Former Foster Child
Posted: Mon Apr 29, 2013 2:46 am
I am a 6 year survivor of foster care in Franklin County Ohio (FCCS). Although I am a survivor of the Big Pharmaceutical initiative to drug children of 19 years. I was an exceptionally bright child, genius in fact, and I'm not boasting. At the age of 32 months I had mastered reading at an Early Childhood level (Dr. Seuss, Danny and the dinosaur, et al.) and I was picking up adult subject matter from context. I began writing short stories about Princesses and Fairies. My dad was deployed to the Philippines as an officer in the US Airforce and my mom was busy finishing her BA of English. My dad returned unexpectedly from his deployment on a Dishonorable Discharge due to a Cocaine addiction he had obtained while overseas (to this day we think he was drugged by someone over a period of time before accepting the drug without reservation). In either case I was only 1 at the time. My parents had my sister a little after my second birthday and my first memory in life is that of my mother (pregnant with my brother) being pushed down our flight of stairs by my dad and her pleading with him not to take the last of our money.
It was one of the many times he disappeared.
Understandably by the time I entered Kindergarten, I was plagued with demons, and emotionally unstable. The school pushed for my parents to put me on medications for ADHD and then threatened CPS is they didn't. So I was sent to a myriad of psychiatric facilities over the following 7 years. My dad left our family permanently when I was 8. My mom developed depression and panic attacks and eventually Munchhausen Biproxi concerning my medical treatment. I was shipped to these residential facilities for the first time at the age of five after an adverse reaction to the Ritalin I was prescribed. They kept me for what was supposed to be an overnight medication evaluation. I was pocked and prodded; blood draws at all hours of the day and night, urine tests, and a stint in a locked down facility for teenagers. The first night I couldn't sleep and got out of my room several times crying because I was a 5 year old who missed her mommy. The third or fourth time around they took my teddy bear from me, two grown men tackled me into a restraint and they locked me in isolation for the rest of the night. The next morning when my mom showed up they told her I needed to be transferred for "further evaluation". I threw a typical, everyday, child tantrum demanding to leave with mommy. They restrained me again and gave me a shot of trazadone because I was "exhibiting unsafe behavior".
We will just say that this got worse over time and I was on 14 medications by the age of 12. Including Zoloft, Clonidine (for sleep lmao!), midrin for the migraines, and long-term long-range antibiotics for my kidney (I was only born with one) because it was acting up after the extensive doping. At this point my mom was a complete advocate for my "need for medications" and would regularly throw me into these systems where I was physically, emotionally, medically, and on one occasion sexually abused. The reason CPS stepped in? Because after a 13 day bought of insomnia my 12 year old brain snapped into psychosis. I hallucinated and tried to kill my mom (but given the number of drugs, their side effects, and the lack of sleep it's not suprising!). The police were called and I was placed in Juvenile Hall overnight, which was actually more lenient than the treatment facilities.
The next day I went before a judge in ankle shackles and handcuffs to learn my fate. Without a single mention of the 13 days of insomnia, without a hint of knowledge about the medications I was taking, and with a gusto not unlike 4 year old girls playing candyland she labeled me unruly and relinquished my custody into the hands of FCCS. This was April 2nd of 2001, I had turned 12 less than a month beforehand.
I didn't grasp what had happened, blinded by hatred for my mother's disinterest in my sufferings, and still high on the elation of the medications, I didn't protest. I smiled at my mom and flicked her off as I was led out of the courtroom to wait for my transporter. I arrived at my first placement in the clothes on my back. The Foster mother embraced me and reassured me with comforting words of acceptance and understanding how "difficult this transition is." I was then invited to play outside with my new 11 year old foster sister while she and the caseworker discussed my placement. After my caseworker had left the change was immediate and frightening. I was stubborn though. The medications that had caused this whole episode, sat there on her kitchen counter and she started to count out my dosage. I gave her an incredulous look and absolutely refused. She said we could do this the "easy way or the hard way". And I smiled and said, "I'm not unfamiliar with the hard way." At which point she knocked me from the stool I had been sitting on, slammed my head with brute force against her kitchen floor and "restrained" my arm behind my back until I had to fight not to scream in pain. That was the beginning of hell. The rules were authoritarian. The cereal was in marked containers and labeled for the day of the week we were allowed to eat it, when we cried we stood in front of the mirror and said "I'm pathetic" 100xs, Painful restraints were a norm and if we were busy doing something we were ordered to and had an accident in our underwear she would make us wash it in scalding bleach water until our knuckles bled and then crumble potato chips over them or just flat-out pout salt into the open wounds. When we fought she had us stand out front in suggestive poses with each other for the neighborhood to see. Some major offenses like attempting suicide, running away, or skipping school were punished by having us stand with our knees locked grasping out ankles for 5 hours or more at a time and if we didn't the oldest foster sister would either beat us until we complied or we would have our shoulders dislocated and reinserted. We usually took the 5 hour torture without question. She took our possessions and reminders of life back home and threaten to destroy them whenever an allegation of abuse or a threatened allegation of abuse came forth. When I finally met with my caseworker the day of court I had been instructed to say that my mom was an alcoholic and sign the paperwork. I was in the courtroom when this was presented to my mom and she basically just gave them custody of me. I had tried to tell her everything she wanted to hear but it was a feeble vise. I went back for more fake hugs and comfort and began 2 years of hell that ended when I finally ran away, in November, snowing, no coat, no shoes... I ran for miles through plowed frozen cornfields slicing my feet into oblivion. I had run away once before to no avail. The worst part of this is two-fold; for one this woman was able to adopt my then 13 year old foster sister with MRDD and once the foster system stipulations were gone with her the poor child was beaten on a daily basis. Back handed off her chair at dinner and slammed into the wall until her nose bled. I fought like hell to convince the police who had picked me up and then the DHS agnecy they dropped me off at of the abuse. She was a licensed foster parent until a few years ago due to health issues.
The next home wasn't any better. The woman was really old and bitter. There was never any food in the house and she would keep our $30/month allowances for anything we missed while detailing her house each day as she sat in her kitchen chair reading. She ended up putting a 30-day notice of removal in for me after two months and I was placed with a really sweet lady only to be told that my runaway attempts made this a temporary home and I would soon be moved to a familiar residential facility, the one I was raped in, because I was unruly. I saw my caseworker for the first time since the relinquishment of custody 3 years prior as I entered the facility. I flicked the whole staff team in charge of my "care" off as they strolled in to discuss why I was there. And I was shocked when they said it was because I had slit my wrists in a suicide attempt! I protested and ranted pulled up my sleeves to show that I didn't have so much as scratch on them. I knew it was pointless in the beginning but I was angry! These facilities are a joke and a half! We are placed on level systems based on performance of menial tasks and following rules for several weeks. Saftey 1 and 2 are total lockdown statuses. You either spend the entire day being monitored (bathroom and shower times as well) or in the isolation room for 2-4 weeks. Then you are moved into Level 1 where you can have a crayon to write with and napkins to write on/ you may shower in privacy. Level 2 you can watch tv and participate in gym and card games etc. Level 3 allows you to have a pencil/pen and paper to use. Level four allows you a radio in your room and off campus trips. To reach level four, if it's done perfectly, would take 3-4 months. And I refused my medications so it took me six months. Safetys are used for stupid things like passing notes at lunch or taking extra shower time (the purpose in their statement is to moitor after a major episode if you're a danger to self or others.). You regain your level after a day of isolation basically. Saftey 2 voids your level status and you work your way back up. I was restrained and refused my prescription glasses then forced into a 40 minute isolation term for not taking a shower on a safety. The worker there told me to bark like a dog and do other stupid demeaning things to get out of isolation. There is no therapy. It's groups of why we were there and how the group thought you could change your behavior. Most kids would disrupt it out of pure boredom and fights were daily. We got an individual counceling session each month with our clinician (if she had time and you weren't on safety) and for me it was about admitting that I had cut my wrists and needed my medication. When I got out the next few homes were a blur of mundane control. Then I got sent to a guardianship with a super religious evangelical family that forced me to go to church 3-4 times a week, told me how my spiritual level with Jesus would never be that of their daughters, tried to do a few exorcisms on me, and eventually accused me of trying to sleep with the father of the family who was 40 years old/having had lewd contact with their daughters. They locked me in the basement until they were ready to shuffle me back to FCCS.
I was a 4.0 high school student, I was doing summer school to graduate at 16, I was on ensemble, and placed in our track and cross-country teams up to district finals and states. I didn't smoke, drink, use profanity, and had had sex with one boyfriend twice a year prior. When they sent me to another residential facility I played the ultra-religious card to my advantage, moved up to off-campus trips, and walked from the East side of the city to the West side of the city where I lived with my boyfriend and his family until I aged out. I completed my online high school courses at this time and ran from the police trying to get me back into the system. I graduated with my class vs early, went to college and got a 4.0, we married, have three kids, and then found out that I have complex PTSD and it's the reason I can't hold a job for more than the first few weeks-3 months. We are now fighting to get SSDI because I will likely never be functioning enough for a full 8 hour shift with the rate at which I have panic attacks , social anxiety, and flashbacks. And now that I need help, now that I'm the one calling the shots over my own life, now that I am trying to move forwards with everything I've had to stop trying because Social Security wants to have CPS make sure our children are cared for in such an "Uncertain Atmosphere.".
CPS needs to be abolished and needs to be held accountable for the lives it's ruined and taken for the past 30 years!
It was one of the many times he disappeared.
Understandably by the time I entered Kindergarten, I was plagued with demons, and emotionally unstable. The school pushed for my parents to put me on medications for ADHD and then threatened CPS is they didn't. So I was sent to a myriad of psychiatric facilities over the following 7 years. My dad left our family permanently when I was 8. My mom developed depression and panic attacks and eventually Munchhausen Biproxi concerning my medical treatment. I was shipped to these residential facilities for the first time at the age of five after an adverse reaction to the Ritalin I was prescribed. They kept me for what was supposed to be an overnight medication evaluation. I was pocked and prodded; blood draws at all hours of the day and night, urine tests, and a stint in a locked down facility for teenagers. The first night I couldn't sleep and got out of my room several times crying because I was a 5 year old who missed her mommy. The third or fourth time around they took my teddy bear from me, two grown men tackled me into a restraint and they locked me in isolation for the rest of the night. The next morning when my mom showed up they told her I needed to be transferred for "further evaluation". I threw a typical, everyday, child tantrum demanding to leave with mommy. They restrained me again and gave me a shot of trazadone because I was "exhibiting unsafe behavior".
We will just say that this got worse over time and I was on 14 medications by the age of 12. Including Zoloft, Clonidine (for sleep lmao!), midrin for the migraines, and long-term long-range antibiotics for my kidney (I was only born with one) because it was acting up after the extensive doping. At this point my mom was a complete advocate for my "need for medications" and would regularly throw me into these systems where I was physically, emotionally, medically, and on one occasion sexually abused. The reason CPS stepped in? Because after a 13 day bought of insomnia my 12 year old brain snapped into psychosis. I hallucinated and tried to kill my mom (but given the number of drugs, their side effects, and the lack of sleep it's not suprising!). The police were called and I was placed in Juvenile Hall overnight, which was actually more lenient than the treatment facilities.
The next day I went before a judge in ankle shackles and handcuffs to learn my fate. Without a single mention of the 13 days of insomnia, without a hint of knowledge about the medications I was taking, and with a gusto not unlike 4 year old girls playing candyland she labeled me unruly and relinquished my custody into the hands of FCCS. This was April 2nd of 2001, I had turned 12 less than a month beforehand.
I didn't grasp what had happened, blinded by hatred for my mother's disinterest in my sufferings, and still high on the elation of the medications, I didn't protest. I smiled at my mom and flicked her off as I was led out of the courtroom to wait for my transporter. I arrived at my first placement in the clothes on my back. The Foster mother embraced me and reassured me with comforting words of acceptance and understanding how "difficult this transition is." I was then invited to play outside with my new 11 year old foster sister while she and the caseworker discussed my placement. After my caseworker had left the change was immediate and frightening. I was stubborn though. The medications that had caused this whole episode, sat there on her kitchen counter and she started to count out my dosage. I gave her an incredulous look and absolutely refused. She said we could do this the "easy way or the hard way". And I smiled and said, "I'm not unfamiliar with the hard way." At which point she knocked me from the stool I had been sitting on, slammed my head with brute force against her kitchen floor and "restrained" my arm behind my back until I had to fight not to scream in pain. That was the beginning of hell. The rules were authoritarian. The cereal was in marked containers and labeled for the day of the week we were allowed to eat it, when we cried we stood in front of the mirror and said "I'm pathetic" 100xs, Painful restraints were a norm and if we were busy doing something we were ordered to and had an accident in our underwear she would make us wash it in scalding bleach water until our knuckles bled and then crumble potato chips over them or just flat-out pout salt into the open wounds. When we fought she had us stand out front in suggestive poses with each other for the neighborhood to see. Some major offenses like attempting suicide, running away, or skipping school were punished by having us stand with our knees locked grasping out ankles for 5 hours or more at a time and if we didn't the oldest foster sister would either beat us until we complied or we would have our shoulders dislocated and reinserted. We usually took the 5 hour torture without question. She took our possessions and reminders of life back home and threaten to destroy them whenever an allegation of abuse or a threatened allegation of abuse came forth. When I finally met with my caseworker the day of court I had been instructed to say that my mom was an alcoholic and sign the paperwork. I was in the courtroom when this was presented to my mom and she basically just gave them custody of me. I had tried to tell her everything she wanted to hear but it was a feeble vise. I went back for more fake hugs and comfort and began 2 years of hell that ended when I finally ran away, in November, snowing, no coat, no shoes... I ran for miles through plowed frozen cornfields slicing my feet into oblivion. I had run away once before to no avail. The worst part of this is two-fold; for one this woman was able to adopt my then 13 year old foster sister with MRDD and once the foster system stipulations were gone with her the poor child was beaten on a daily basis. Back handed off her chair at dinner and slammed into the wall until her nose bled. I fought like hell to convince the police who had picked me up and then the DHS agnecy they dropped me off at of the abuse. She was a licensed foster parent until a few years ago due to health issues.
The next home wasn't any better. The woman was really old and bitter. There was never any food in the house and she would keep our $30/month allowances for anything we missed while detailing her house each day as she sat in her kitchen chair reading. She ended up putting a 30-day notice of removal in for me after two months and I was placed with a really sweet lady only to be told that my runaway attempts made this a temporary home and I would soon be moved to a familiar residential facility, the one I was raped in, because I was unruly. I saw my caseworker for the first time since the relinquishment of custody 3 years prior as I entered the facility. I flicked the whole staff team in charge of my "care" off as they strolled in to discuss why I was there. And I was shocked when they said it was because I had slit my wrists in a suicide attempt! I protested and ranted pulled up my sleeves to show that I didn't have so much as scratch on them. I knew it was pointless in the beginning but I was angry! These facilities are a joke and a half! We are placed on level systems based on performance of menial tasks and following rules for several weeks. Saftey 1 and 2 are total lockdown statuses. You either spend the entire day being monitored (bathroom and shower times as well) or in the isolation room for 2-4 weeks. Then you are moved into Level 1 where you can have a crayon to write with and napkins to write on/ you may shower in privacy. Level 2 you can watch tv and participate in gym and card games etc. Level 3 allows you to have a pencil/pen and paper to use. Level four allows you a radio in your room and off campus trips. To reach level four, if it's done perfectly, would take 3-4 months. And I refused my medications so it took me six months. Safetys are used for stupid things like passing notes at lunch or taking extra shower time (the purpose in their statement is to moitor after a major episode if you're a danger to self or others.). You regain your level after a day of isolation basically. Saftey 2 voids your level status and you work your way back up. I was restrained and refused my prescription glasses then forced into a 40 minute isolation term for not taking a shower on a safety. The worker there told me to bark like a dog and do other stupid demeaning things to get out of isolation. There is no therapy. It's groups of why we were there and how the group thought you could change your behavior. Most kids would disrupt it out of pure boredom and fights were daily. We got an individual counceling session each month with our clinician (if she had time and you weren't on safety) and for me it was about admitting that I had cut my wrists and needed my medication. When I got out the next few homes were a blur of mundane control. Then I got sent to a guardianship with a super religious evangelical family that forced me to go to church 3-4 times a week, told me how my spiritual level with Jesus would never be that of their daughters, tried to do a few exorcisms on me, and eventually accused me of trying to sleep with the father of the family who was 40 years old/having had lewd contact with their daughters. They locked me in the basement until they were ready to shuffle me back to FCCS.
I was a 4.0 high school student, I was doing summer school to graduate at 16, I was on ensemble, and placed in our track and cross-country teams up to district finals and states. I didn't smoke, drink, use profanity, and had had sex with one boyfriend twice a year prior. When they sent me to another residential facility I played the ultra-religious card to my advantage, moved up to off-campus trips, and walked from the East side of the city to the West side of the city where I lived with my boyfriend and his family until I aged out. I completed my online high school courses at this time and ran from the police trying to get me back into the system. I graduated with my class vs early, went to college and got a 4.0, we married, have three kids, and then found out that I have complex PTSD and it's the reason I can't hold a job for more than the first few weeks-3 months. We are now fighting to get SSDI because I will likely never be functioning enough for a full 8 hour shift with the rate at which I have panic attacks , social anxiety, and flashbacks. And now that I need help, now that I'm the one calling the shots over my own life, now that I am trying to move forwards with everything I've had to stop trying because Social Security wants to have CPS make sure our children are cared for in such an "Uncertain Atmosphere.".
CPS needs to be abolished and needs to be held accountable for the lives it's ruined and taken for the past 30 years!