If you are the father below who posted the following comment on 4/16, I implore you to please contact me.
I am so sorry that I did not understand that which you said when I read your comment the first time. I have sent an email to the email address you registered to the Blog with and it contains my phone numbers.
If you used a bogus email address when you registered, then please email me at firstname.lastname@example.org.
Please trust me when I say I know where you are, and that I truly understand where you’ve been. I also do not do well in those cages, but your life is worth so much more than that, and the day may come when your children come of age and try to locate you.
Please, if you’re still with us, contact me. I truly want to help you.
The following was posted as a comment to the OCFFR Blog by DeadbeatDead on 4/16/2012:
When my Mom was dying in the April of 2003, my ex-wife used my leaving to see her as an excuse to move on….as in get a divorce. She was pregnant with a set of twins at the time. I didn’t understand it then and I damn sure don’t understand it now. However, you all are reading the words of someone who is about to travel down that road and by the time that you’ve read this; I will probably be eternally relieved from my pressures in life.
She changed her phone numbers, filed for the divorce and I didn’t even know the names of the kids until I got a letter from the Kern County Child Support Office. People told me to go on, to live my life and I attempted doing so. I met a nice woman who had two beautiful girls and we started a life together. The whole time I was looking over my shoulders and wondering even though that I am in South Carolina would California law make it’s way to that state. At this moment in time I didn’t know if the kids were mine or not. I felt like the walls were closing in on me when I had got a decent paying job that required for me to open up a bank account through their designated credit union and while they were running a credit report for me the woman told me that one ding in my credit is from the Texas Attorney General Office for Child Support.
Seven years later into my new relationship and out of nowhere my ex-wife shows up calling my Father. She stated that she has two twin boys and that they are mine. The reality came more clear when she sent me pictures in my cell phone. One of the kids in my mind kind of resembled me.
During my first conversation with my ex-wife after seven years of our separation she told me that she was cheating on her husband with a drug dealer named Kemal and that she was residing in Virginia Beach, Virginia. Her husband was a U.S. Marine by the name of Sharif and they have two twin girls together. She went on to tell me that while she was out spending the night at her boyfriend’s house that her husband came in and molested the boys while they were asleep.
One thing lead to another and she was about to be homeless. I’ve never met these kids before and she stated that she needed me to come pick them up before the State took custody of them.
I rented a Mustang and drove up to Virginia Beach from South Carolina at the last minute to pick them up. The plan was for me to hold them for the summer. However, when I obtained the kids and brought them back to live with me, their behavior wasn’t that of a five year old. They were acting more like two year olds. They didn’t even know how to wash, wipe their own butts or even eat with a fork. Come to find out that the allegations that were made against Sharif were false and that they were coached into making up these lies. I even attempted to contact the case worker in Virginia to clear that man’s name. It done me no good.
The state threatened to cut her money for the welfare that she was receiving and out of nowhere she blackmailed me with turning me in for non-support and having me incarcerated if I didn’t give the kids back to her. Fearful of jail I gave them back.
People told me to get a paternity test before I raised another finger or sent her another dime. I thought that I had a right to ask for one in this case. However, when I was coming back to my apartment one night some neighbors told me that the Sheriff’s Office was at my door and that they were looking for me. In that area, police ’roundup busts’ are common. In the midst of my running, the Family Courts finally tracked my social security number down and started deducting the full amount of my child support from my unemployment benefits.
Before I was captured by the officers I fled to a friend’s house in sheer panic. I went into hiding for months staying at hotel rooms and friend’s houses funded by my weekly unemployment benefits. The thoughts of being locked in a cage scared the ever loving shit out of me. I picked up on binge drinking and chain smoking cigarettes. With the only thing that kept me company was a computer I had done some Youtube videos about my views of the world until a friend of mine had told me to try live social broadcasting.
This kept me company for a while. I would play the role of a radio DJ and entertain a chat room of people from around the world. I finally found a place to reside where nobody could find me which would be the house that I grew up in. The only thing that took my mind off of the harsh reality was firing up my webcam and broadcasting to people around the world with my music and my personality. I would drink myself to sleep plenty of nights while talking to people via skype (an online telephone service) that I met on the internet.
One day that wasn’t enough. I was tired of going out on the town wondering if I had got questioned by any officer for my identification that they would see the warrant that was out for my arrest. I couldn’t even walk down the street or drive anywhere in fear that an officer might run my license plate in and pull me over.
When conversing one night I was told by a friend of mine that I met on the broadcast site to face the music and get it over with. The thought scared me. I contemplated for a week how I was going to end my own life. I went out that Monday and treated myself to a good meal, chatted with a friend on skype from a restaurant via my laptop and told her all kinds of things about me….my favorite place to go in my town and the things I like to do there. I pretty much gave her a virtual tour of my favorite coffee house.
Thursday was going to be the day that I made up in my mind to end it all. I had got to drinking and pretty much told my close friends that I was dead anyhow. That was going to be the night. I loaded the shotgun and put it under my chin. I went to pull the trigger and it wouldn’t fire.
I threw the gun down, stood up and with tears in my eyes I looked in the mirror. I couldn’t take the hurt anymore, I couldn’t take the pain or the stress. I pulled the title to my car out, signed the back of it and left the keys on the stove with a note to whatever family member wondered where I was. I didn’t want my family to find me in that house with my head blown off. I went to turn myself in and faced the music. With a beer buzz from the night before I stepped out into the warm spring sun and walked a mile from my house to the bus stop. I got on the bus and caught it to the main terminal in Downtown and walked up Main Street with the fear that I was facing coming more of a reality.
I remember walking across an interstate overpass and looking down at the interstate and thinking to myself that it could be much easier if I climbed the rail and jumped into oncoming traffic. But I kept moving forward.
I remember approaching the Detention Center. I lit a cigarette as I looked at the building. I walked closer and closer. When I got to the walkway a woman asked me if she could bum a smoke. I had nearly a full pack and I handed them all to her and told her that she could have them. A woman that was standing there with her (which was her mom) asked me why would I give away a whole pack of Newports being that they are expensive. I told her that I was turning myself in. She just ran up to me and hugged me as if she was a long lost family member. I stood outside and smoked one last cigarette before I walked in the lobby and seen the desk officer. I gave him my license and told him that I was turning myself in.
He took it to the back and came back outside and stood tall but not in a fearful way. About five minutes later a male Sheriff’s Deputy called my name, I walked up to him when he told me to face the glass door in front of me and put my hands behind my back.
He told me that I would have been better off turning myself in on a Monday being that I would probably not have to spend a weekend in jail. I remember telling the officer that I was going to kill myself the night before when something inside of me would rather face the music and live. He had taken down the numbers of the family members I had given them to let them know where I was and one of his primary concerns was if there was a loaded firearm in the house.
When walking to the detention center by the same officer and his female partner, they told me that everything was going to be alright and that she would be praying for me. When I was checked into the jail I was taken to what looked like a cage where the guy with no emotion to his face asked for every article of my clothing right down to my underwear and told me to bend over and cough. Then he handed me what they called a suicide smock or what is also known as a turtle suit.
He then shackled me from head to toe and escorted me to a room where there was nothing but a hole in the floor and fecal matter on the ceiling. This is when they gave me what they called lexapro….the generic brand that didn’t come out on the public market until last month and this was last year when I turned myself in. I was an experiment. I woke up in sweats and had panic attacks. I tried to sleep for the most of the time and when I thought I was asleep for hours, it was like only two hours.
Day number 2 in there I was wishing to dear God that the gun had have went off. It wasn’t until Monday when I could get released from that shit hole and it felt liberating to have been going in with the general population instead of being stuck in that goddamn room.
I found out that night that Osama Bin Laden was killed and people were celebrating. However, I had a court date the next day and I was trying to convince myself that everything was going to be alright. I didn’t sleep the night before. I spent it looking out of the window at the cars driving by and thought about the lyrics to the Johnny Cash song.
Tuesday I seen the Judge. They brought me in the court room wearing handcuffs and shackles. My lawyer was there and even he was about to be in tears from the pain that he had seen on my face.
The Judge had a reputation for being a bigot but somehow he had seen where my unemployment was paying the support and told me to try to get the order reduced. I was released a different person. I was traumatized by being in there. I AM NOT GOING BACK!!!!!
Since then my support came from my unemployment which the benefits are now exhausted. If I don’t find a job soon and now I’m in the midst of losing my place to stay; they will come looking for me again. However, I am not taking that chance. I would rather die than to go on living with that fear on my brain.
I am not a criminal. When you are in jail you see how inhumane that people can be. I feel sorry for people now more than ever that have to serve one minute in that shit hole. Boiled eggs and cold grits for breakfast, bologna sandwiches and a bag of chips for lunch, some kind of bullshit substance for dinner shitting on an iron toilet, no fucking cold water. That is not me and I will never be there again.
I just hope that one day our government ceases to victimize people like me. I am not a deadbeat Dad and even if I was, I am not a criminal deserving of that treatment. Women all day everyday can put their kids up for adoption, abort them and not have to worry about this kind of abuse throughout the course of their lives.
I wake up every morning wondering where these kids are. Will they ever see me again and how they are getting along. The legal system is not on my side on this one and why should they be?
I don’t want to live like this any longer. I am the richest poor man that anyone of you could ever know. I can be in an expensive resort one weekend and be in the ghettos of South Carolina the next. Those are just some of the curveballs life has thrown me.
Be that as it may, I want to bid you all a farewell and hope that your struggles are not as bad as mine have gotten.