I am in Office of Children Services’ custody. I have been since I turned nine years old. Up until my ninth birthday, my family of four was living in cabins and tents. My younger sister and brother were tots, and I wasn’t much more. We went to school though. Every day. Didn’t miss an hour. Mother was very adamant that we get educated and have a good life. I don’t know what it was like for my siblings because they were always in different schools than me, but I remember school more clearly than any other part of my life. I remember every teacher, if not by name, then by face. I remember all of the very nice breakfast ladies that gave us free oatmeal if we couldn’t pay. I remember looking at the other kids and wondering how the hell they got their skin to be so clean. Especially those with lighter skin tones. Oh I got crap about that. Constant bullying. I remember once I was locked in a janitor’s closet at lunch time, and I was too scared to make noise. UGH, there were spiders everywhere. A teacher did not find me until the end of school, and she walked me to my bus. I remember my mother teaching me how to write my name, teaching me drawing, teaching me how to cook. The most precious times I had with her were when we were drawing together. Even though I was terrible at it, she had so much patience. Every part of her world revolved around us. Nothing else mattered. She would drop anything for us. She didn’t like other people though, and she never showed for parent teacher conferences at school. Every time that she wouldn’t be there, a little tally would be put on my school charts. (Or something along the lines.) I have no idea what happened, but people from school started to bring us food at our house, and give us all clothes. My mom HATED it, and now I see why. They thought that our living situation wasn’t good enough, and they were aiming to make it better. I don’t know who in the hell made the choice, but OCS found us. They took us. Not before putting my mother through classes for her to “graduate” to make her think she could keep us. They brought her hopes up, with knowledge that they were going to set them on fire anyways. She wasn’t given a chance. To begin with the carnage, I was sent off to treatment for psychiatric help. I was over diagnosed with mental issues, chemical imbalances, and trauma. I was administered medication I couldn’t pronounce or remember. I was a lab rat. I don’t remember a lot of being there. It was complete lock-down. I went outside only once for the dentist, and I had two escorts, a staff and a nurse, with zip-tie handcuffs. I was eleven years old, mind you. Honestly, I was so messed up from treatment I would have done something stupid, I am sure. Besides the point. I moved from center to center, not qualifying for foster homes. Nobody wants the teenager with six different five-pound treatment charts. (Not one of them said nice things about me either, I found out.) People are looking for the cute kids, with chubby cheeks and a cute giggle. Someone that they can imprint. My brother and sister stayed with a step dad for a while, and then they were moved to a couple of foster homes. They weren’t fit to be put in stranger’s homes. They didn’t want to go to church or have five new brothers and sisters. They didn’t want to move schools every four months. They just wanted their mother, whose rights were terminated. That means, Fuck the kids and their feelings. Fuck the mom. They aren’t allowed to talk. Recently, my younger sister went through a couple of treatment centers, which of course messed her up, and screwed her chances of ever getting a nice foster home. She is in therapeutic care right now, which is a pretend family that takes her to treatment groups, follows her around in school, and monitors when she goes to the bathroom. (Not an exaggeration.) She is being put on medication for her depression, PTSD, ADHD, and one other thing that I don’t remember right now. She is sort of a zombie. My brother isn’t anywhere near either me or my sister, and I haven’t seen him in years. I am a negative influence on him I was told. I send him x-mas gifts anyways. He has been in plenty of foster homes. I can only hope that they are good to him. He is as cute as a kitten though, so he might stay in his current foster home for a while. I don’t know much else about him though. I will stumble upon him later, I am sure, when people stop thinking he is cute and send him to treatment. Right now, I have a job because my foster parent scoops in the states money for themselves. They go on vacation every three months. I buy my own clothes, basic necessities, and fun. They do buy me food, because they don’t want to lose me, the money bucket. They have room for 5 girls at a time. That is a lot of money. My younger sister is in town in her own faux-family, which I think that we really lucked out on. I see her a lot now. She is my best friend. I even let her talk to mom sometimes.
I am so glad my sister and brother don’t do drugs. That is the only thing you can do to make things worse…
The worst, absolute worst, make-you-feel-like-a-piece-of-shit part of being in foster care, is watching your foster parents have their real family come over. Their real kids.
Best part about it is that you know all of the other kids that have the same shit going on as you, and you make new family all of the time.
Thank you for reading, and have an amazing day. (too hard of a subject to deal with for me to edit it. sorry for the mistakes guys.)
Facing Foster Care in Alaska is an amazing organization that I had I discovered last weekend. 🙂 Support those people, NOT OCS.