Sunday, 24 April 2016
Reality, Part I: How the End Came to Be
Alrite there wanderers,
I don't know if I've mentioned it but my head got a bit smashed with a car door July 2014. It fucked me up a bit.
January 2015 my abusive ex applied to court for further access to our son as I had restricted visits to his mother's house after he moved in with a drug dealer. The guy is small time and not a bad person as far as I know, he used to frequent a place I used to waitress in and was friendly like, but this is not an environment for a child. There are different classes of people who purchase drugs and the 'hard' ones should stay well clear of my child, or any child. There is risk with such addictions, violence often becomes currency and well being is devalued to the point of non existence.
What followed was my worst nightmare.
I naively turned up to the first court hearing, suffering amnesia, nerve damage, random movements and balance issues, concen5tration and communication difficulties and other such symptoms. I was awaiting my first CT scan, following a referral from the GP to referral for eye checks then a referral by a neurologist, a slow and winding process of neglect in the harshly under funded and under attack and under strain NHS. I presented a simple statement with a moderate offer of negotiaton that maintained the status qou and enabled safe contact between father and son.
I may have been in pain and presenting poorly but my mind was sound. An order was granted confirming my proposal whilst the case progressed and further checks were sought with Cafcass.
I returned to the daily struggle and had some hope, though I was struggling to cope with issues with my son's school. Due to my injury I struggled to get up in the morning and there was some lateness. An average of 7 minutes late, three times a week. This prompted, fueled by vicious rumours, persistent referrals to social services.
On March 27th 2015, the last Thursday before the easter holidays, I arrived at the school to pick up my son. He was not waiting with his class. He was not in the office, but a social worker and the school attendance officor and a police man were. They took me to a small room and sat me down, closed the door and stared at me with sad, serious eyes. I have never known such fear and asked where my child was. They would not tell me and I began to cry and asked again. They told me to sit down. I refused and demanded they told me what was going on, was my son safe?
They said yes, he was in another part of the school. I sat down.
They said I was not allowed to have him.
They said I was a liar and crazy.
They tried to section me under the Mental Health Act.
This is how my son, my bright star, my love, was taken.
This is how the end came to be.