We’ve all seen the claims on Facebook. The claims of wrongfully taken children who are placed into foster care, and how the system violated the rights of the parents. This isn’t one of those articles. This article is from the perspective of one of those children, now grown. In this article, we are giving the raw details, the only omission will be to their name, as per request. The reasons behind this will be clarified by the end. We also want to state, that the actual story being told is word-for-word what they sent us. Though we’ve separated the story into categories, this is 100% their experience within the system.
As a young child, I had a rather uneventful life. Back in those days, we went to school, we went home, we did normal kid stuff. I had no understanding of the legal system, I thought police were the good guys, and I had no idea what CPS was; that was about to change. I believe I was in fourth grade when they first showed up. To this day, I can recall the caseworker’s name. From what I have learned, over the years, my family was having problems with the principal at my school. As a result of this, he decided to file a false abuse claim against my parents. Keep in mind, I was only a child and yet this scumbag dragged my siblings and I into his problem.
The caseworker showed up, with the police. I may had been young but I wasn’t stupid, I knew something bad was going on. I don’t recall much of it, I guess I blanked most of it out, over the years. What I do recall is the police informing the caseworker that there was no grounds to take us; I had no idea what they were even talking about. It’s important to note that, at this time, my parents were in the process of remodeling the kitchen. Naturally, the kitchen was a bit chaotic, as a result of this. I mention this because it’s going to an important piece of information shortly.
The caseworker was obvious pissed off by what the officer had stated. I recall her telling my parents that, “this wasn’t over. She would be back,” and she was. The following day, the same caseworker arrived with two different officers. These weren’t the same officers she had brought the previous day. Once again, they intruded into my family’s house. They saw the kitchen and the repairs that were being made. More importantly, they saw my father’s 100 year old shotgun. The rifle didn’t work and it was pretty obvious that it didn’t. It hung above the door, which lead into the hallway. It was a bit of a piece of family history, nothing more. That rifle and the kitchen would be the reasons we were removed.
The officers began forcing my siblings and I out the door. I resisted, I began to run up the street only to be caught. The caseworker had informed my parents that the court hearing would be the following day. However, a nosy neighbor of ours overheard her tell an officer to get us to the courthouse because the hearing was actually that day. Thank God for nosy neighbors. My parents barely made it in time, explained to the judge why they were late, and had a seat. For the next several years, this would be our lives. CPS, Court, abuse, Court…you get the idea.
After the circus, or hearing, we were sent to some sort of “halfway” house. I forget exactly what it was. During this time, my parents had limited visitation. They were instructed to not tell us anything about the case. They weren’t even allowed to mention it so we still had no idea why we were taken. I remember it being a Thursday evening. A couple had walked into the facility, they were foster parents. Unfortunately for my siblings and I, they were there to pick us up. Though I tried to fight, I was simply to small to do so. By the end of it, we were in their car, going to some strangers house, in some town I had never heard of. I wish I had been strong enough to fight back, perhaps I wouldn’t have the issues that I now have.
Upon arriving, they introduced us to their family, showed us our rooms, and gave us some food to eat. At first, they seemed like decent people; that wouldn’t last long though. By the end of the first week, the abuse toward me had begun. At first it wasn’t severe, but it quickly became so. I’ll try to detail what I can, just please keep in mind that I have severe PTSD from what I endured.
The abuse and results
One of my siblings was an infant. It first started with me asking a question to the foster father. At the time he had been changing her diaper. Though I forgotten what I had asked, I never forgot his response. At first, he simply said nothing and continued doing what he was doing. He placed the dirty diaper next to him, didn’t even bother folding it, the reason will be obvious shortly. After wiping her, he got up, put the wipes into the diaper, and jerked me by the arm to the garage. He had yanked my arm so hard that I recall hearing it pop.
The garage wasn’t connected to the house, it was a separate building. Once inside, he pushed me down onto a metal chair. I recall him saying something like, “You think you’re going to fucking interrupt me? Now you sit out here until I decide you’re good enough to come back inside.” He then proceeded to place the diaper on my head before warning me of what would happen if I removed it. I don’t recall how long I was out there, but I recall it being very cold outside. I was out there for what seemed like hours, with a shit filled diaper sitting on my head. This would become the “norm” for me. The abuse only got worst.
To short-hand a lot of it, I’ll just say that I was beaten on a near daily basis. If anybody in the family was upset, even if I wasn’t involved, I got beaten. I was bullied by their kids, who did no wrong, but that wasn’t even the worst of it. About three weeks into nightmare, the sexual abuse began.
It was always done in the bathroom. He would force me to lean over the bathtub, the toilet, whatever he could get my small body over, and he would do things. At first, he used his fingers to “pleasure” me, as he would say. But it only got worst. Fingers turned into instruments, and instruments turned into penetration using his genitals. I still have nightmares over this, it’s something that has never left my memories. When I didn’t comply, he would fill the bathtub with scolding hot water. One of two things would happen: He would either force my head under the water, until things began to fade, or, he would simply pour the burning water down my back.
The breaking point
After so many weeks of being beaten, raped, tortured, you name it, I had finally snapped. I found a pistol in his bedroom. I casually picked it up. I don’t know if it was loaded, I didn’t care, I was going to shoot this man. I walked into the living room, aimed this pistol at him, and I fired and missed, blowing out their television instead. I won’t lie and say I regret it, I only regret missing him. Within twenty-four hours, I was being placed into a psychiatric ward at a local Children’s hospital.
While my biological family knew what was going on, they were powerless to stop it. Even with multiple reports to CPS, the agency who protects children, stated that I was lying. They claimed that I was simply trying to get revenge on the foster parents for taking us away from our biological parents. The agency, in the meantime, was working on sealing the files, which they did after the case was finally dismissed.
It’s to late to save me, I’m already a lost cause with my PTSD, clinical depression, suicidal thoughts, and what-not. So, I have nothing to gain from sharing this story. So why bother? I’m sure you’re wondering that. I’m not sharing it because I want to. I’m sharing it because somewhere in the world is another child who is going through what I went through. They need to understand that they’re not alone. They don’t have to be alone. They need to know that they can fight back, they may have to dig far into themselves to find that strength, but they can fight back. CPS has never acknowledged what was done to me. To this day, the files remain sealed and they deny anything ever happened. Yet here I am, with my mental and emotional scars, telling you the story that apparently never happened.
Thank you for taking the time to listen.
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