(The following below covers age 12-16)
Anyway, things were going ok for me at the new house and at Carver as well. I had friends and such both at school and at home. But things were not always good. My parents were having problems. I was around 12 at this time. It was August 7th, my brothers birthday. We were having fun at the party and all. But me and my brother got into a argument. You know, brothers fight sometimes.
Anyway, Jonathan hit me and I hit him back. Nothing major, just picking on each other kind of thing. Anyway, he ran home and told my mom I hit him. I watched her come out of the trailer home, walk swiftly across the street and before I could say anything she decked me in the stomach full strength.
I dropped to the floor, having had the air knocked out of me. I couldn't catch my breath. I just laid there on the sidewalk trying to breath. My friends carried me to my room. I asked my friends who came for the party to go home and I stayed in bed resting the rest of the day.
I couldn't believe she would hit me like that. She didn't even ask who started it, what the argument was about or anything. She just hit me, and walked away like it was nothing. Who does this? This wouldn't be the first time she would choose my brother over me. And this and other actions were what fueled my wonder if I was adopted or something later down the road.
I always felt like I didn't fit in the family. Like a outsider. Not just in my home, but like I didn't belong to ANY of the family. Well, except for my Grandma Barbara and my god fathers Michel and Kenny. Kenny more than Michel. But aside from those 3, none of the other family liked me. Some even changed their number. Like I was radioactive or something.
Later that year I had to go into the hospital in downtown LA. I forget the name. Apparently one of my saliva tubes (the left) had clogged and was forming a bulge in my neck. They were thinking surgery, but scared, I asked them if there was something else to try first. They decided to try IV antibiotics. I was in the LA children's hospital for a week. Over my 12th birthday no less.
They sent a cake up on my birthday. A round personal chocolate cake. Thing is, it was so stale the plastic knife they sent up with it broke in half just trying to cut it. Me and my room mate ended up dropping it to see how many drops it could take before breaking. We stopped counting after 22 tries. Ended with us tossing it. Worst cake I have ever seen.
My room mate was cool though. We made lapel buttons together, played card games and watched TV. We also got in trouble once. They had left some empty boxes in our room and we were using the electric bed to crush them. We were board and it was cool. We got in trouble though....lol. Also we had a visitor to the hospital, a actor named Edward James Almost. He took a picture with us. Finally the saliva tube did finally unclog and I was sent home.
Things were about to change again. And in a big way. My mom and my dad got a divorce not long after I came back from the hospital for the clogged saliva tube. My mom had met a man in the trailer park. His name was John Taylor. She ended up liking him a lot.
So my mom moved out and moved in with John. My dad (Stan) tried to get her back. He got me and my brother to ask her over to play their song (Stairway to heaven). We got maybe two seconds of play of the song before my mom yelled at us to turn it off. It was clear pretty early on that they were not going to be getting back together. I mean, it would be a few years before she admitted that she only married him because she was having me.
Around this time I was starting to become more aware of my body. Kind of embarrassing as it was, the only privacy I had was in the shed outside I had turned into a club house type place where I hung out a lot. Anyway, Stan caught me......let's just call it pleasuring myself.
He called my mom on the phone telling her what he caught me doing and wanted to know if he should punish me for it and how. Punishing a kid for that? Are you kidding? Last I checked it wasn't against the law to "pleasure" one self.
Anyway due to the break up Stan lost it. He destroyed several things in the house. The place was thrashed. So with him having custody of me, my brother we packed up and moved to Baldwin Park. We moved to this 2 bedroom apartment on Breeze Ave. Close to downtown. It was two blocks from the major park where me and Jonathan often went to play.
It was a alright place. The problem was, Stan was becoming more violent. He started drinking. His drink of choice was Black Velvet. Nasty stuff. I drank some by accident once. He mixed it with Pepsi. I thought it was just soda and grabbed a sip. Yuk. I never have liked alcohol.
He would get angry and was quick to hit me and my brother. His often remark after a beating was "Look what you made me do". As if our actions were forcing his hand to not just hit us, but beat us. He often went for the back, and along the spine.
At the time we did think that we did do the things to deserve it as he said. But of course now we know that it was not the case. There was this time we accidentally broke the glass on his lithograph of the Dallas Cowboys. We got beat good. Sure we made a mistake, but nothing we could have done deserved for us to be beat. It wouldn't be the last time either.
Another incident that took place was we were robbed. The thing is it all could have been avoided. At the time me and my brother were latch key kids. But from time to time, keys got lost. Hey, kids lose keys sometimes. So my dad decided to teach us a lesson that he would not give us any keys. So when I came home from school, I would barrow a ladder from the guy next door and climbed up to the 3rd floor balcony.
After we both had a snack, later we would go out and play. But because we didn't have keys to lock the door, we left it open. This one day however, we came home to find out not only did our Sage system get taken, but almost all of the sports cards, baseballs and other spots items my dad would sell at card shows was taken. Close to $5,000.00 worth of things that were taken.
We got punished of course. My dad said it was our fault because he didn't lock the door. I tried to say we couldn't due to not having keys. He said it was our fault because we lost our keys. The whole deal is, it could have been prevented by just making new keys. Should we been more careful with the keys? Yes, of course. But kids forget, and kids lose things, including keys. So yea, that was not a good day.
I was almost 13 by this time and had started bed wetting a few months after moving into that apartment. I kept it a secret for fear of being treated how my brother was for his bed wetting. I had been bed wetting for a few months and growing tired of the wet sheets. So I decided to try diapers.
This liquor store 2 blocks away sold 4 diapers for a dollar. That brand was "Fitti", the diapers with the balloons that had the happy faces that faded when wet. So yea, they sold them 4 XL for a buck, So I bought a pack to try.
They were pretty snug, but they fit. At the time I didn't know they made youth or adult diapers. I had only known about baby and toddler diapers size diapers. I didn't know they made anything bigger. So I made the toddler diapers work. They worked out alright so I was using diapers to cut down on having to do laundry all the time.
There was this one time I walked into the room me and Jonathan shared and he was naked from the waist down trying to tape on one of my diapers. I wasn't aware he knew where I had them. When I asked him what he was doing he told me "I just wanted to see how they felt". He only tried one of my diapers on once to my knowledge.
And thankfully there was washer and dryer hookups in the apartment and Stan was renting a washer and dryer from rent-a-center at the time. So when the sheets did get wet I was able to do them quickly and if anyone walked in during a washing (which did happen a few times) I would just say I was giving them a regular wash. So I was buying diapers, put them on just before going to bed, and took them out to the trash when no one was home or on my way out to get on the bus on school days. And because I was back in Baldwin Park, I had to start going back to Sunflower again and of course the problems started up again with the bullies and the time out room staff. Nothing was done about it this time either. About 6 months or so after starting back at Sunflower they were talking about mainstreaming me back into regular school because overall I was doing well schoolwork wise. I was doing a lot of thinking about it. It would be a huge change. The first being the work load. I would go from a class of 12 to a class of 30. And the one on one help with my work would be gone. Not to mention homework times however many classes I had. At first Stan said he would help me with the homework and would support me through it. I found there was no way he was going to follow through. When I asked him for help with the homework I already had from Sunflower he rarely helped and wasn't there supporting me with the crap at Sunflower. How was he going to do it in regular school? So I decided I had to sabotage the mainstreaming. I refused my work, lowered my overall grade by two levels and did some minor acting up. Nothing serious, but just enough for them to cancel the mainstreaming.
I knew I was looking at being in special education till I was 18, but there would be no way I could handle regular classes and expectations after being in special education for the last 5 years.
I mean you have to remember, I don't remember going to anywhere other than special education schools. I don't know anything else besides special education. And I sure didn't have the support either. So I did what I felt needed to be done for my overall best interest. During this time there was a incident at Sunflower were a therapist at the school made a false child abuse report which had me and my younger brother Jonathan removed from the home and placed with our grandparents on my dad's side for a month. What happened was I was friends with this kid from Sunflower. But I didn't know him all that well. He lived near by so his mom drove him over along with his bike for a bit to hang out. I caught him playing with a lighter in the kitchen trying to light stuff on fire. I told him he had to go home. He got angry. The next day at school he made up a story to the school therapist. I wouldn't find out about this till later that night.
This so called friend told her that me and my brother (I was 13, and my brother was about 10 at the time) that we were taking 40 year old men off the street, dragging them (yea, with force) up to the 3rd floor apartment.
Our apartment was right over the managers apartment and we had to walk in front of to go to our apartment. And said we were tying these men to my dad's sofa bed (bed in a sofa that folds out) and performing sexual acts. How ANY therapist could buy that story is beyond me. But she did.
The cops and child services showed up around 6pm that evening. I told the worker I needed to make a call. The worker wouldn't let me make any calls. So I grabbed the portable phone when she wasn't looking and said I needed to use the bathroom and called my grandma on my dad's side. Both my grandparents drove right over.
Social services was going to place us in a foster home during the investigation. I knew in foster care that the chance of being placed together was slim at best. Separated there would be no way for me to protect him if we were split up. After talking with my grandparents, social services let us stay with them. They gave my grandparents some food stamps and some money to cover our expenses while staying with them.
Due to the situation, I had to tell my grandma about the bed wetting. My grandfather didn't know. We already had a strained relationship to say the least, and didn't want to add being a bed wetter to the list of problems. My grandma is a wonderful lady. I explained to her my concern about being punished for the wetting.
She told me I didn't have to worry about that with her. I didn't fear that from her anyway. She let me keep my diapers in her sewing room. At night, I just got a diaper, put it on in the bathroom right before bed. In the morning, she would throw it away for me so no one would see it.
She did her best to make me not feel embarrassed about it. She was the only one in my family that I could really talk to, and have no secrets from. She knew about me being AB before anyone else did. She didn't care. She was one of those grandma's that would tell you she loved you more, then go to the other sibling and say the same thing......lol.
So the next day I got to school. I still didn't know where the report had come from yet. I was just angry that someone would make up such a sick lie. The school therapist and I sat down. I started to discuss what happened, expressed that I was angry that someone would make up such a report. That's when the school therapist told me she made the report. That my so called friend (With the lighter) had told her the story.
I was VERY angry. She didn't even come to talk to me, to confirm it. If she had, I would have told her it was just punk kid trying to get even. Me and my brother almost ended up in foster care because some kid was angry that I wouldn't let him burn my home down. I walked out of her office, saying some choice words I won't repeat as I walked out. I had a bit of a potty mouth back then when I got really angry.
I went back to class and did my best to try to finish my day. But she came to the classroom. She came over and put some M&M's on my desk telling me "Good job controlling your emotions". I flipped. I was already angry at the false report, and then she comes with the stupid M&M's and talking like I am some 5 year old. I walked out and walked out to the soccer field where I could be alone. The time out room staff were called and got me and I ended up spending most of the remainder of the day in the time out room box.
So anyway, me and my brother stayed with our grandparents for that month. It wasn't an easy month. Us being there was putting a strain on my grandparents relationship. They came from a time when children where to be seen and not heard, and not seen either if it was a option. My grandpa anyway. And him being retired and home all the time didn't make things any easier.
Meanwhile, me and my brother had to miss school several times to hang around the family court building all day waiting for facts to be heard and all this. One option on the table was for my mom to take custody. She said no. She didn't want custody. And because of the report, my dad couldn't have custody. So we sat in limbo.
This waiting for the court ended up causing a fight between my grandparents. My grandpa just kept saying things like "See, you both ARE nothing but trouble". I was in my room laying in bed when I heard plates smashing one night along with yelling. One right after the other. 8 in total. While this was going on, they were both screaming at each other. The topic........me and my brother and how we always cause trouble.
My grandpa was going on and on about how me and my brother are nothing but trouble. That this (the child services report) was just another example/proof. While my grandma is saying we need their help, or we would end up in foster care. He says to her we (me and my brother) would be better off. I remember this conversation/yelling match very well.
Anyway, I had enough. I walked into the kitchen and without thinking stepped between them and yelled for them BOTH to stop. Bad idea. My grandpa then turned his anger to me. He turned to me and starts telling me "How dare you tell me what to do in my own god damn house, your just some punk kid who's always causing trouble". The whole time he is pushing with both of his hands on my chest several times pushing me down the hall while saying all this.
He stopped when he pushed me to the bedroom I was staying in. Then he walked away. I got a bit emotional and had to lay down for a bit. I don't like fighting, and I didn't plan to put myself into such a dangerous situation. But I also wasn't going to just sit back and let my grandparents fight and break plates either, over us no less.
The next day I said sorry to my grandpa for getting involved, but that I had to break up the fight. After saying my peace, and him saying not much more, I let him be. The rest of the month I did my best to stay clear of him. And since that incident, we have not spoken again.
Not that I am allowed over anyway. When my grandma died years later, I was not welcome at the wake at the house. After the viewing I was told to go home. Nice family huh? Like I said, dysfunctional as all hell.
Anyway, the court finally came to a choice 32 days after being placed with our grandparents. We would be allowed to come home, but with some stipulations. One being, if my dad wasn't home, we had to stay with another adult babysitter. ALWAYS. On top of that, my dad had to go and take parenting classes at child services building. But that was about it.
At first my dad brought us to the parenting classes as child services has a baby sitting room downstairs. It was mostly very young kids, like 5 and 6 year olds. The only older kids was me, my brother and a 10 year old. The babysitting mostly consisted of coloring and such. Little kid activities. I didn't mind as the kids that were there WERE little kids.
My problem came when they wanted me to do the same thing. I just wanted to be left alone. Anyway, for not doing the coloring I got "time out" which consisted of a chair placed against the wall just outside the room. I was fine with it as I was finally was left alone. I closed my mind down and slept.
One thing I can't stand is being treated like a toddler. Yea I am AB and all, but not all the time, and not in public. So this pissed me off. Anyway, after 10 days of the "time out" the whole time I was there the staff said I wasn't welcome back.
So from then on I stayed with my godfather Kenny during the parenting classes. Kenny and I spent the time feeding the dogs, feeding the fish, fixing up my bike. Oh man, he would pack my barring's so tight with lube that my bike would FLY. So I always took it to him for fixing.
He also taught me about baseball and other sports cards as him and my dad often sold and traded sports cards. Their company name was "KT Cards" and they went to many card shows. Some me and my brother went along on over the years. Anyway, my time with Kenny was much more enjoyable than the parenting class babysitter room. And best of all, I wasn't treated like a toddler with Kenny.
As far as the therapist, she was fired and her licence pulled. Mainly for making a false report without a shred of proof. They said had she checked into it further, she would have learned the story was false. Plus, who would believe such a stupid story about two little kids snatching old guys and doing sex acts against their will?
And then, if it had happened, why did no one see anything? No reports from these suspected people we were kidnapping? So yea, she was fired and I again switched schools, THANK GOD. Sorry, I just HATE Sunflower.
I was then transferred to Sandburg Jr High School in Glendora California. Like Carver, Sandburg had two special education classrooms on the campus. The only time we had contact with the regular education students was those that took gym, and lunch. I had a few problems there as well.
I got a F in gym because I refused to dress. I would play the basketball or whatever we were doing, but I refused to change in front of other people. I suggested me changing in the bathroom and then going to class. I was told I either changed in the locker room or not to bother. So I didn't bother to change, but I did still take part in the class.
And again, there was a problem with the teachers treating me like a preschooler. The whole point system and reward thing. Almost every special education school uses the point sheets. You can see a sample of a "Point Sheet" HERE. Basically you get points over each hour. At Sandburg and Sunflower as well based on your points you fall into one of five categories. Those are Poor, Fair, Good, Very Good and Excellent.
At the end of the day, depending on which category you land in you get to choose items from one of the 5 shelves that are labeled one of the 5 categories. You could choose a reward from stickers and pencil erasers for the lowest "Poor", and items such as cans of soda and chips for Excellent.
Also a copy of the sheet was sent home to be signed by the parent(s) and sent back to keep the parents up to speed on the kids daily behavior. Point systems drove me nuts.
Another thing the staff would do is give a hourly mini reward for working and being quiet and such. For example I would be doing my school work and they would come along and put 3 or 4 M&M's on my desk and say "Good job for doing your work quietly". Like I needed to be rewarded for doing my work quietly. It ticked me off, made me feel like a little kid.
Ok, I am AB.....well TB at that age. But I am TB only at home, in the privacy of my room. Not at school. When I was at school, I was an adult...or a teen in that case and expected to be treated as a young adult, not a toddler in preschool. You know what I mean. So we got into a few arguments about how they treated me. I asked them to not give me the M&M's, to just skip me.
I told them it bothered me and to just please stop with the rewards. They didn't. Over and over again they would keep trying to give me the M&M's and such. I would just place them back in the bag or on the teachers desk. Same with the end of the day rewards. I placed them back on the teachers desk as I left, or gave them to any other kid that wanted them.
As I said before you got rewards based on how many points you got, which depending on points you fell into one of 5 categories. Poor, Fair, Good, Very Good, and Excellent. Most times I was in the last two. I wasn't trying or anything. I just wanted to come to school, do my work and go home. That's it. But nope.
So when the staff noticed I was returning them or giving them away, the teacher approached me during a baseball game at the school. She told me I HAD to have a reward. I was annoyed and to be left alone I told her fine, give me tape and paperclips. I figured it was so stupid they would get the point and leave me alone. But at the end of the day the aid gave me 3 paper clips and 2 one inch pieces of tape.
I couldn't help it, I broke out laughing. I didn't think they actually thought I was serious. What a waste of tape. What the heck am I going to do with 2 one inch pieces of tape and a few paper clips? I wadded up the tape and threw it out and put the paper clips back in the desk. I tell ya, some of these special education schools, I wonder if it's not the other way around. That the kids are sane and the teachers and staff are special education. **shakes head**
The good news is I met a new therapist while going there. Nice guy. A guy named Stephen Lambert. He was one of those therapists that sometimes tosses out the book. He was one of the few people there that actually respected me as a "young adult". Close enough.
He helped me through a few things, like the problems at school and problems at home. Even gave me someone to talk to and vent to about the bed wetting without worrying about finding it on the front page of the news paper.
Around this time my dad had come across my stash of diapers. I had come up with hiding it behind his bed in his room. I figured since he was using a pull out sofa bed in his room that the chance of him moving it would be small. So I hid the rest of the pack (when I bought the larger packs that were on sale) except for 3 diapers I kept under my mattress.
Any more would cause a bulge under the bed. So I put the rest of the pack behind the sofa bed. So I am not sure how he found them, but he did. He came out yelling. Though it didn't make sense. He said "I am not going to raise another ducking baby!".
How me wearing a diaper meant he was going to raise a baby didn't make sense. He angrily threw what remained of the pack in the trash. I got it out later when he went to bed as I didn't have money for him to be throwing out my supply. I was just grateful that he didn't punish me for it. He forgot about it the next day, or at least didn't say anything about it and it was quickly forgotten.
But things got worse. This one day was nothing but trouble from the second I got off the bus. The kid started messing with me right off the bus. I had a disk with short stories I had been writing. This kid took the disk from me and bent and broke it. It was one of those big 5 1/2 floppy disks that WERE floppy. Anyway, it was useless and it was the only copy I had. So I was pissed off from the start of the day. Then when I reported it, nothing was done.
Then me and this staff member got into a verbal argument over the M&M's and the tape and paperclips AGAIN. Then I got angry and stepped out the classroom. I needed to cool off. So I hung out at the track, just walked around the track a few times to cool down. It was rarely used and was perfect place for me to go and calm down. Lunch came and went, I didn't eat. About 1PM I was sitting on the grass outside the classroom.
The teacher decided to make things worse. She had the regular education classroom next door stop what they were doing and come out to where I was and tell me how bad I am and how immature I was being and so on. How I was disturbing everyone (how I was doing that by sitting on the grass quietly I don't know).
This went on for about 20 minutes. Finally they went back into the classroom. Half hour later my dad was called to pick me up. Why they didn't call my dad to pick me up hours ago was beyond me. That happened to be my last day at that school.
So after that incident I was transferred to North Park High School in Baldwin Park California. It was something called a continuation school. All in all it was a decent school and I did well with minimal problems. And for once, it was a school close enough and that allowed me to ride my bike to school. That was really nice.
It was the first school I had been to that I could ride my bike to. HERE, at this school, I felt like a regular kid for once. We also moved to the Villa Capri apartments across town a few months later, still in Baldwin Park California.
One of the only problems I had that really sticks out is the day I missed a period of class. The teacher in photo shop kept me after class for not following directions. ADHD thing. Anyway, when she finally let me go to lunch, all the lunches had been given away. So I decided to go home and make something.
You were allowed to leave the campus for lunch. I knew I couldn't make it back in only 45 minutes. But I couldn't go without lunch. So I unlocked my bike and road home, 20 minutes each way and made something to eat. I arrived back half way through the next period. I got in trouble, but the principle understood when everything was explained.
My dad had met a girl (Brandi) who was 21 at the time if I am not mistaken. She moved in with us shortly after. She appeared very immature to me. She although having a child who was not in her custody would most mornings often watch toddler shows such as "Banana's in Pajama's" and other similar shows. When I asked her about it she told me she might get her son back and was getting used to watching the shows. Didn't make sense to me.
Anyway me and my dad and I got into several fights about all sorts of things. One being when he introduced her to me saying "this is going to be your new mom". I wasn't ok with that at all. I wasn't going to call a woman only 4 years older than me "mom". So me and Brandi got into a fight one day. Nothing physical or anything like that. I got upset and went into my room to cool off.
I was playing my radio (Music is something I often use to chill out and relax when I am upset) and Brandi came in to unplug the radio by pulling on the plug and it snapped and hit her across the face. She took the radio and left the room.
I was still upset and left my room to leave the apartment. She had my dad on the phone. She had told him what happened over the phone already and he had misunderstood it as "I" had hit her. He asked if I wanted him to come home (as a threat). I was upset and said yea.
So I went down to the apartment building lobby to chill out and wait. He walked in after 20 minutes. I stood up from the chair I was sitting in to explain to him what had happened only for him to push me back into the chair and asked my why I hit her. I tried to tell him that I didn't hit her. That the cord snapped and hit her in the face. He wouldn't listen.
He says "If you hit her again I will kill you. I will go to prison for Brandi". At that point he grabbed me by the shirt and and pushed me toward the apartment and said "Get your ass upstairs". Once upstairs he ordered me to say sorry to Brandi for me hitting her. I said no as I never hit her in the first place. I then was sent to my room where I remained for the evening.
It was at that moment I lost any and all remaining respect for him as a parent and he went from "Dad" to "Stan". Just someone I was living with. I did not consider him my father after that day. Not that I had much of a relationship with him before that anyway. He was willing to kill me over a woman who didn't love him the same way he loved her.
These day's though I don't see Stan. We still do not talk much except on the game I play, (World of Warcraft, Kilrogg server if anyone plays. My guys name is "Stanleyt") but he switched servers about a year ago so I go months at a time without a word from him.
Not long later Brandi left. Well, let me rephrase that, my mom kicked her out. My mom showed up at the apartment and had her pack her things and leave. Brandi ended up leaving with her ex boyfriend and later Brandi and her ex got back together. Brandi was only with Stan for the money he would spend on her.
So Stan came home from work later to find my mom in the living room. He asked where Brandi was and she told him she's gone. He threw the coke he hand in his hand across the room and it smashed into the wall spraying soda everywhere.
Moments later Stan was in his bedroom with a knife preparing to attempt suicide. Hmmm, guess suicidal ideation runs in the family? My mom took the knife from him. He pretty much remained in his room for the rest of that evening.
And he ended up getting a live in baby sitter off and on. But they all left after a short time. So as nice as the vacation of not having to play parent was, it never lasted long.
Anyway, in addition to that incident, living with him he was always either out of the house or at work so I was frequently at home alone with my brother. Not that I am complaining. When he was gone things were quiet. No screaming or beatings.
But at the same time there was no one to take care of things like cooking, cleaning, laundry and other things a parent is supposed to do. So those things fell on me to take care of. I had no option, I had to be the adult and take care of not only the household jobs, but help my brother with his homework and make sure he was fed and got off to school.
There was even a time my brother was getting picked on in school. This was back when we were living in the house where the therapist at Sunflower made the report to child services. Anyway to handle the situation I called myself in sick for school that day and I made a appointment that morning with the principle of my brother's school and met with the principle and explained the situation.
I asked to sit in the back of his classroom to see who it was who was picking on him and observe him throughout the day and get it sorted out. Something yet again that my parents should have been doing. Not me. And the problem was resolved by the principle.
Apparently my brother was getting picked on because anything a kid said something to him, he would say "Does not compute" as if he was a computer. So the kids would pick on him for it. It was most likely his way of coping with being shy. But it got him in trouble as it became a reason for him to be picked on. But the principle straightened it out.
I would often ditch school to take care of the laundry, more so on the mornings that I had wet sheets from the bed wetting when the diapers leaked. After all, they were intended for babies, not a teen. It was around this time that my AB side had really begun to show.
The diapers were not just protecting the bed from accidents, but they gave me a feeling of feeling safe and protected. My mind would drift and I would imagine myself as a young child with a whole different family. I would imagine I lived with a loving family. That my parents were outside my room ready to come in if I needed anything.
And during one trip to the store to pick up another 4 pack of diapers I was drawn to the display of pacifiers and Gerber baby bottles. I just had to have one of each. I found when laying in bed with the diaper on and the pacifier in my mouth I drifted off to my imaginary world to my family where I was loved and protected. This world of role play became my escape from life's stresses such as the yelling, problems at school and frequent beatings by both my dad, staff at school and the bullies at school.
There was one time the beatings were getting severe. So while in wood shop I made a side handle baton similar to that used by the police. I reached what I thought was my breaking point. During the next attack I pulled out the baton, but I was frozen. I wasn't able to use it. I wanted to, I wanted him to feel pain and have fear of being hit again like he made me feel. But I wasn't that kind of person. I lowered it and he took it.
He called the cops to tell them I was going to hit him with the baton. So I told them I made it for self protection. I was about to go to jail for making the weapon, and he was about to go to jail for child abuse. During this my mom was on the phone and got Stan to not press charges and stupidly I choose not to press charges as well and the police left. The incident didn't really change anything. The beatings continued.
I couldn't retreat to my imaginary baby world all the time. Back in the real world of reality I had to be the adult and take care of my brother. I had to confront Stan once a week and take getting yelled at and the "What am I, made of money?" speech and him throwing a $20.00 bill on the floor and walking out the door so I could do food shopping for me and my brother for the week.
That was always interesting, making a 20.00 feed two people for a week. I got creative real fast. We ate a lot of shoestring fries. They were on sale 3 bags for a dollar. I would cook up a bag on a plate and me and Jonathan would pick off the plate till we were full. It wasn't exactly healthy, but we ended up full.
A few months later I ended up in the hospital for a broken ankle. Me and my brother were riding home on our bikes when my handlebars turned and I lost control of my bike. I put my foot down to try to catch myself and it bent my right ankle and broke it in 3 places. Funny thing is it didn't hurt like people had told me. It hurt like a pinch for maybe 2-3 seconds and then no pain.
It was weird. The pain was so minimal that I thought I had only sprained it. It was not until I tried to stand on my foot that I realized something wasn't right. When I tried to take a step the bones rubbed against each other. THAT I felt. I sat back down trying to figure out what to do.
A lady stopped and asked if we needed help. I wasn't exactly sure what was wrong with my foot but she decided to call for a ambulance just to be safe. They were the ones that told me it was most likely broken. They wrapped my foot and took me to the hospital while my brother ghost road my bike home for me.
My brother gave my mom a strange phone call though. He told her I got hit by a car and a ambulance took me. He thought the ambulance was just going to take me home. He didn't understand why I wasn't home. The hospital couldn't reach either of my parents so I had them call my god father Kenny. He was the one that came to the hospital to sit with me.
Shortly after I was taken into surgery where they put 3 screws on the inside of my foot, and a plate with 10 screws on the outside of my foot. I woke up in my room several hours later. I was in the hospital for almost a week.
It was difficult because I wasn't allowed pain medication the first 2 days. My mom told them no pain medication because she felt I would get addicted. But Stan finally told them to give me the medication. So at least the rest of my stay the pain was much more manageable.
I had a few accidents in the hospital but they just figured it was due to the pain medication. I didn't have any of my diapers with me and I was afraid if I told them about my bed wetting problem they would end up telling my parents. So I just let them think it was due to the medication for the pain.
I was soon taught how to use crutches and was released to go home. However not with any pain medication. It hurt to walk so I just asked Stan to get me things but he refused to help me. He just told me "Just walk on it, it will heal faster".
I ended up just using this chair that had wheels on it as a wheel chair. It was summer thankfully so I didn't have to go anywhere. Stan was supposed to take me for a follow-up at the hospital for them to check my ankle and cast but he never took me.
I got into a fight at school once for preventing my dad from drunk driving. I woke up one morning to find him laying in bed with a open bottle of Black Velvet and a bottle of Pepsi and a glass with both mixed it in. At the time I had the locking tool box. So to keep him from driving drunk I placed his car keys in the box, locked it and wet to school.
About 10:30am or so I was called to the office. My mom had brought Stan down to the school to get his car keys back. He was so angry. But when I explained why I did it, I was just yelled at for doing it. Although I was yelled at, I know it was the right thing to do. I couldn't live knowing that if I had let him drive drunk who he might have hit.
There was also a day when my brother got me caught with diapers I was using for the bed wetting. I didn't want anyone to know for fear of being punished for it. But we both shared a room, so it was always a risk to be exposed. So this one day my brother grabbed the bag of diapers from under my bed and dumped it in front of my parents and in front of me. Boy that was a nice fight.
But I just told my parents it was a fetish, that I just liked wearing them. Well, actually they suggested it and I just said "yea, that's it". The answer was accepted and the problem with my parents went away for several more years. I would have thought with my brother knowing how bed wetting feels, that he would have kept my secret. I don't know, I guess he wanted me to be punished for wetting the way he was. I never found out why he did it.
It's interesting however that they are sort of ok about a fetish, but not ok about a wetting problem. My family gave my brother hell about his wetting problem which is why I kept mine secret. Making him sleep in a tub, threatened with diapers, made to sleep in just plastic pants. I wasn't down for that.
Anyway after the fight things just continued on the same for another year for the most part. The only other incident involving the baby stuff was when I had a car seat in the closet. I was taking out the trash and next to the dumpster was a car seat.
So I took it upstairs, cleaned it off and would play with it. I would put on a diaper, sit in it and close my eyes and imagine I was in the back of my imaginary family's car going on a trip somewhere. Had some fun imaginary trips in that thing.
But it was found during one of my mom's frequent searches. I am not sure exactly what she was actually looking for during them, but she did it every few months. And just so happens it happened to be during the time I had the car seat. She didn't really say anything about it, just to take it back out to the trash and that was it.
There was another argument about something that never should have occurred. My mom came over and I forget how, but we got into the conversation about if Stan tells us he loved us. He just kept saying "They know it". We wanted him to say the words. He ended up leaving. He never did actually say the words. And never has. Another major change was coming. Stan had been fired from driving the El Monte city bus when he had a seizure. He didn't tell the bus company about it and had a seizure while driving and almost crashed into a Mc Donald's. It ended up in the news paper and became a reason for me and my brother to be picked on at school.
I'm not saying I blame Stan for having a seizure. It's a medical issue, it happens. I am just stating the fact that this news article was used as a weapon for teasing. And also because he no longer was working due to the seizure he was loosing the apartment.
About 6 weeks after I had broken my ankle Stan told us we were going to stay at our moms for a bit. We packed a few things and he drove us to my mom's house. What we didn't know is this wasn't short term. Stan put everything in storage but lost it all when he couldn't pay for it anymore. Besides the few things we brought with us, everything else was lost to the storage place that sold our belongings to cover their non-payment of rent.
My mom at the time was living in a motel room (kitchen, bathroom and living room basically was the room) in Glendale California with her boyfriend John. She and John slept on a pull down bed and me and my brother slept on a bunk bed that the lower bed folded into a sofa for daytime use.
My mom wanted to get me enrolled in a local special education school but I wasn't able to go to school just yet because the special education schools considered my crutches a weapon. So I had a home school teacher for 2 months. I learned more in those 2 months than I did in a whole year of going to a actual school.
And meanwhile I was going for my check-ups at the hospital finally. They told me and my mom that my cast should have been changed 2 months ago. Because I was walking on it due to not getting any help by anyone the bottom of the cast was all messed up, not to mention my ankle had healed incorrectly. I wasn't supposed to walk on it at all during those first several weeks.
Due to me walking on it, instead of my foot pointing straight like it was supposed to heal, it instead points about 2 inches outward to the left. Hence the right knee and some minor back pain as it's throwing out my body's alignment. The doctor wanted to re-break it to fix the alignment, but there was no way I was going to be in a cast for another several weeks. Not to mention the pain again. And also during the time my leg was in the cast my weight went from 190 pounds to 240 pounds due to not being able to ride my bike or work out other ways.
When the cast finally came off my mom had me enrolled in the school. The school was called Dubnoff Center in North Hollywood California, and that was hell. The attacks by both staff and student started back up again. As did the psych ward stays (my mom's favorite punishment for me).
The school was mostly for children with problems with learning disabilities or from schools that they were expelled from for fighting, stealing, skipping school and all sorts of other problems. So of course I got into fights with some of the other kids.
One instance a kid wanted on the classroom computer I was on and I asked him to please wait his turn. He got upset and to get back at me he spit on me. Another time a kid took my school books out of my back pack and threw them in the trash. The teacher wanted to know why I wasn't doing my work, so I explained to him that it would kind of be hard to do with the books being in the trash. Those fights didn't result in too much trouble thankfully.
The kids there wanted me to fight them. I am very passive unless I am backed into a corner and forced to fight. It wasn't that I couldn't fight, I just see no reason to fight someone because I am pissed off. That's not a way to live. I have always lived under the rule of fight only when you have to. Sandra (and DJ and Pam when they were alive) can tell ya, I am a big teddy bear. Well, polar bear....lol. I love it cold. Haha.
I was also having some issues with the math teacher. When I asked for help, she would tell me to be quiet and just do my work. She was always insulting me. So I would have to put up with it I took my math book and went out to the lunch tables to do my work and taught myself the work. But I got a F in the class because she refused to take the completed work. Personally I didn't care. I knew I learned the material and that's really all I cared about at the time.
The school set up a whale watching trip. So that morning we got on the school bus and drove to the beach where we got on a small ship. We went out pretty far. Finally we started seeing whales. I had my hands on the railing and was watching all the whales. There were several. At least 10 or more.
That's when these 2 students tried to throw me overboard. They kept grabbing for my legs and trying to throw me over. I would have been crushed by the 20 ton or more whales. After I got them off of me I walked to another part of the boat only for them to try again.
They attempted to throw me overboard 3 different times. Every time when I reported it I was told since the staff didn't see it and there was nothing they could do. After the 3rd time I decided to just go inside for the remainder of the trip. But at least I got the chance to see a few whales. So that was good at least.
I would like to say things got better though in the new classroom but sadly they did not. A new problem appeared. Although the new classroom was good school work wise, but this one kid would sit in class and make sexual comments to me. Telling me to suck his privates and so on. Me and this kid had many run ins with each other.
A few weeks after the trip I was transferred to a new classroom. Due to the problems in the previous math class, the principle transferred me to a different classroom. I was finally able to get some help with the work when needed. Things were going alright.
A few days later I was helping a aid (A black male named Malcolm who was about mid to late 30's for age) clean up the classroom and he found a piece of like Playdoh and we were tossing it around. I am not sure what happened but his attitude suddenly changed. I tossed the Playdoh back to him and he just flipped.
He walked right up to me, removed his belt and slapped the sides of my legs with it 3 times (twice on the right, once on the left). That my mom believed me about. However to this day I have no idea what happened for him to just turn so angry like that. But because of the incident I kept my distance from him to avoid any further incidents from him.
Me and the kid who was saying perverted thing got into a major fight one afternoon. When the bell rang near 3pm in the afternoon as we was walking out the classroom he decked me in the stomach and ran. I had enough. I ran after him.
I was sick and tired of him hitting me and for me to report it to staff that would not do anything about it. They, like all the special education schools I attended had the policy of "If I didn't see it, it didn't happen. So the school bullies got away with it as long as they didn't do anything when the staff were looking.
I chased him over to the basket ball court to stand up to him in hopes he would then stop bullying me. Instead he picked up metal bench and was going to throw it at me. I picked up one with the intention of throwing mine as he threw his with the hope to cancel out the one he threw so I would not get hurt. He threw his at me and missed. So I was putting mine down just as a staff rounded the corner.
The staff member accused me of throwing the first bench the kid had thrown and said I was going to throw another. I was never questioned on what happened, the school went only on what they THINK they saw happen.
Although had I not been angry and made the mistake of picking up that bench to defend myself I would not had been accused of it. At the time it seemed like the best way to defend myself from being injured by the bench the other kid had picked up.
The fight ended with the kid being taken to another classroom and the classroom door locked. Just then Bobby (my bus driver and also one of the time out room team members) and Marshall (another staff member that also worked part time as one of the time out room team) came around the corner. They were coming to take me and lock me in the solitary room. I ran away from them. I was in no mood to be locked in a smelly room for hours on end. When I found out the the kid had be transported home I sat down at the lunch tables to calm down from the whole incident. I was angry, this wasn't the first major attack from this kid and no staff were doing anything for MY safety. Again the rule of "If I didn't see it, it didn't happen" from the staff, my safety was only granted if staff were actively watching me at the time.
A staff member approached me and told me my mom wanted to talk to me on the phone. I told the staff member to hang up the phone, that I had nothing to say to her. The staff member came back and we talked a bit about the incident. Not about what actually happened. Just that I should have walked away. Then he told me the mobile psych team was on their way to talk to me.
The staff member came back and walked me to the classroom. After 3 hours talking to the aid about what was going on, what was REALLY going on when they were not looking there was a knock at the classroom door. It was the mobile psych team from Van Nuys Psychiatric Hospital. It was just after 6:30pm when they arrived. My heart jumped. I started to panic.
They had already gotten the staff's side of what they think they saw happen, however it wasn't the whole story as they didn't see what started it or what had actually happened. They then asked me for my side of the story. I calmly explained what has been happening up to today with the kid attacking me, and what exactly happened between me and the other kid and why I was so upset and why I felt I needed to stand up for myself the way I did.
The lady and guy from the crisis team finished up their notes and stepped outside the room. I sat nervous in the classroom waiting to hear of my fate. 10 minutes later the door opens and in comes a ambulance team from American Medical Response with a bed and set of 5 point tan leather restraints (both wrists, both ankles and a waist belt). I began to panic. Behind the ambulance EMT's in walks the crisis team that talked to me and the therapist of the kid who attacked me came in as well.
The woman from the crisis team explains that if I don't co-operate and lay on the bed and let the EMT's put on the restraints on me they will call the police and I would be handcuffed and taken to the psych ward by the officer. So left with no choice I laid on the bed and the EMT's began putting the restraints on me.
While this is going, Sean's therapist (the bully) is standing next to me. She walked up closer and says "You are doing so good by letting them put the restraints on you" as if praising some little kid for following directions from mommy. I just wanted her to shut up at that moment. I wasn't in the mood. She wasn't helping the situation. She was only making me more upset.
After I was put in restraints on the stretcher I was wheeled out to the waiting ambulance in the school's parking lot. The ride to the hospital felt like it was taking forever. It was about 7:30pm when we arrived at the hospital. It was already dark outside. I was taken into the lobby still strapped to the bed, but once inside my hands were released but my ankles and waist restraints were still securely locked in place.
I sat with my arms folded on my chest while I was waiting in the lobby. A few moments later some of the kids on the ward walked by me coming in from the outside 10 foot fenced in recreation area outside. I watched as several of the other kids that were there at the hospital checked me out as they passed by me. Seeing the "new guy" so to speak.
After I was checked in, I was taken to the restraint room/ time out room for a strip search. First they took a Polaroid picture of me and then asked me to take off all my clothes. All my clothes were removed, even my underwear and searched for anything that wasn't allowed. Then I had to hold up my arms, spread my legs for them to see if I had anything tucked under my arms or between my legs.
Once the strip search was done I was allowed to leave the solitary room and was taken over to the nurses station and motioned to a chair across from a nurse who asked me a few questions. The intake nurse asked me if I knew why was I there.
I was still angry at what had happened at the school and began explaining to her about the incident. Saying that I didn't need to be there. That I wasn't the attacker. I stopped talking though when I realized she was not listening to what I had to say. She just quietly continued to fill out the paperwork, having me sign in a few places and then showed me to my room.
The room I was in was the second room down from the dinning room and across from the boys day room. It had 3 beds in it with lights over the head of the bed and a bathroom accessed by both rooms. However you were not free to use it anytime you wanted.
The bathroom was locked. You had to ask permission to use the bathroom. In the bathroom was just a sink and a toilet. The tank lid was zip tied down so you couldn't open the tank. I assume so you couldn't take the lid off and take anything out of the tank or try to drown yourself in the tank or something. Who knows.
The room window looked out to the street. You could look out but no one could look in though. They had the window, but then a outer much thicker window pane on the outside that was tinted. I could see the bus stop from there and spent much of the visitors time by the window looking for someone in my family to step off the bus. No one did.
The hospital made you attend a school which was held in the hospital's dining room. If there wasn't any more seats open for the school that day you went to what they called the overflow. You were taken to a room where you watched a movie. But because the school was only for a little over a hour at a time we never actually had enough time to finish any of the movies we watched.
The meals were not bad for hospital food. Each meal they would wheel in two long carts that would have food. Everything was all you could eat. As much as you wanted. And between meals there was a fridge that had regular and chocolate milk, apple juice and orange juice. And next to the fridge was two machines that gave out premixed drink mix.
If you refused to go to the school, or any groups then a few staff members would run into your room, grab you take you to the solitary room where you had to spend the length of that school or group was (a hour for example) as punishment for not going to the school or group or whatever you refused to go to. And that's just what happened.
After being shown to my room I was advised of a upcoming group. I wasn't in the mood for a group. I just wanted to be left alone. I had much to process with all that happened. The staff member came back saying it was time for group. I told him I didn't feel up to it right now. 2 minutes later him and another staff member came in and grabbed me and took me to solitary. I was pushed into the room and they closed the door and activated the magnetic lock. I was left in there for 45 minutes. After the 45 minutes in solitary the staff member opened the door and told me group was over and I could return to my room. I wasn't in my room for more then 10 minutes when the two staff who grabbed me and put me in solitary came running into the room. I got up on reflex. They grabbed me, spun me around and laid me on my bed face down.
Then one of the staff members grabbed my right arm and pulled it behind my back and pushed it toward my neck. The other staff member grabbed one foot at a time and began removing the show laces. When they finished I was let to fall to the floor as they walked out of the room. I was unable to move my right arm with severe pain. I wasn't able to use my right arm without pain for 2 days.
The morning groups really got on my nerves. I thought it was stupid myself. You had to get up before breakfast and based on a number between 1 and 10 you would choose how you were feeling and then pick a goal for the day. Now I am not really a morning person. I was in a hurry to leave the hospital, so my answer was always "I am a 10, goal is to leave". Simply put and always the same. I ended up being there for 7 days because of the kid.
Although looking back on the attack from the bullies from the school, now as an adult the situation could have been handled better. But back then, I didn't know how else to handle the situation. The only way I knew how to handle it was if no one was going to protect me from this bully, was to stand up for myself and show him I wasn't going to take it.
But the problem with that thinking is first because of the "If we didn't see it, it didn't happen" rule that plan was doomed to fail with me coming out to be the bully. And second I probably should have kept reporting it, or found a witness who saw it that I could have brought to the teacher. But what kid thinks the way a adult would? Kids think like kids.
In the end he didn't get punished because I couldn't prove he actually hit me. I was told I was making it up. Funny how this is how it goes. It seems I am always being told I am lying. I made a video from the nightmares and flashbacks from the abuse in Van Nuys Psychiatric Hospital as well. Dubnoff Center let me return back to the school after I was discharged from Van Nuys Psychiatric Hospital. We had a meeting and me and Sean Schwartz the bully who was attacking me were both told not to talk to each other and to stay away from each other. I was fine with that. It's what I wanted to begin with.
Sean didn't stop. Later that day he began making sexual remarks telling me to lick his privates and so on. I got tired of it and stepped outside to cool down. The staff did nothing about him making these comments because they didn't hear them. So they made it appear that I was just suddenly acting up for no reason. The time out room staff wanted to lock me in the solitary room again for not staying in the classroom. So I ran from them.
About 2 hours later of them chasing me around instead of just letting me cool off and go back to class they had me sent home. Why everything needs to be made worse I don't know. Why they couldn't just leave me alone to cool off I don't know. Always having to escalate things.
When I got home my mom told me to stay dressed, that Stan was on his way over. I didn't quite understand what was going on but had that gut feeling that it wasn't anything good. Stan arrived and my mom and I got in with her carrying a small bag of clothing and such. I knew what she was going to do. My mom had Stan drive me and her to her phone room where she worked as a telemarketer to get some money for gas.
I tried to get out of the car to get a coke but she yelled down from the second story balcony to stay in the car. From there they drove me to Covina to Charter Oak Hospital. As we drove into the parking lot I felt like someone had hit me in my stomach. I was having a hard time breathing and my heart was beating out of my chest. Once inside waiting to be seen she told me to tell the nurse that I was suicidal. I wasn't falling for that again. Last time I did that I was put in there for a week. I refused to make the same mistake of listening to her again. The nurse called me in and asked me what was going on. I explained I was having some trouble with bullies at school with them telling staff I was attacking them when I didn't touch them. The nurse asked if I was suicidal and I told her no. She then called in my mom into her office. My mom told them I was suicidal again to get me admitted. Because I refused to tell them I was suicidal they wouldn't admit me.
Then my mom told them I was this problem child and so on and tried having me sent to a group home. The hospital began making phone calls to have me placed in a group home. While the hospital was calling around my mom came out to the bench I was sitting on and started telling me how much I would like being in a group home. That it would be good for me and so on. But I didn't meet the situation for a placement in a group home.
My mom got angry and did her fake crying she does for the intake worker. The worker bought her acting and suggested to my mom that if things are that bad to take me to child services. So I was packed back up in the car and then she had Stan drive a few cities over to Department Of Children's and Families services.
My mom sat down with the worker and lied saying that I was beating her and my brother and that they feared for their lives. I never hit my mother once....ever. It was the other way around, I was the one afraid of her. I was terrified of her. I never knew what she was going to have done to me next.
And brothers being brothers, of course I would fight with him. But it was never anything serious. No broken bones or anything really serious. A punch her and there if anything. Mostly it was yelling back and forth with each other. I tried to tell the worker my mom was lying but the worker told me to just sit there and be quiet. The worker wouldn't listen to me at all.
In the end, the Children's Services worker bought my mom's story and was about to take me into their custody until I turned 21. And because my mom told them I was a danger I wouldn't be placed in a group home. They were going to place me in a juvenile detention center till I was 21. The worker told my mom it would cost my parents $600.00 a month child support for Child Services to take care of me.
My mom not having that much money told the worker she lied, that I wasn't really beating her. That she made it all up. I was allowed to go home but child's services worker told my mom to call her if my mom had any problems with me at all. The worker said if my mom called her with any problems, the police would be sent to my house, I would be arrested on the spot and taken to the juvenile detention center and held there till my 21st birthday. I was terrified at the power that was just given to my mom. One call and I wouldn't see freedom till I was 21.
My mom used that to threaten me with all the time to do what she wanted until the case closed 2 months later. Most of my days were spent sleeping the days away or I would leave on my bicycle and ride up to Griffith Park and not come home till 5 minutes before my bed time. I would come home, take my shower and go right to bed.
And at school I knew I couldn't get in trouble for anything so I had no choice but to let the bullies beat me up. I didn't tell the teachers anything for fear that the bullies would lie and I couldn't risk any phone calls or reports home. So I kept quiet and just took the beatings. I was back at Dubnoff again 3 days later. Over the course of a few weeks other incidents happened. For example, there was a incident with the teacher. We were watching a movie that was supposed to be teaching about when music artists were paying radio stations to play their music. I forget what it's called. Pay, peyote or something like that.
Anyway, I was leaning back in my chair as I have a habit of doing, got to love ADHD. The teacher stopped the tape and looked at me and told me to put my chair down on it's feet and that if I kept acting like a baby she was going to have me taken over to the day care area of the school, have my pants removed, a diaper put on and I would "spend the day with the rest of the babies" in a diaper and T-shirt.
Yea I know, it's just a threat. But going by the other things the school had already gotten away with doing, I wasn't about to test if she was serious or not. I wasn't about to risk being held down and diapered. Forget that. And then, who would believe me when I went to report it? I mean, would you?
I got into a argument with my mom about the abuse at Dubnoff and her not doing anything about it. I was telling her what they were doing to me there. Such as repeatedly locking me in the schools time out room by the gym. Anytime I did something wrong, they would drag me to the solitary room, push me in and lock me in the room.
The room was about 8 feet long, 4 feet wide and carpet covered the floor and walls. No lights, just a small window at the end of the room and a small window in the solid steel door at the other end. The door couldn't be opened from the inside. It would be held shut by a staff holding the handle on the outside of the door.
It smelled of pee because the staff would not open the door to let you use the bathroom. You either held it till they let you out, wet your pants, or you peed on the floor or walls which is what most of the kids did. I was often locked in the room for a hour up to 3 hour at a time. If they put you in before or during lunch, you lost your lunch for that day.
She kept telling me that I was just making it up so I wouldn't have to go to school. I got depressed and told her I just wanted the abuse to stop and felt like dying. She looked me in the eyes and said "The stake knives are in the kitchen. Go for it".
I got upset at such a comment and left on my bike for the remainder of the evening. I have always loved trains, and know a lot about them. I road to the railroad tracks for the local Metolink commuter train. I knew it did a average of 65 miles per hour and death would be instant.
I stood on the rail facing down the track. In the distance a headlight appeared. It was a Metrolink train. As it got closer the conductor must have been able to see me as he leaned on the horn. 2 seconds before it struck me I stepped off the rail. I felt the rush of air as it barely missed striking me. And I am sure I gave the poor conductor a heart attack I am sure. But at the time I was totally calm.
Truth is though I wasn't thinking about the conductor or how it would have made him feel if he had hit me. I was hurting not just from the abuse at Dubnoff Center, but my mom's comment at my pain as well. I wanted out. I didn't want to live through anymore abuse. I was ready to leave this earth.
But the last second something made me move. I can't even explain what it was. Because at the time I was happy to leave this life. But I guess someone was watching out for me and had something more planned for my life. I just got back on my bike, went home and went to bed.
Metrolink was always one of my favorite trains to ride down in the LA area. I like to watch trains and air planes so living in North Hollywood, going to the Burbank airport/train station was my favorite spot because I would get to see both airplanes and trains. Here's a link to a video on Youtube of just that station I used to hang out at a lot. http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=0Us6gDPlIEE. First is some shots of a Amtrak, then a few planes and then the Metrolink. So anyway later on the comment about the knife came up in therapy at the next session and the therapist walked me out and chewed out my mom for her knife comment. My mom made a comment saying "Just had to tell your therapist about that didn't you?". Not that it did much good. I didn't mention the train though. I wasn't looking for yet another stay in Van Nuys Psychiatric. Enough damage was done already.
Because of the rough home life in addition to the abuse at school I often spent a lot of time away from home riding around on my bicycle. My thinking was if I wasn't home I couldn't do anything to get sent back to the hospital or anything else. I would go out on my bike as soon as I got home from school and wouldn't come back home till 5 minutes before the bed time my mom had for me (9pm).
My bike was one of those 10 speeds. I often felt at home at parks and in nature. There were many close to where I was living in Glendale. But my ultimate favorite place to go was Griffith Park. The park was HUGE. Some of the attractions there was a horse riding trail, observatory, Zoo, and Travel Town (ride on 1/7th scale trains) just to name a few.
One of my favorite places to go in the park was Travel Town. The place had full scale train cars you could go inside of, a model railroad inside the building and out back was a 1/7th scale ride on train that only cost 50 cents a ride plus much much more. I would come with five dollars and get hours of rides out of it.
I was one of very few 16 year olds riding it, but I really didn't care what anyone thought. There, I could forget my life and just be like every other kid there. Just having a good time. Anyway, here's a Youtube video of the place: http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=hstZvujJw78&feature=related
Oh yes, then there was the car accident while on the Dubnoff school bus. Bobby (black male early 30's), who was my bus driver while going to Dubnoff and also one of the time out room staff picked up the last kid that morning. The bus got to the corner of the street and after stopping at the stop sign proceeded to make his left turn.
That's when this car didn't stop and slammed into the left front side of the bus causing the bus to tip onto the two right side tires as we drove along the cars bumper and then landed back on our wheels. The bus driver pulled over to the side of the street.
As expected, the kids were shaken up. And the boy we just picked up wanted to walk back to his house but the driver didn't let any of the kids off the bus. Another bus was called and we were transferred to another bus and taken to school. I can't speak for any of the other students, but they didn't even talk to me about it, nor did they contact my mom to tell her I had been involved in a accident. And because there was no call home, when I tried to tell her she told me I was lying. She told me had I been in a accident she would have been called. Really? So sure about that huh?
Then there was the threat of sending me back to the hospital by the time out room staff. I was in the classroom trying to do my math assignment. I was having some problems understanding the work and asked the teacher for some help. I was told to be quiet. I tried to ask for the help and was again told to be quiet and do my work. Without the help to understand the work I couldn't do it. So I quietly closed my math book and placed my head down on the table.
Because I wasn't doing my work the teacher phoned the time out room staff to "come deal with me". The staff came in and one of them kneeled down next to my desk and told me I need to do my work. I tried to explain the situation but he cut me off saying "Do we need to call the people?". Confused I asked what they were talking about. He tells me "The psych ward people". My heart began to pound in my chest.
I jumped from my seat in panic and ran out of the classroom door as fast as I could. I was terrified of being sent back there. They didn't find me for over 3 hours. A teacher found me hiding behind a big bush. I was crying and couldn't stop shaking. I was so terrified of going back to Van Nuys Psych and being injured again. They had to call my mom to come and get me because I couldn't calm down.