Group Home for the Individual

In 2006, The Department of Social Services just in the state of MA had a grand total of 8385 cases. Out of said 8000 cases, only about 2000 of them had been in placement. Some going to foster homes others going into an assisted living while being mostly independent — and others being thrown into what is called congregated care in which the kids are placed into group homes.

In my long stretch of time being under the care of the state, I can say I spent a total of two weeks within one. This is not one of those stories that has a terrible ending or where I state something terrible happened to me because honestly compared to some of the other teens there I was a cakewalk for the staff.

I wasn't placed there for my 'bad behavior' or any other offenses you'd see from a typical teenager-to-be that needed the well-disciplined lifestyle. I was placed in said group home because my worker simply had no other home with openings available; so these rules were something I'd had to be continually reminded of.

Upon my intake, I had to complete a four-paged packet, and answer asinine questions about myself, and my family history. Therapy was a requirement; my whole one session helped real well. The days began to blend together, not knowing then when I'd be able to leave.

The new 'house' rules were a massive adjustment. At 12, I had a lot of freedom, and why not? My parental unit was never home going off on benders for quite some time — there was always food in the house, and I knew well enough to go to school and what not. I led a very solitary life back then, school and home were what took up the majority of my days watching the same old four channels I always had.

Staying up listening to the comedy on late night talk shows... Thank you, Jay Leno. It wasn't until the depression ate away at me. The dirty laundry piling up higher and higher — the lack of accompaniment began to irk me. I wasn't surrounded by friends wherever I went and due to my lack of means to get anywhere, I thought it best not to make plans with any friends I'd had outside of school.

On the rare occasion I'd had a friend come over, my supervision was lacking, and on the offhand said parent did come home, the state of mind would be questionable.

Upon entering my new home for the next two weeks I was met with rules, after rule, after rule. I understood the reasoning behind it, but being so independent at 12, I didn't like it any more than any other kids there.

I had to ask permission to simply cross over a threshold into a different room — and, if there weren't a staff member in the room I had to find a different room to go in. Going to bed at night was ridiculous to me on account of not having a bedroom door to close. Private areas were the bathrooms alone.

I was placed on 'high-risk' watch for the first 48 hours which meant I was unable to do anything without an adult present. Luckily, I was brought in on a Friday so it had lasted only the weekend and I was able to have visits with my family to get away.

However, once I went to school the following Monday, more rules came in to play. I had to have the staff check my bag for anything that could be used as weapons whether I was entering or exiting the house. They had a closet set up within the house where they kept your shoes under lock and key; "You'll be less likely to run away," was their explanation for that one.

My mind was blown with all the necessary rules to keep order in the house. The staff did the laundry, and cooked the food, and took us to school or any other appointment we needed, but mostly they kept us all under their watchful eyes. It was as if they were our wards in the asylum; some of them were more approachable than others.

There was a total of 12 teens and preteens at said house. 6 boys, and 6 girls. The staff varied from day to day and there was always a shift change at night, but I don't recall ever meeting them. They were kept in the main rooms while we weren't allowed out of ours after hours. Sleeping there the first night was harder than I thought it was, at about 9 it was lights out.

The only light in the room was the glow of the hall light, so my typical reading myself to sleep wouldn't work so I remember just lying there in the dark asking myself how I ended up here again. I had a lot of self-blame.

It took years to come to grasp that what happened: my being taken from my home wasn't my fault. I was in a bad situation and I knew it, but, it was comfortable and sort of predictable unlike the group home seemed to me at that time.

For the most part I chose to keep to myself except for the staff members that I'd already interacted with upon my intake which was the program director and the therapist so I could tell you they weren't around much. I can remember the woman that brought me to school she was always kind and warm. She knew from the beginning that I wasn't like the other kids in the home.

I looked forward to going to school. It was my escape from the hell I was experiencing in my home life. Unfortunately, to this day, I can't recall her name. I only remember one person's name and it wasn't one that I got along with well, he was known for freaking out on the kids for the smallest of things — I can't remember now what it was called, but as punishment for breaking one of the rules, or being caught in a fight of some sort they'd sit you in a chair in the hall by the stairs away from the sitting room where everyone was allowed to hang out in, you'd be alone with nothing but the chair you sat in and you weren't allowed to get up except to use the bathroom, eat or finish your homework.

You weren't to be talked to by any of the other kids — even out of the seat you weren't allowed to socialize with the other kids. I remember one boy sitting there all day he was caught in a fist-fight, when one of the staff members took kids outside in the yard.

I hadn't known it, but when I was brought into the house there was one of the girls that had run away and she'd been gone for about 3 weeks before the police brought her back again. I was due to get out in a few days when she was brought to the house while everyone was at school. I don't remember her name, but I did talk to her for quite some time.

I'd heard about her and had just one question for her: how did she get away with the constant supervision? Turns out she left school before the day had ended and she never came back. I never asked her where she hid for three weeks, but, I assumed it was a boyfriend (she was older than I was at said time) or maybe she went to her father's. Her mother had put her under CHINs in order to keep her at school, and in an effort to get her to listen. I never really knew the whole story.

It's been years since I thought about these people, but I do still think about my experiences within the home and how different it was to the outside world.

I went from having the freedom to do what I pleased, while choosing to remain a 'good kid' to having it taken from me and being what I felt was treated like a criminal. Meals were made for you, you had no access to the outside world other than the — what was then called —DSS-approved list of people you could call up at certain hours of the day.

Your ability to make decisions, and be able to be alone were stripped from you. It was as if I'd been thrown into a totally different lifestyle, one that I wasn't fit to be in at all.