Last week, I received another one of those insanely embarrassing manila envelopes in the mailbox; you know? – The kind that make all of your neighbors, as well as the postman dropping it off to you, start to wonder about your status as an upstanding, tax-paying citizen in the local community…
The sender of such an obnoxiously UN-funny joke in the form of ‘official court documents’ pertaining to my daughter’s very life and future; or more accurately: lack, thereof – could be none other than the Department of Family & Children’s Services, pretending to be busy.
These paper-wasting packages of meaningless legal jargon infuriate me without fail; I have gotten into the habit of putting them aside until a time when I already am in a fit over something, or at least – ready to be in a very bad mood for a while. These postal coverings of the social worker’s ass always feel similar to what receiving a “progress report” from Satan must feel like; upon reading them, I am systematically thrown into a frenzy of anger and disgust that become so all-enveloping and consuming to me, that I can sadly report to the regular experience of true WRATH and REVENGE, and all things that accompany such ugliness.
THIS IS WHAT’S LEFT OF MY “LIFE”……..
I haven’t shown up on time to a court date for over two years; I intentionally wear the most impossible ‘metal-detector-friendly’ clothing I can scare up without fail; I chain-smoke the entire way there in the car with my windows rolled up and Sepultura blasting as loud as my one functional ear can stand it – tears of frustration streaming down my expressionless face. I harbor a hatred for the so-called ‘professionals’ within this particular corner of the Juvenile Justice System that is like no other emotional low I have ever known or even imagined humanly possible. When I do get there, and finally make my way through the ever-teeming ocean of pond-scum in the lobby to the courtroom, I am intrinsically aware that it’s only a matter of moments before I will be in handcuffs, escorted to the Deputy’s cruiser out back – where I will wait for about an hour in the caged backseat until the session is over, and anyone else who’s been held in ‘contempt’ will have been led out to the car as well.
My life has been left in shambles of shambles, as a result of the JOKE of the legal process supposedly in place to protect my daughter from the harm and permanent traumas of her own growing mental illness. As her eighteenth birthday draws nearer; and I am nearly able to taste the bile that’s building in my esophagus for all of these years now – as I anxiously anticipate the God-forsaken day that the Department becomes legally “unbound” to her and in turn: throws her to the wolves to fend for herself in world only made uglier for her by its total lack of concern for her general well-being; my blood begins to boil combustibly under my crawling skin. The light left the tunnel years ago; and I gave up on holding out any hopes for a happy (or even, acceptable) outcome when it comes to Boo.
There’s a technique used by the Department (DFCS) to help its evil processes run smoothly: Parental Alienation.
By executing this long and emotionally torturous tactic within the context of a Juvenile Dependency or Delinquency case, the Department can typically estrange a child from his/her parent(s) permanently within a matter of months. The legal process designed to accompany this procedure on an “official” timeline is systematically applied to ensure the Department’s success in such destruction to a family unit. The children in the system are flat-out LIED TO by assigned case-workers; and the court-appointed attorneys are negligent as Hell, to say the very least.
I will NEVER understand exactly how and/or when the Department supposedly intended to respond on behalf of my daughter, upon her being sexually assaulted by a sub-contracted “counselor” at a court-appointed placement for her behavioral issues.
I will NEVER comprehend how the Department’s collective ignorance to the truth and avoidance of what’s right and just to a child’s welfare and future disposition has continued to go overlooked by all and any involved.
I will NEVER accept the fact that there are people being PAID for the despicable things that Boo continues to enabled to be akin with, to grow accustom to.
I will NEVER forget. Until I am cremated and thrown from an ugly urn somewhere – this REALITY will remain singed into the carbon of my DNA; and will not be painted over with fresh coats of comfort – not for me or anyone else – outside of the ONE AND ONLY relevant one involved: my Boo.