Cps: Fill & Download for Free

I got suspended from school until August on Tuesday. Now, you’re probably thinking, damn they fucked up, or they must be a bad kid.Nope. I maintain passing grades, I may not be a genius, but I’m passing all of my classes with a B or a C. I wasn’t rude to a teacher, I didn’t get into any fights, I did nothing wrong that should be considered wrong.Now, do you want to hear why I was suspended?I went to my friends for help when I was feeling suicidal and was scared of my mom.Yup. That’s right.I asked for help, and got punished for it.My mom is abusive, both emotionally and physically. She calls me worthless, tells me I shouldn’t exist, and hits me regularly. Because of this, I have some pretty fun anxiety attacks and some odd triggers, such as people moving quickly around me, doors opening unexpectedly, and loud noises when I am asleep.I have some pretty fucking great friends. They’ve let me sleep on them during our free periods, they bring me food because my mom doesn’t like to feed me. And they comfort me when I have anxiety attacks or am feeling suicidal.Recently, my mother’s abuse got worse, and they got more worried, and, being the wonderful, amazing, caring people they are, they told adults. January of this year, the first CPS report was filed.I was called a liar by my mother, and CPS went along with it, as did the Police.A second report was filed in February, which was again ignored due to my mothers insistence that I was lying. But this time, we had photos, and when the report was filed, I had a bruise on my face.My mom said the bruise was fake, just make up (even though it clearly wasn’t), and all of my photos were fakes.Again, I was called a liar and my claims were dismissed.About a week ago, a third report was filed.This time, my friends refused to allow it to go unanswered. They’ve made phone calls, talked to so many people, teachers, everyone.Two weeks ago, I attempted suicide and was taken to the Crisis Center. Not by my mother. She actually tried to turn the police away when my friend got his mom to call in a welfare check.I continued to be depressed due to the fact that nothing was working.I am seeing a therapist.But on Tuesday I got suspended indefinitely from school, to be re-evaluated in August.Their reason?I worry my friends and it distracts them. The police officer I met with at one point forbid me from talking to them when I was scared or hurting anymore.I informed my friends of this and got various responses ranging from “Fuck them” to “Hell no” to “I don’t care”.Now to actually answer your question.You wanna know what is wrong with our society today?CPS listens to parents over children, even when the kids have evidence.Depression and suicidal thoughts and anxiety is considered toxic and bad and a thing to be ashamed of.That’s what’s fucking wrong.EDIT #1Holy shit, over 5k upvotes? That’s insane. Thank you all for supporting me through this, and for recognizing and spreading awareness that there is a serious issue with our society believing that things like depression, anxiety, or suicidal thoughts are something we should be embarrassed about, something that should be suffered through silently. Because nobody, not a single person, should ever have to fight through anything alone.EDIT #2: 8/27/18So the situation right now is this;I left and went to a wilderness program for three months in an attempt to find better ways to handle my anxiety and suicidal-ness. When I came back, and requested to return to my school, I was told that I have yet to gain enough “insight” (whatever that means), and that they will not allow me back this fall. The current plan is for me to return in January, but that too is still up in the air. This fall, I am doing independent study work. What sucks the most right now is the fact that, well, I can’t do any of the stuff that I loved to do through my school. Additionally, I can’t see my friends very often, which sucks even more.Thank you all for all of the up votes. We’re at over 16K right now, which I think really is amazing. The situation that I have been placed into really is sucky, and sharing it with more people helps to make sure that it does not happen to somebody else.EDIT #3: 12/16/18I didn’t get to go back.I tried so, so damn hard. I did everything they asked, I got B+’s and A’s for the first time in my life. I worked my ass off, I went to therapists and I learned anxiety coping strategies. I learned how to combat my ADHD and I worked as hard as I could to become someone who could go back to that school.But the reason I didn’t get to go back was because they felt that it was unhealthy for the community, and while I have made progress, I haven’t made enough progress.I feel like I’ve lost everything that I was trying so damn hard to achieve. I loved that school with all of my heart. My friends are there. The activities I love to do are there. My freaking life is there.And now that I’ve been officially told, non-negotiably, that I am never going to be allowed to return…I feel like my freaking life has been destroyed.I’m never going to get to see my friends every day ever again. I’m never going to get to do extracurriculars with them ever again. I’m never going to be able to fucking graduate along side my closest friends in this whole damn world. And it hurts more than I ever possibly imagined.

I have had to once and members of my team have as well for children who were under our care.The time that stands out to me the most was a case where we kept hearing stories from the child (3 turning 4) of how he would get food while daddy was sleeping. Now kids this age have vivid imaginations and tell stories a lot but some things he kept saying kept making us stop and think. His dad also would say odd things to us about what happened at home and we just kept getting weird feelings, but as far as we could tell they were just a quirky family. One day the dad said that he woke up and the child had eaten an entire package of breakfast bars with scissors. I asked the boy about the story and he said he was hungry because he didn't eat when it was dark (night time) or when the sun woke up (morning) and didn't want to wake daddy up so daddy wouldn't get mad.This alone had us deciding to go ahead and make the call just for a welfare check up. What happened the next day is something that I'll never forgive myself for taking so long to report. He came to school late (as usual) and had nail marks on his arms, back, and belly as well as a very clear, dark hand print on his face. You could see each joint from the persons fingers across his face. you could see where one finger caught his eye and bruised the thin skin under his eye. I couldn't keep it together. I wanted to make sure I kept him safe with us so I let the dad drop off as usual and as soon as his dad was out of the building we called cps and took many, many photos and had everyone write up incident reports. He told us “mommy get mad and hurt me” and I lost it.Cps ended up investigating and we heard that him and his siblings were left at their apartment all day alone and in one instance the child was wandering around a busy road alone as the cps agents were pulling up.For a few weeks he remained at my center and every day the dad would angrily tell us all about how we were ruining their home life for no reason (even though this poor baby obviously deserved a safer home life) and tried to blame us for him potentially losing his job due to him having to take off to take care of his child.To this day the whole situation makes me sick and I regret so much not listening to my gut when I first felt uneasy about the situation. I often wonder what happened to that child and hope that he is in a better environment. Now I listen to my gut.

You don't know what you don't know, until you do.Photos of how my mother's final home ended up at the end. Some triggering animal content herein. Dog lovers beware.The ExodusIt never occurred to me that we had too much stuff; that is, until we moved.The spring of 1983, my mother was losing her suburban home in a short sale. We had a 3 bedroom, probably 1200 square foot home, not including the garage converted into a family room, in a Sacramento suburb. It never seemed to me that we had too much stuff. I don't remember having to navigate a maze of stacked boxes in our home, for example, which can be typical of most Hoarder Homes. The haven to which we fled was the 25 acres in the mountains which she had purchased in ‘78. She lost it in foreclosure for want of a $15,000 owner-carried note, but that is another story. Depression sucks. It was a nice property, with river frontage at the bottom of the canyon, a mile down a horrible dirt road, or straight down through the woods and poison oak. I only made that mistake once, and had to go to the ER. This is what the entrance looks like in 2019. I wonder if they have electricity yet?“Bootstrap Way" my mother went down to the county to name it, as it is to this day because she was pulling herself up by her bootstraps. Nice sentiment.Back in the city, my mother was collecting boxes from the Alpha-Beta supermarket so we could move. This was the same place she had been making me dumpster-dive for garbage produce. The boxes for oranges were the best. They had handles.Thus began what seemed to me a multi-month moving experience from where we were to were to where we were going. A ’73 Ford F-250 truck, loaded with boxes, towing a stake-side trailer loaded with even more boxes. Weekend after weekend, trip after trip. My mom had spent $12k to have a two story 2k st barn shell built on the property. The bottom floor was a cement slab, and had a single small window. The top floor was plywood, but had two windows, so it had light in the day. Unfinished, the walls were studs. My mom's hoard, and to this day I don't remember where it came from, filled the structure. My mom had me stay with a baby sitter until the last day of 6th grade when I was 11. My birthday is in the fall.The bottom floor became a maze of six foot high stacks of boxes the feeble light of the single northward-facing window failed to penetrate. The top floor, however, was a little less complicated. My mom and I slept on a bare queen-sized mattress on the plywood. That was ok until winter. Then we retreated to the bottom floor to sleep in chairs in sleeping bags, in a quasi-room made by hanging blankets with a smelly kerosene heater for warmth and kerosene lamps for light. the Snows came, it was Cold. No plumbimg or electricity. Not 1983, but 1883, With a Ford F-250. I used to turn up the lamps as high as I could to drive back the darkness between the stacks, but I usually ended up sootimg the lamp, self-defeating, and burning my fingers.My mom and I weren't alone in the forest. She also hoarded animals.The Menagerie.We had a lot of dogs in the city, my mom bread Llasa Apsos, medium to small dogs whose puppies sold for $350 (AKC papered) back then. We had a lot in the city, but we soon grew to 50 dogs, one of whom was an Aussie, Lady, and a sheep, Sally, who ended up thinking she was a dog. My mom ended up giving her away, and we heard a few years later about a sheep who liked dog food. Go Sally! You escaped!The dogs were free range during the day. I herded them into a 700 sf outbuildimg at night. It stank of piss. It was my job to take care of it, but my mom was sometimes slow on buying cedar shavings. I would periodically sweep she waste out the door into the mountain misery. That was next to the tossed about dishwashers, six or seven, that lay in the woods. My mom got them from rue Mormon Deseret thrift store in Sacramento. The Mormons were preppers before that was chic, and my mom respected that. Dishwashers could be buried to store food. She never did that and various mountain critters took advantage.We also had chickens we moved with us from the city, and soon acquired ducks and goats. With no electricity, I took care of the animals, read paperbacks with their covers torn off (rescued from dumpsters), took care of the animals, chopped wood (for others to sell since we didn't have a stove), or wandered the woods with the dogs. That was my 11h year at the end of 6th grade, and into my 12th.The sickest thing, where I think I lost my innocence, was the puppy head (skip to the break if you love dogs).We had a fear-biter bitch, Tammy. I could pet her but I had to be careful. My mom stopped breeding her eventually after she spawnded fear-biting pups. It was genetic.In the dark first story, Tammy and Silver, a sweet dog, both had litters. My mom put them in our barn-home to keep the litters safe from the other dogs, on that dark first floor.We came home one afternoon, letting both mother dogs out. Upstairs, on the bare queen mattress, I found a puppy head, bitten off. I told my mom. Downstairs, I found Silver's entire litter, partially eaten, some back ends in the dog bed looking like the bodies were partially scooped out. Later that year I would find my first pet, “So-Big" a peekapoo I named at 2 because I called her ‘So. Big!” with a burst stomach, run over by our truck. I found her when the snow melted enough. My childhood pet. I was numb. Another day in the life. Many dogs died after that, and i considered every one of them pets. I had special, personal.nicknames for every one of them.I didn't cry when i found So-Big. It would be another 30+ years until I cried over a pet, my female rat Rizzo. I bawled like a baby and let it all out. That was 12 years ago, and I'm kind of crying now. I loved that darn girl rat I brought back from Oregon, who knew her name, would come when I called her, and would nuzzle me and sit on my shoulder. 12 year old neighbour girl knocked on my door one night, “you want my rat?” Er, ok. I took the cage into my apartment. She and I stared at each other and I said, “ok. Now what, Ratty?”A few years later, Rizzo gssped her last breath in my hands as she looked me in the eyes. So trusting. She was the best. I was feeling again. Baby Rizzo’s death was tragically early and unnecessary (and my fault), but that's another story….AftermathThe county soon came after my mom. They sent the building code inspector and often the sheriff. My mom fled. We ended up on a friend's property living in a cab-over camper. We took the dogs. They didn't live well. I won't go into detail, but we dealt with mange and outbreaks of Parvo. Silver lived a few more years.A lot of the barn hoatd was lost, but my mom had a small storage unit for antiques and valuables. She lost most of that in 1990.In 1989, my senior year of high school, she bought a home. I finally had a bed after 5 years. I remember my girlfriend and I stoking the wood stove in a empty house. I was 17. The picture at the end is the formerly empty living room. I moved out on my 18th birthday, never ever to return to spend another night in that home. It wasn't bad then, but soon became just that. Many years later, her neighbor vented to me. “we had extra space in our dumpster when we were redoing our house. I told your mom that she could use it for free to get rid of her junk. She told me, ‘you never tell a Hoarder to get rid of their stuff!’ And she didn't talk to me for six months!’ My mom had earlier told me the same story. No variations, the neighbour didn't understand.I thought about contacting that show Hoarders, but I lived over two hours away. Truthfully, I didn't want to deal with it. Leaving out the dysfunctional people my mom peroodically had living with her who helped her clean up to an extent, this is how her home ended up. The first picture is across the living room. The front door is inaccessible. It's darker, so I altered the photo to be brighter. The roof is collapsing, the imsulation caving in.The second photo is of the back entance into the kitchen. That's years of animal feces encrusted on the floor in the kitchen. I have a strong constitution, but I could hardly breathe due to the fumes of smoke, p8ss, mildew and crap. I was going to bring my breather mask next time. That's not the white one, but the one with filters. In the winter with the cold it was better. In warmer months, intolerable.Thankfully, I didn't have to live this badly though my mom would have gone to jail if CPS had caught up wth us then (they did later). My mom talked about adopting more kids a over a decade ago. I would have turned her in.I have more photos on my old laptop. I think. If there's interest, I'll pull it out and edit/add.3/10/20I went to see the final state of the property over a year after my mom was removed. It didn't smell as badly, but due to the black mold, I brought my respirator. Here are some pics. A lot of things were also stolen by her “friends" and indigants.Me on the porch and looking in the front door (opposite angle from the first picture)Black mold, ceilings and my old room that I only lived in for a few months (it was normal back then)