I went inside my new home and locked the door behind me as quickly as I could.
How could I live here? I traipsed up to the second floor of the dark and desolate building with my key and bag of clothes in hand.
DEADLY NIGHTMARE CLASS WINDOWS
It was a bright, warm day but the windows of the unit were closed, and a few of them had been boarded up with wood – it looks like they had been smashed quite recently. It took several phone calls to the care-unit manager and out-of-hours local authority staff to confirm I was due to stay at this unit after all. They said they didn’t have a room for me. I was greeted by smiley but confused workers who weren’t expecting me. I arrived in the early evening to a building which looked like a prison.
DEADLY NIGHTMARE CLASS HOW TO
Of course I didn’t think he was a taxi service, but I wouldn’t have minded some compassion.Ī few hours later, after a lot of help from school friends who knew London well, I found out how to get to this new place, and travelled the 90-minute journey to get there on my own. “Ha! What do you think I am, a taxi service? You can make your own way there,” was his response. “Is there any chance you could help me out with a taxi there?” I asked. It felt like drawing blood from a stone, but eventually he gave me the address of a care unit, miles away, in an area I had never been to before. I tried to call the local authority several times and eventually, I was put through to a man who didn’t even introduce himself. I was hoping to receive updates fairly regularly, given the life changing day that I was having, but didn’t hear anything into the afternoon. I tried to do some exam revision while I nervously waited. She said: “I will get back to you later to let you know what will happen with you.” I started to feel like a second-class citizen that was grudgingly being moved to anywhere that might take me, rather than the unfortunate young person I was. In this time of deep worry, the last thing I needed was to be questioned for a decision I had obviously not made lightly. The local authority knew about everything I had been experiencing. When I told her that I could no longer live there, she seemed angry and frustrated “Why would you do this? This is not the right decision.” I was shocked. She was my new worker and I hadn’t met her yet, but we had been in frequent contact over the difficulties I had in the foster home. I left the foster home in the morning with some clothes, my phone and a toothbrush, and called my social worker. Where will I be moved to? Will I have any support? Will I be safe? I started to feel like a second-class citizen rather than an unfortunate young person The decision was all mine, and it was the biggest jump I had ever made.
Things had become increasingly fragile and tense at the foster home I had lived in for more than seven years, and after exploring every route possible and trying to reconcile relationships, the placement had eventually broken down.
0 kommentar(er)
