I know some of you have been missing my fictional story-telling. I needed to do some work on a special story... My real story.
Tagline: "Feeling pain, doesn't mean you quit."
Tagline: "Feeling pain, doesn't mean you quit."
My first 19 years in 7 point summary:
- I was abandon, I thought I was not wanted.
- I was touched and injured by evil.
- I was touched and injured by evil again.
- I tried to quit life.
- I found something to love in myself.
- I was found, loved, and redeemed by another.
- I discovered how much I was loved all along.
Yup, one of you actually said that. Easier said than done...
Mohsen is a man who understands dealing with hopelessness and pain*. He saw the look on my face and knew what I was gonna do. He sat up with me, ate with me, and would not leave me for three days and nights. By which time I was in a better place, and the self destructive urges faded back to a manageable level.
Events of the last few days/weeks have been reminding me of when I lost my
voice for 2 months, and the foster-father who took it from me. When
Zahir entered my life, I was still dealing with the emotional and legal impact of being sexually assaulted
by my foster-father and foster-brother.I thought all of this was behind me. Shrinky Dink** gave me a refresher in trauma triggers. There are somethings that will always be with me, both good and bad.
Point Three & Four
Meet: "The System"
Social Services, Department of Child Services, Department of Child & Family Services whatever you call it they are all basically the same; a bureaucracy that is chartered to protect those who are too young, too old, or too weak and cannot defend/fend for themselves. In Florida the bureaucracy is "The Department of Children & Families."
Meet: "The Fosters" (painting with a broad brush, loaded from MY perspective)
- To those who think I am to hard on DCF, you are right. This is the closest you will get to an endorsement from ME: "The system is often under-funded, over-worked, and tied to an inflexible rule book governing the system. Still, it does the best it can under the circumstances. Are there failures and abuses in the system... Yes, systems do not care for kids and the elderly, PEOPLE do." I am gonna describe terms as I lived them.
- DCF Re-Homing: The act of taking a child out of their living environment and relocating them into a hopefully better living environment. Done with great planning, in the least stressful manner possible. This is the textbook norm, and almost NEVER happens...
- DCF Emergency Re-Homing:
- The police show up (hand cuff or threaten the caregivers).
- The case-worker enters and separates the child from the caregiver.
- When in a safer place the case-worker gives a couple trash bags*** to the child (good case-workers buy Hefties***, crappy ones use the thin department issued generic bags***)
- Tell the kid to take a minute or two to collect some things. The kid is often too shocked to fill even one. Imagine trying to pack for a trip not knowing where you are going or how long you will be gone, now imagine you are a child doing it.
- At the end of the allotted time the child and often torn/spilling crappy trash bags*** are whisked past the support system they have known to a strangers car.
- Take them to a cold office while the case-worker does paperwork and starts making placement calls. I have slept curled up in a ball in a corner of an office during this process before, it can take a lot of time.
- The happy case-worker takes the child (and torn/spilling garbage bags) to a strangers home
- There is a brief introduction "These a the 'Insert Name's' they are going to take care of you for a while."
- After the case-worker departs, you take inventory and discover what was missing or fell out of the bag... From my perspective THIS was the norm...
Meet: "The Fosters" (painting with a broad brush, loaded from MY perspective)
- The Young Idealists: Normally liberal arts majors trying to change the world. Nothing wrong with that at all. Most forget the mission is to stabilize and rebuild a traumatized child. I went through a few of these. Many burned out quickly resulting in the reintroduction of the child to the start of the re-homing process.
- The Welfare Parent: The government is gonna give me money to care for another child. Rare... not enough money in it to make the hassle worth the payout. I had one of these, resulting in the reintroduction of the child to the start of the re-homing process.
- The Older Empty Nesters: Loving parents missing the sounds of children in the home. I had three homes like this. Two of them the mom died and dad couldn't (wouldn't) care for the boy. Resulting in the reintroduction of the child to the start of the re-homing process. The other dad went first (vehiclular homicide), mom wanted to keep me but she had Alzheimers resulting in the reintroduction of the child (and introduction of the mom) to the start of the re-homing process.
- The Younger Empty Nesters (often Barren Womb Syndrome - BWS): Loving people needing that missing something. These people normally don't back down from a challenge. They are likely to repeat the process. More often than not it is a home run, just not in my case. The system can and does overwhelm these people. Normally resulting in the reintroduction of the child to the start of the re-homing process.
I was blessed with Mohsen and Stacy twice. They were my (sorry guys) BWS parents. Mohsen (Moe) was born a Marsh Arab (Shia Muslim) from Southeast Iraq. Saddam Hussein's (cowardly) soldiers murdered his parents and left him unable to have kids. Not gonna go further, his story. Stacy grew up in Western Massachusetts. Her brother Ben introduced her to his classmate Moe. A lot of people thought I was their kid. My eyes matched his, and my face looked like her a bit. Mostly I think it was just the fact it was visible that Moe & Stacy genuinely loved me, and I them.
- The asshole foster father, Cul (call me Daddy) Needy. More than anything Cul needed to be in control of something. This guy would show up at his wife's formal affairs in a golf shirt and khakis just to piss her off. Cul was an ass, more so after drinking. (Cul is french for ass)
- The absent foster mother, Nul Needy. She needed success at any cost. Family ticked a "stable" box on her resume. She wanted to be chair-person of a national banking chain by thirty. She wore masculine cut suits to force others to take her seriously. I should have noticed the photos in the home and her office. In almost every photo she and Cul were close but never touched, yet Cul and Vic always were. Later as I enter the pictures, I was often barely in frame.
- Their other foster son, Vic Needy. I would learn Vic needed escape.
- Me, new boy, the replacement. I needed out of the fucking system. I recognized my brain was my way out. Stability for 2-3 years and I would graduate. I could argue for emancipation at sixteen and go to college.
I had been with this family for the better part of a year. It was one of the longer rehomings. I was just starting to trust again, I even unpacked. A lot of kids who are frequently re-homed don't bother to unpack, sometimes for months.
My best friend in the world at that time was my foster-brother Vic. I trusted him with everything in my life. I patterned the character Caerwyn Lloyd after him in 'Desires Silent Scream.' Just like the character Caerwyn, Vic was hiding a secret.
Everything on the surface looked normal. They were a DCF worker's wet
dream. She was a regional banking exec, He was a successful web engineer
who worked from home, perfect for a virtual schooler. They were
upper-middle-class dinks (double income no kids), established devout church family (KJV Southern
Baptist), perfect loving marriage, at least on the surface. I would
learn too late that when Nul was out of town that would
change.
I was 14 years old when this happened. I
guess you could say I came out of the closet at the wrong time and to
the wrong person. I made the mistake of trusting my foster-brother with
my very first boy crush. It wasn't him, it was a hot Cuban guy Marc who
lived down the street. One of the conditions set by DCF for
keeping me in virtual school, was mandatory social interactions. I
played soccer.
The problem was I suck at sports. The good thing about playing soccer
and playing badly is you spend a lot of time on the bench, other than
the mandatory play time for the league. That gave me time to watch the
other sports players in the park.
Vic was 17, one of his chores was to collect me at Tamiami
Park after practice. At first he would walk me to and from the park.
When he turned 16 he got a gift, Cul got him a car.
It's kind of funny when he got the car, we still got home at the same
time. Mostly because he would go off and do whatever he wanted and then
he would collect me at the park.
This was ok with me because it got me what I wanted. Time to walk across the parking lot to the baseball diamonds. He showed up and saw me staring at the baseball diamond. It didn't take too long for him to figure out what I was looking at, or more specifically who.
This was ok with me because it got me what I wanted. Time to walk across the parking lot to the baseball diamonds. He showed up and saw me staring at the baseball diamond. It didn't take too long for him to figure out what I was looking at, or more specifically who.
Vic, teased me on the way home saying I was out of my league. Then he
unleashed a flood of crude gay terms and jokes most of which I did not
understand but laughed at anyway. Vic was letting me know he understood
what I was and was ok with it.
There was an annoyance with this family. I had to go to their Church. Cul's father was the preacher, and he did like his hellfire and brimstone. The man had more in common with Westboro Baptists doctrinally. The Sunday after I came out to Vic the preacher's sermon was about the damnedable sin of homosexuality. When he discovered I was PCA-USA he doubted my salvation.
I was very quiet on the way home and for the rest of the day. Cul realized there was something wrong and asked what the problem was. Vic filled him in on what had upset me and why. I couldn't believe he just blurted it out. I wasn't sure I wanted to be outed to the whole world. Cul told me his father was old school. There was nothing wrong with being gay it just simply was a state of being. He gave me a supportive hug and I fell for it.
Then came the touching, as soon as Nul left for the office each day. Cul would rub my shoulders while I was sitting at the PC for school. YES, I realize my choice to stay in on-line school made me more vulnerable. He would tell me I was too tense for a little man. He tried to lighten the mood by telling off color jokes and smutty stories. It felt wrong but I didn't say anything. I was within a year and a half of graduating. My goal was by 16, and another re-homing might screw it up.
Two weeks later Nul had to go up to New York for a bank conference at the home office. She had been over the southeast Florida region for years and was fighting for a promotion. If she was successful the family would relocate to New York City. There was talk of adopting me and bringing me with. Vic would be off at college by that point.
After we dropped her at the airport and returned to the house the weekend from Hell began. They dosed my sweet-tea at dinner with a crushed Ambien®. I would learn during the trial it was the date rape drug of choice that year. I guess he tried doing it nice for two weeks and he was tired of waiting.
I was in and out of it for two days. I have no doubt they fed me more to keep me compliant. Part of me wants to be angry with Vic, but I can't. He was just like me, a victim. For more than four and a half years Cul used him. The two used me from Thursday night to Sunday morning. It wasn't church and the fear of God that ended the attack, it was Mike the Cop.
Mike had been my ad-hoc big brother since Candice burned me with the car lighter. He kept it up even after he retired. The fourth Sunday of every month we would go fishing me, his boys, him and his wife. Cul Needy lost track of what week it was. He remembered to call his dad with the family is sick story, but forgot to call Mike.
Whatever they had given me, started wearing off. Apparently they wanted me clear-headed for when Nul returned. The two took turns being "tender." Trying to talk me into the belief that this was something I wanted. That we shared something "very special." All I knew for certain was that I was afraid and hurting.
When the doorbell rang, followed by a pounding on the front door Cul sent Vic to get rid of who was there.
As soon as I heard Mike's voice I started pounding my foot on the floor and screaming. Cul put his hands around my throat and started to squeeze until I became silent. I heard a sickening pop from inside my neck. I had an odd taste of blood in my mouth. My vision squeezed to black. The last thing I saw was Mike reaching down and grabbing Cul off of me. To this day I swear that I saw my mother behind him.
Later I woke strapped to a gurney rolling into a hospital. It's weird looking up and seeing the fluorescent light fixtures passing. The doctors asked questions and I could feel my lips moving but I couldn't utter a sound.
I learned a lot of things in the ED that I really didn't want to. I learned about universal prophylaxis, and STD risks. The effects of a class IV laryngeal fracture. I learned what bilateral vocal cord paralysis was. Having to experience the collection of the rape kit was the worst. The doctors were very careful to explain all of the things that could go wrong. Nothing prepared me for the loss of control of my bowels due to the damage down there. Or the absolute terror when someone moved to fast around me.
The class IV laryngeal fracture required surgical treatment along with stent placement to keep the larynx and the trachea open. They had to remove a section of the damaged "tissue" and pull the gap shut with plates. I was kept under for most of the first week in the ICU. I now have no visible Adams apple. The doctors, nurses and orderlies were quick to remind me some of this shit would be temporary...
They really should teach medical doctors how easy it is to try suicide in an ICU. I guess I just had enough. My attempt failed when an orderly saw the pool of blood. I spent 30 days in the hospital in the lock-down ward. Therapy sucks when you have to use pen and paper. Then the foster parents whose attempt to adopt me was thwarted by DCF forced their way back into my life. They had to threaten DCF to make it happen.
The defense team for Cul Needy actually attempted to portray me as a hormonal, confused, gay teen who lured their client too far. The assholes even tried to use my suicide attempt as proof of my unbalanced nature.
Vic was given probation for his part in my attack. He was one of the best witnesses for the prosecution. He was also the only one who begged my forgiveness in-person from the stand and in writing. I hope he is getting help. Nul divorced Cul during the trial. She too blamed the gay foster children for destroying her life.
If you've read my blog, you know the rest. It's not my favorite topic to talk about, but something has to change. The system needs an overhaul.
Chase
Notes:
* Understanding Moe: Battle of the Marshes 1984, and Majnoon Island June 1988...
** Sorry, I just discovered they were a kind of toy in the old days. I gave my therapist the name Shrinky-Dink because it rhymed and he is small like me (I am kinda dinky). No copyright violation was intended...
*** This is a charity I love. I pray for a day when we stop using garbage bags for foster kids luggage. All kids deserve "Sweet Cases"
There was an annoyance with this family. I had to go to their Church. Cul's father was the preacher, and he did like his hellfire and brimstone. The man had more in common with Westboro Baptists doctrinally. The Sunday after I came out to Vic the preacher's sermon was about the damnedable sin of homosexuality. When he discovered I was PCA-USA he doubted my salvation.
Then came the touching, as soon as Nul left for the office each day. Cul would rub my shoulders while I was sitting at the PC for school. YES, I realize my choice to stay in on-line school made me more vulnerable. He would tell me I was too tense for a little man. He tried to lighten the mood by telling off color jokes and smutty stories. It felt wrong but I didn't say anything. I was within a year and a half of graduating. My goal was by 16, and another re-homing might screw it up.
Two weeks later Nul had to go up to New York for a bank conference at the home office. She had been over the southeast Florida region for years and was fighting for a promotion. If she was successful the family would relocate to New York City. There was talk of adopting me and bringing me with. Vic would be off at college by that point.
After we dropped her at the airport and returned to the house the weekend from Hell began. They dosed my sweet-tea at dinner with a crushed Ambien®. I would learn during the trial it was the date rape drug of choice that year. I guess he tried doing it nice for two weeks and he was tired of waiting.
I was in and out of it for two days. I have no doubt they fed me more to keep me compliant. Part of me wants to be angry with Vic, but I can't. He was just like me, a victim. For more than four and a half years Cul used him. The two used me from Thursday night to Sunday morning. It wasn't church and the fear of God that ended the attack, it was Mike the Cop.
Mike had been my ad-hoc big brother since Candice burned me with the car lighter. He kept it up even after he retired. The fourth Sunday of every month we would go fishing me, his boys, him and his wife. Cul Needy lost track of what week it was. He remembered to call his dad with the family is sick story, but forgot to call Mike.
Whatever they had given me, started wearing off. Apparently they wanted me clear-headed for when Nul returned. The two took turns being "tender." Trying to talk me into the belief that this was something I wanted. That we shared something "very special." All I knew for certain was that I was afraid and hurting.
When the doorbell rang, followed by a pounding on the front door Cul sent Vic to get rid of who was there.
As soon as I heard Mike's voice I started pounding my foot on the floor and screaming. Cul put his hands around my throat and started to squeeze until I became silent. I heard a sickening pop from inside my neck. I had an odd taste of blood in my mouth. My vision squeezed to black. The last thing I saw was Mike reaching down and grabbing Cul off of me. To this day I swear that I saw my mother behind him.
Later I woke strapped to a gurney rolling into a hospital. It's weird looking up and seeing the fluorescent light fixtures passing. The doctors asked questions and I could feel my lips moving but I couldn't utter a sound.
The class IV laryngeal fracture required surgical treatment along with stent placement to keep the larynx and the trachea open. They had to remove a section of the damaged "tissue" and pull the gap shut with plates. I was kept under for most of the first week in the ICU. I now have no visible Adams apple. The doctors, nurses and orderlies were quick to remind me some of this shit would be temporary...
They really should teach medical doctors how easy it is to try suicide in an ICU. I guess I just had enough. My attempt failed when an orderly saw the pool of blood. I spent 30 days in the hospital in the lock-down ward. Therapy sucks when you have to use pen and paper. Then the foster parents whose attempt to adopt me was thwarted by DCF forced their way back into my life. They had to threaten DCF to make it happen.
The defense team for Cul Needy actually attempted to portray me as a hormonal, confused, gay teen who lured their client too far. The assholes even tried to use my suicide attempt as proof of my unbalanced nature.
Vic was given probation for his part in my attack. He was one of the best witnesses for the prosecution. He was also the only one who begged my forgiveness in-person from the stand and in writing. I hope he is getting help. Nul divorced Cul during the trial. She too blamed the gay foster children for destroying her life.
If you've read my blog, you know the rest. It's not my favorite topic to talk about, but something has to change. The system needs an overhaul.
Chase
Notes:
* Understanding Moe: Battle of the Marshes 1984, and Majnoon Island June 1988...
** Sorry, I just discovered they were a kind of toy in the old days. I gave my therapist the name Shrinky-Dink because it rhymed and he is small like me (I am kinda dinky). No copyright violation was intended...
*** This is a charity I love. I pray for a day when we stop using garbage bags for foster kids luggage. All kids deserve "Sweet Cases"
If my story touched you, Please consider buying a Sweet Case.
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