished it on him. His own actions got him there and I would never wish something like that on anyone. But I do believe what happened was necessary for me to be able to make a better life for myself and my son.
At that time I knew of six other children of his before mine. Six children by six different women. Of those children, he'd pick and choose which ones he wanted to deal with. I even heard him telling his mother one time, "If I don't fuck with them, you don't fuck with them either!" (Yep, in regard to his own children.) To me, that meant I'd have to be a slave to that relationship in order for him to be a father. That's not what I wanted for my baby - a sometimey, whenever-I-feel-like-it father. But I had already been charged with Delivery and Manufacturing of a narcotic, had lost my job because of it and was fighting the case, now pregnant. I didn't even know if I myself could be there for my baby.
After I had my son, I was sentenced to prison, signed up for boot camp while there, completed the program and was able to come home early. Now after that, I honestly can't remember any good times with my son's father. No laughing, not even a desire to be there. The beatings became worse. He dragged me down flights of stairs, beating me in front of neighbors. I, myself, became angry all the time. I couldn't believe I had gone to prison and come home to the same bullshit: him putting his hands on me, women knocking on my door, calling my phone, calling my parole officer to get me sent back to prison. And we had a baby now. But I realized that that was it; that was what life would be like as long as I stayed.
Thankfully, my son never saw his father hit me. He did beat me in another room while my baby was in the house. I called my friends to come get my son because I wanted to kill him. I really did. To this day, I have never been more angry. But I saw it hurt him more when he came towards me and my baby pushed him away and began crying. My baby was afraid and he could sense his father was hurting me. My heart broke. I didn't want my son growing up feeling like he had to protect me from his own father. And at not even a year old, that's what he was doing.
I sat my son's father down to talk and told him I had to leave; that I couldn't do it anymore. I was miserable and I wanted better for my son. His voice cracked when he told me he needed me to stay. He was being investigated by the DEA (Drug Enforcement Agency) and felt his time was running short. Although I didn't want to stay, I felt obligated to. WHY was I so weak?! He had so much control over me. I think more than he himself even knew.
He would spend nights away from home with another female. I found out about her, she knew about me and while she'd try to argue, I'd try to get her to get him to leave me for her. I'm not sure if she thought I was being sarcastic. I remember telling her she could have him. I felt bad for her because I knew she didn't know what she was getting herself into but I wanted out. Every night I prayed. I WEPT, begging God to get me out of that relationship, no matter what it took. I was too weak to leave on my own. Whatever that hold was over me, I couldn't break it.
He was federally indicted soon after. I had only been home for 6 months. I'm unsure where I or my son would be now if he hadn't. Not saying I wished it on him. His own actions got him there and I would never wish something like that on anyone. But I do believe what happened was necessary for me to be able to make a better life for myself and my son.
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