A Deal With The Devil

I am sure you are all wondering what happened to me. So vocal at one point, and then suddenly silent.  The truth is, I made a deal with the Devil.

Four months after the Final Decision giving custody to my abusive ex husband, I received a phone call from him telling me that he was homeless, his relationship with the woman that was so wicked to the children was over. He had nowhere to go, so he moved into my 20 year old daughters one bedroom apartment and asked me if I would allow my son and daughter to come and live with me.

I couldn’t believe it was happening. Could I really be checking on sleeping children at night again? I was overcome with excitement, and of course agreed that they would live with me. There were issues that needed addressed with the court though such as child support, and the parenting plan. Mr. Koontz promised to go to the judge to notify him.

First weeks, then months passed. For the first time he was peaceful, we were getting along again and I chalked it up to the evil girlfriends absence. She fueled the fires. It was so nice to have peace, that I didn’t risk going to the judge myself. I was afraid to lose what he had given me.

Months went by, then a year, then more. My son’s grades improved, my daughter was happy and doing well in school.  Then I became more and more upset that he was ignoring his promise to notify the judge. Meanwhile, child support racked itself up, and he was not paying for medical bills because of our agreement.

In August he was settled into his apartment and demanded that the youngest be on a 50/50 time share with him, and that my son stay in my house because he had no room for him.

I was exhausted, I was back at war with him again. I was so defeated from the trial that I couldn’t bear the thought of going in front of that judge again, knowing I would be unprotected just like last time.

I didn’t fight. I just gave up. I took whatever he gave me, and that was that. I wasn’t strong. I was weak.

I didn’t know how bad things had become for my daughter. I didn’t know that she lays awake cutting her body open at 3 am. I didn’t see the marks. Until October.

In October Jillian was visiting with me on my weekend and I noticed a cut on her arm. She tried to lie, but I found more. Soon I told her to remove her clothing down to her underwear. That’s when she said “I might as well just show you.”

What I saw was unimaginable. Scars covering this beautiful young lady, all over her thighs, up and down her arms.  Then I was told that her father knew. His help for his daughter? He yelled at her and told her not to do it again.

I kept Jillian home from school for a week searching for a place that I could afford to take her to without insurance.  I got her into a program, and she saw a psychiatrist. I had to lie and say that she lived with me in order to get the funding.  Since then she sees a therapist twice a month, and is under psychiatric care.

The safety plan that they developed included removing sharp items. Her father never did that, nor trimmed her nails which she uses to hurt herself. The cutting continued, but again, I wasn’t told. I thought that she improved after the therapy began, but the truth was  it was getting worse.

I text my daughter a song about happiness on Sunday. She replied saying Ya, I regret not being baker acted. I think it would have been the best thing to keep me safe. I called her and became so worried about her suicidal thoughts that I immediately drove 27 hours straight through a storm to get to her. On my way she text me saying that her dad wasn’t home and as usual,  there was no food. I gave her my credit card and tried to contact him because nobody had been able to reach him for several hours.

He didn’t reply to me, and instead called her screaming “Are you talking shit about me to your mom?” over and over. He bullied her as if she were a grown man on a job site, and yet this is a very fragile little girl that weighs 109 pounds.

She called me and was terrified, waiting for him to come home. She hung up with me when he did. The next thing I know, she is texting me that she is running away and going to a friends house. The story that she recounted reminded me of the days when I lived through his abuse. I feel so guilty that I am out of the situation, and yet my children are still living it.

They are afraid to make reports of their fathers poor behavior because when they were brave enough to speak against him at trial, it all backfired on us as custody went to dad, and the kids were punished for speaking up. What they took away from that was to never speak against their dad. So they don’t. They say nothing until I hear from one that they are running away.

I told her not to do that and that she could come to my house. I told her to ask her dad if my roommate could come and pick her up, I was still driving. He said “Fine, Whatever.” and went to “sleep” on the couch.

I had every intention of filing for an emergency hearing, and taking her to a domestic violence shelter. I took her to Melbourne, and initiated an abuse report which opened an investigation. I contacted CASA to arrange emergency shelter. I contacted a hospital to evaluate my daughter. They determined that her case was severe enough to warrant a baker act.

I met with DCF at the hospital regarding her father terrorizing her Sunday night.  More and more police filed in. They were nasty toward me and I began to feel the energy of the excitement that Police get just before they get to drag someone to jail, and realized the tables had turned and I was on the defensive. They began questioning me for the crime of kidnapping, making it appear that it was a part of the DCF investigation.

I asked “Am I being placed under arrest?” To which the meanest of them replied “You might be… you had no business taking this child away from her father.”

What happened next was a blur. The police were so mean and argumentative, that they said that they wished they could take me to jail but that it wasnt their call, it was up to my home county which did not issue an order to arrest at this time. The police told me that they are going to call my ex, and tell him that they will come to the civil trial to tell the judge all of the bullshit that I was spinning in there.

Bullshit? Apparently he didn’t take the time to look at the scars that cover this childs arms and legs.

During the trial her pain was invisible. It was only on the inside, and the guardian ignored the childs reports of her sadness and unhappiness living with her dad. They ignored her pleas to be returned to her mother.

My daughter has fixed that by destroying herself on the outside to reflect the destruction on the inside. There is no place for her to turn, no one that takes her seriously.

I am not allowed to visit her so once again we traumatize her. We take her away, make her feel alone in a strange hospital, and don’t even allow her a parental visit. The cruelty is absurd. Her father didn’t visit.

At this moment I am receiving photos given to me by a friend of hers from a secret instagram account. I viewed only four before screaming and puking. There must be sixty more to view. The worst of them they say have been removed. Probably by instagram. I am horrified by that thought, because these photos are disturbing.

So once again I am going public, and asking for your support funding legal representation for myself and others involved with the ongoing kidnapping investigation, as well as an attorney to represent us as we attempt to change the custody order.

The nature of this case requires a special attorney, I do not have a specific retainer amount yet, but I have contacted three attorneys that seem appropriate and will keep the financial information updated.

This has literally become a matter of life and death. Please help me save this child. I have turned to every authority possible, to no avail.

Your my only hope.  Please give what you can.

My deepest gratitude,

Tanaha

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