How I was put in foster care

Reads: 310  | Likes: 0  | Shelves: 0  | Comments: 0

More Details
Status: Finished  |  Genre: True Confessions  |  House: Booksie Classic
I story I felt like writing down after all of these events had transpired

Submitted: November 12, 2012

A A A | A A A

Submitted: November 12, 2012






How I was put in foster care

By Adam Peck























I have been in foster care for the past six months, and while its not the most traumatic or emotional story ever told, its mine and I'm struggling through it every day. I'm going to say some things that I feel uncomfortable saying, especially in the beginning, but to get the full picture you're going to need to know.
I had been living with my Dad for the past couple months, and stuff has been getting a bit out of hand. Dad was the nicest person in the world to me, every teenagers dream father. We drank together, we smoked together, we got high together, we went to strip clubs and I could hang a sock on my door and he would know what it meant. After about three months there my cousin Tasha moved in with us. Her and my Dad were good friends and she needed a place to live, so my Dad, being the kindest man in the world, let her move in. I did not know this at the time, but Tasha is and was a drug addict. So was my Dad, though he had recently gotten clean. When two meth addicts start living together, it cant end well. But I dealt with it. I could deal with drugs in the house, just as long as he keeps his business up and running and things don’t get too out of hand. I went along with it. Eventually my Dad kicked Tasha out for not paying rent, but she got him hooked again before she left.
My Dad had become friends with one of Tashas old friends, Ashley. Shes is 20, and we, too, became friends. She was and is a heroin and meth addict. They had become using buddies, and me and her close friends. One day Ashley was over and my dad had gone to work, so we were hanging out. This was the first time I saw my dads using equipment. We were in my dads room because he had a computer in it. We were just talking and hanging out, I was drinking, she was occasionally snagging a pull. She was obviously depressed, she had been having a hard go of it recently. We were both out of cigarettes, and so we decided to bike to the store for some more, but before we left she said she needed to get high. This was the first time I saw someone smoking meth. I was wondering whether or not I should stop her since she had been talking about how much she needed to quit, but I didn't do anything. When we were on our way out, she said something about always staying friends. She said that we both needed a friend, and possibly the most touching hug I have ever shared with a person followed. We started biking to the store, but I was too drunk and crashed my bike. I smashed my smart-phone my dad had given me, and we headed back to the house. Ashley said that it would be one of those moments that I would never forget, one of those stories you always keep with you. If she had only known how that night would impact my life.
A day or two later, my Dad and Ashley were hanging out again, and Ashley had come to my room when my Dad left. She was upset about something. Apparently my Dad just would not accept the fact that Ashley didn’t want to be in a relationship. He insisted on sex, sex, sex. Ashley has some abuse issues that have rendered sex completely UN-enjoyable for her. But apparently, my dad didn’t care. So she bared her teeth and gave it to him. It is, according to her friends, very rare to see Ashley cry, but I did. She broke out in silent tears and buried her head in my chest for support. This is one of the worst experiences of my life. When my friends are hurt, I am hurt. The thought that my Dad could do something so awful repulsed me. I had no idea what to do. All I could do was try to make her feel better, and I know how to make Ashley feel better. Its one of my few redeeming features, I can make most anyone feel better. So I talked softly, I gave her a smoke, I told her I was sorry, and I put on some King Of The Hill, she loves King of The Hill. We sat and watched, she would occasionally burst out in a rage or a rant, and I would hold her shoulders and not say anything. She had called her friend to come pick her up, and she told me she really wished she didn't have to be alone. I immediately knew I had to come with her. I wrote a note, packed up her stuff, and left. At about one in the morning we walked to meet her friend in the middle of the winter. It is on of the most poignant memories in my mind. We walked with two bags full of anything Ashley might need to live anywhere she might need to at the time, she was just that type of person. We stood on a corner, both of us freezing, neither of us had bundled up for the weather. I remember the street lights, casting a faint orange light over everything. Like a hazard light, telling me something bad was ahead. Something life changing was ahead. We rode to her house, I didn't really have much part in the ride there, I just sat in the back accepting a drag of a smoke when offered.

I had been to Ashleys house before, but this time was different. When we went in, no one was there. It was dark and quiet, foreboding. There was a air to the house that said “something is wrong”. I shouldn’t have been there, this is not the direction my life should have taken at that moment, but it was what Ashley needed, and my life is secondary to my friends.
Over the next couple of days my Dad called a few times, telling me to come home.


What do you want Dad?

I want you to get your ass home! When are you coming home?”

I'll be back on Monday”

No, come home now”

No, Dad”

You don’t know these people”

Yes I do.”

I'm going to call the cops”

Ashley says not to do that”

Yeah, is she afraid of that? She should be...”

You're not going to call the cops, Dad”

Just don’t go anywhere with them, don’t let them take you anywhere”

Goodbye, Dad, I'll see you on Monday”

Yeah, bye.”

I love you”

I can count on one hand how many times I've told my Dad I loved him. I said it this time because he needed to know that I wasn’t totally forsaking him. I still loved him, and still do, but Ashley needed me right now, and he didn’t. I would not, and will not, let anyone dictate who my friends are and how I help them, not even my Dad.

This weekend was the best and worst weekend of my life. I was trashed the entire time. High the whole time, smoking like crazy. I wasn’t smoking any of the meth, but it was going on. Ashleys ride had decided to stay, and he was the one with the meth. It was all sort of a realization and personification of my ideas of what life should be like that I had as a child. I was in a sense living the dream that I had been dreaming since I was born. I was filthy, wearing the same clothes all day, sweating like crazy, looking like shit. I had puked multiple times and it was on my clothes, I slept in the same bed as Ashley, just because it was a place to sleep. Everything was dark and dirty, and I was in heaven. I long for that life. I had lived in that life vicariously as a child, when my parents were both still using, and I suppose I had made that my ideal in my head. Not caring about anything but the next fix. But to my dismay, it had to end. I had to go home.
When I go home I went straight to bed. The next day I got up, and Dad drove me to school without a word. Neither of us said anything. I went to school and talked to my counselor about what happened. I needed to tell somebody and she was really the only person I could talk to. She said that she was a mandated reporter and might have to report it. The next couple days went by in a similar fashion. No talking, no interaction, just depression. On the day before I went into foster care it had started to get better. Me and Dad talked almost like normal on the way home from school. The next day, I woke up and Dad said the car was broken down and he couldn’t give me a ride, so I stayed home. It was a stunning morning. Fresh white snow, bright sun, it was amazing out. The air was crisp and refreshing to breathe in. It gave me hope. Dad and me were talking again, new snow was falling, everything was bright and wonderful that morning. I started one of the best drawings I have ever drawn In my life that morning, but halfway through the cops were at the door. I had apparently left it open when I came inside from a walk. There was a social worker with them that took me to school and later, my new foster home.
Sometimes I regret the things I did. Not taking the hazard lights as the sign they seemed to be, telling Linda about what happened. Sometimes when I think back on it I wish I hadn’t told Linda. Life wouldn’t have gotten so complicated if I would have just kept my mouth shut. I would still be living with my Dad, I would still be smoking pot and getting drunk every other day. Still spiraling into the deep see of depression that has always lured me so.

When we look back on our mistakes, our transgressions, our scandalous activities, we often feel we were wrong. We often regret the things we have done. I regret doing everything I did that put me in foster care. But while I regret these things I can not change them. If I could take back all the suffering I've cause my Dad by leaving, I would. If I could take back letting Ashley smoke meth I would. If I could somehow make it all better I would. But I cant. No one can, and that is what makes us what we are. We are who we are, and I am what my past has made me, and while I wish I could take it all back I would never take back who I am. I am a foster child, that is who I am. To take all these decisions back would be to obliterate who I am. To take back any of our regrets would be to destroy our entire being. And as painful as our regrets may seem, they pale in comparison to the loss of self. I am struggling every day to keep my self. Amidst all these new homes and families that want me to be different, that want me to change from the ways my parents have taught me, I am struggling to hold on to who I am, regrets and all.

© Copyright 2018 Adam Peck. All rights reserved.

Add Your Comments:

More True Confessions Miscellaneous