A CHILD NAME CJ STORY
CJ’s StoryA story from a child that has moved countless number of times:My name is Chris, my friends call me CJ and I am 14 years old and in the 8th grade. DHS took me away from my real parents when I was little; I think I was 2 or something like that. They tried to keep me with my brother but the family said they couldn’t handle me. I moved around a lot and I don’t remember how many times or all the homes until I moved into a program.
I was 7 years old the first time I went into a program. I was scared. The staff told me to go into my room and put my stuff away. All my stuff was in trash bags, someone must have thought it was trash and one of the bags that had my toys in it got lost. I was only there for a short time, but it seemed like it was forever. The things that I remember most was that al the windows had locks on them and were covered with hard plastic and there was no privacy.
I used to wet my bed and the first night I was so scared that I was afraid to use the bathroom. The next morning when they woke us up the staff walked in the bedroom I sharing with three other kids and announced to the entire unit that “CJ pissed his bed and he needs to take a shower”. I hated him. Looking back I spent most of my time sitting in a chair facing the wall. I was determined not to let them see me cry.
I left there and went to my next foster home, again in trash bags this time they were the heavy green ones. I was careful this time not to pack all my toys in one bag. The home was okay but DSS moved me again after only a few months. They had already thrown all my stuff into the cheap white kitchen trash bags. The pictures of my real family were just thrown in and some of them were torn or bent. After leaving this home DSS sent me to a hospital because they said I had “anger problems.” I tried to fight it by throwing rocks at the DSS workers car but that just brought the police and an ambulance. I was 8.
While I was at the hospital they put me on meds to “help control my anger” I hated the meds, they made me slow and I gained a lot of weight. After leaving the hospital I was sent to a program. I was there for about a year. They said I was better and they sent me to another foster home in trash bags.
The next two years was spent going from home to home with a few hospitals thrown in. Each time I left in trash bags, I became grateful when the family that was getting rid of me gave me the heavy green trash bags. During those 2 years I think moved 8 times, I was 10 years old.
The next home was a home that was good they were able to put up with me and all the bad behaviors that I had. I was there for 3 years when they gave up. This sucked the most as I was just beginning to trust them. I don’t know how many times I have actually moved but it’s been a lot. I am in a new home now and I really want it to work.
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I was 7 years old the first time I went into a program. I was scared. The staff told me to go into my room and put my stuff away. All my stuff was in trash bags, someone must have thought it was trash and one of the bags that had my toys in it got lost. I was only there for a short time, but it seemed like it was forever. The things that I remember most was that al the windows had locks on them and were covered with hard plastic and there was no privacy.
I used to wet my bed and the first night I was so scared that I was afraid to use the bathroom. The next morning when they woke us up the staff walked in the bedroom I sharing with three other kids and announced to the entire unit that “CJ pissed his bed and he needs to take a shower”. I hated him. Looking back I spent most of my time sitting in a chair facing the wall. I was determined not to let them see me cry.
I left there and went to my next foster home, again in trash bags this time they were the heavy green ones. I was careful this time not to pack all my toys in one bag. The home was okay but DSS moved me again after only a few months. They had already thrown all my stuff into the cheap white kitchen trash bags. The pictures of my real family were just thrown in and some of them were torn or bent. After leaving this home DSS sent me to a hospital because they said I had “anger problems.” I tried to fight it by throwing rocks at the DSS workers car but that just brought the police and an ambulance. I was 8.
While I was at the hospital they put me on meds to “help control my anger” I hated the meds, they made me slow and I gained a lot of weight. After leaving the hospital I was sent to a program. I was there for about a year. They said I was better and they sent me to another foster home in trash bags.
The next two years was spent going from home to home with a few hospitals thrown in. Each time I left in trash bags, I became grateful when the family that was getting rid of me gave me the heavy green trash bags. During those 2 years I think moved 8 times, I was 10 years old.
The next home was a home that was good they were able to put up with me and all the bad behaviors that I had. I was there for 3 years when they gave up. This sucked the most as I was just beginning to trust them. I don’t know how many times I have actually moved but it’s been a lot. I am in a new home now and I really want it to work.
Be Sociable, Share! Credits go to:http://suitcases4kids.org/cjs-story/