An asterisk (*) indicates that a pseudonym is being used for the very real person. (Astute viewers of BSG will notice who these very real people are named for. Readers of the Peter David book "Vendetta: The Giant Novel," will recognize the references to "the Soulless Ones.")

October 1996 - March 2003 - my sister *Tory was married. They never had any kids.
    Amazingly, *Samuel couldn't believe it when Tory asked for a divorce and moved into her own place on the first Saturday of March, 2003.
    My very close friend Janice was at Tory and Samuel's wedding. A few weeks later, she told me that Tory would never have any children of her own. I felt sad for my sister because I knew how much she wanted her own family.
    When I was in my first trimester, in June, the summer of 2000, Janice told me, "Someday, your sister's going to try as hard as she can to steal your baby; that baby you're pregnant with right now." I immediately pooh-poohed the idea, saying, "Oh no, of course she wouldn't. Tory wouldn't do that; she's my sister."
    On Sunday, December 17, 2000, I was in labor at the hospital, waiting to give birth. I had the birth certificate papers all filled out already. I'd listed my daughter's name as "Deirdre Mairi-Catherine." Tory whited-out the "Deirdre" and replaced it with "Dierdre." When it came time to turn it in, I noticed what'd been done, recognized the handwriting, asked for a bottle of White Out, and wrote over Tory's spelling of my daughter's name, spelling it the way I'd done it originally: Deirdre. Therefore, my daughter's name was and is Deirdre Mairi-Catherine Nelson.
    Not long afterward, Tory asked me, "Is it okay if I pretend that I'm her mommy, too?" Not suspecting anything untoward, just extra attention and love for my daughter, I made the mistake of saying yes.
    For months, years afterward, whenever Tory wanted to buy/make my daughter clothes, I let her. Sometimes I even was allowed to pick out fabrics for little dresses. Tory paid for professional portraits of my daughter and me. (An example of what I'm talking about can be found here. I picked out the dress; Tory paid for it, and she paid for the portrait, too. Another example.)

October 22 - first applied for SSI
December - first turned down for SSI; then applied for appeal
    Tory starts threatening me: "If you don't do (insert whatever unreasonable demand I can't pay for here), I'm going to call The Soulless Ones on you." In fact, she threatens me with calling The Soulless Ones on me at least once a week. This goes on until she actually does it, eighteen months later.

October 30 - let Deirdre move in with my sister to get her away from my parents just "until you get your SSI," Tory says.
November - received notice of SSI appeal hearing

Monday, April 19 - appeal hearing. Waiting for a decision begins.
First week of June - Deirdre moved back in with me because I missed her desperately.

Second Monday of January - overnight visits with Deirdre start. The overnights are Monday night and Tuesday night, with a drop-in visit from Meghan on Tuesday. Deirdre's picked up Wednesday afternoon, then dropped off again Thursday morning until Thursday afternoon. The Thursday visit is a Semi-Supervised.
January - Another hearing before Judge Christopher Kelly. This time, I'm told that he's ordering that Deirdre can be placed in the home without another hearing IF all the following people agree:
    -the Intensive Family Preservation Team
    -Deirdre's therapist, Mary Byrd
    -my therapist, Kathy Bustos
    -my new psychiatrist, Dr. Danielle Buda
    -The Soulless Ones caseworker, Michele Janky
    -the Guardian ad Litem, Maureen Monahan
    Meghan, the only Family Support Worker that we've had for more than three months, is removed from our case as soon as her employer, Owens, finds out that Intensive Family Preservation has been added to my case. I don't want to lose Meghan, and Meghan doesn't trust the Intensive Family Preservation Team. This is when my case begins to swirl around the toilet bowl, about to get flushed.
Wednesday, March 7 - a Family Group Conference held by the Concord Group at a building at the Archdiocese of Omaha. The first hour, hour and a half are going beautifully, then my therapist, Kathy Bustos, leaves. After that, I am politely picked on (or picked apart, as the case may be, if you'd ask my mother or Tamy, who were extended invitations to the conference by the Concord Group because they are two very important parts of my support system) and told, again, that I'm "Not Ready Yet" to have Deirdre come home. I'm given a grand total of thirty minutes to come up with what they call an "Alternative Plan." The "Alternative Plan" is basically, where do you want your daughter to go if you can't get her back? I'm told, much later, that my plan won't work because my friend Tamy has had "prior Soulless Ones involvement."
    Visits go on...and on...and on...with no end in sight.
Friday, May 19 - a secret meeting, involving all the "professionals" on my case excluding my therapist, Kathy Bustos, and my psychiatrist, Dr. Danielle Buda, is held. It includes people I've never even met. At that meeting, it's not only recommended that my visits be cut from overnights back to supervised, but that a motion for termination of my rights be filed with the court. Also, Kathy's professionalism is questioned: "The team expressed concern about the mother's current individual therapist, Cathy Bustos, and her likely enmeshment with her client (which tends to impair one's professional judgment). She seemed to have difficulty hearing other professional's concerns regarding behaviors they had observed with Cathleen. She appeared defensive and minimized her client's behavior..." This paragraph could've been dictated, word for word, by my dear sister. Another conclusion of the report: "Open adoption with the maternal aunt, Tory Anders, who has had a consistent and positive relationship with Deirdre should be considered before any other placements." Basically, they're attacking Kathy because she won't, as the old saying says, "go along to get along," and they're playing right into my sister's hands.
   Wednesday, May 31 - yet another Family Group Conference. (Keep in mind, I have no bloody idea about this "1184 Staffing" that was held on May 19, where it was recommended that my rights be terminated. Where my therapist's "professional judgment" was questioned. It explains a lot as to why the other "professionals" pretend like Kathy's not even there, and they also pretend, when she's speaking, that they can't hear a word that's being said.) Only difference this time is that my sister is in attendance. They go around the table, asking the "professionals" whether they think it's "safe" for Deirdre to be sent home. There are "professionals" there who have barely anything to do with my case stating their opinions. The only person who disagrees with the other "professionals" is my therapist, Kathy. Kathy and me had discussed this, had been discussing it for the past 2-3 weeks. Our opinion was that, if Deirdre was sent home, with the very same support people in place as we had during visits, it should be safe enough.
Wednesday, June 7 - Time for Deirdre to go back to daycare/preschool. I give her a bath right in front of her Family Support Worker, Jessica; get her dressed and send her off, knowing I'll see her tomorrow. Half an hour later, Kathy shows up and we talk for about ninety minutes.
Thursday, June 8 - I wake up at about nine AM. There's a voice mail on my phone. It's Jessica, telling me she's running 5-10 minutes late, will I call her and let her know I got her message? I do, and she tells me, "Ok, well, I've got Deirdre in the car and we're headed over to your place." I let her go and begin to wait, knowing that it'll be about twenty minutes before they get here, and I start watching "King Of The Hill." About fifteen minutes later, Jessica calls me again, this time to tell me that my visits have been cancelled "until further notice." I ask her why. Her answer was ominously cryptic: "You'll have to ask your caseworker." I do just that and find out that I'm being investigated by the Omaha Police for child abuse! And Michele's not allowed to tell me anything about what I'm being accused of, it's Omaha Police Standard Operating Procedure! And, The Soulless Ones Standard Operating Procedure is that when a natural parent of a foster child is accused of child abuse, all visits are cancelled.
    At this point, I'm feeling like I'm going crazy, so I call my friend Tamy and ask to go over to her place. I explain why and she tells me to get over there as quick as possible. I call my mom and ask her to take me to Tamy's, but I have to tell her why. In order to explain why she's shooting out the door as if the Hounds of Hell were following her, she tells Dad what's going on. Dad immediately calls my sister, Tory, who then calls me and expresses her sympathy, and, when she gets off the phone with me, she calls Deirdre's current foster mom, who tells Tory everything that I'm not supposed to find out until Monday, June 12.
Sunday, June 11, around 10:50 PM - Tory calls me at Tamy's. Eventually we start talking about the child abuse charges, which I expect to be completely unfounded, as I know I didn't do anything wrong. When I explain what I think happened, she then reveals to me that, "I know what happened." At this point, she starts defending Deirdre's foster parents, saying that the State of Nebraska treats them as "glorified babysitters" and that would I please not tell anyone that Deirdre's foster mom told Tory, even though no one's supposed to be told anything? I had finally had it with everything. With The Soulless Ones, their "service providers," the constant "Oh yes, we'll give you your baby back if you do this, this, this, this, this, this, this, this, this, this, this, this, this, this, this, this, and that...Oh, you've done all that? Well, here's another twenty-five assignments for you to complete before you can 'be ready enough' to get your baby back. Have a nice life and good luck! Better get it all done in under fifteen months or the child you gave birth to is now ours forever!" I lost my mind for about twenty minutes. I genuinely tried to keep my voice down and stay calm, but I just couldn't. Twenty-two months of constant stress and worry poured out of me, ending with the sorrowfully-stated sentence, "...and the worst part is that my sister, my own sister, put me here! My own sister made this happen!" When Tamy snatched the phone away from me to tell Tory off, Tory had the nerve to be crying.
    I called Tory when I could speak again, and begged her not to show up at court the next day. She told me, "But I have to; Michele told me to be there!" I replied, "Were you subpoenaed?" She answered in the negative. "Well, then, you don't have to be there; so don't come," I said to her. I said, "I have to be calm for this hearing and I won't be able to do that if you show up." She began begging me once again not to tell anyone that Christina (Deirdre's current foster mother) had told her. I responded, "I won't be able to keep my mouth shut if you show up; so if you don't want anyone to know, don't show up." She said she'd think about it; I said, "No think. Do," and hung up.
    That is the last time I've spoken with my sister. My mother, nor any other family member (except for Dad), has spoken with Tory since then, either.
Monday, June 12, 3:00 PM - My most recent court date. My parents, Tamy and Veronica, and my brother (he's not really my brother but we're that close of friends that he might just as well be my brother), Tamy's fiancé, Shawn, came to support me. When Tory showed up, she was stopped at the receptionist's desk (just like everyone is) and asked who she was there for. Shawn told me later that Tory identified herself as "Deirdre's auntie." She didn't even try to greet us, her family; she sat with The Soulless Ones' minions, the "service providers."
    My visits were cut down from overnights to supervised; concurrent permanency objectives were ordered put in place: reunification AND adoption. Only in the Land of The Soulless Ones would that not be seen as a contradiction in terms.
    Michele announced in open court that I was being charged with accidentally burning my daughter with a cigarette. (She apologized a week later for "blindsiding" me in that manner.) All I remember is trying (unsuccessfully) to pick my jaw up off the floor; Jenny and me looking at each other at the same time; then me shaking my head at her, as in, "No, this DID NOT HAPPEN. I DO NOT know what they're talking about." My brother, Shawn; my mom and several other people sitting behind me said that I "jumped" when I heard what I was being accused of.
    Jenny told the court that I was "appalled" at the charges. She was more right than I can describe here; only sick motherfuckers do that kind of thing to their kids for any reason.
    Many reports were entered into evidence against me, including the letter that Michele had encouraged me to write to the judge to be included in her report(!!!!!).(Click here to see the letter I wrote.) Not surprisingly, my sister also wrote a letter to the judge, criticizing me, my parenting abilities, and emphasizing how much better a caregiver she would be to my daughter than I could be.
    Jenny Creighton, my public defender, gave me copies of every single report entered into evidence against me with instructions to go through every single report and find anything that they've gotten wrong, taken out of context, whatever; write her an email with every instance that I'm disputing and why I'm disputing it.
Wednesday, June 28 - Detective Christine Love, with the Omaha Police, who is handling the child-abuse case against me, calls to tell me that a citation will not be issued, nor will charges be filed against me. She says that she's reviewed the photographs of the cigarette burn when it was fresh with her sergeant. They handle child abuse cases all the time; they are experts at seeing cigarette burns used as forms of "discipline" (in my mind, burning anyone with a cigarette for any reason is torture) and that this burn strikes both her and her sergeant as more of a hot-ash-falling-on-Deirdre's-arm-by-accident kind of burn. I told Detective Love, "I know that you've probably heard what I'm about to say about a million times, but I swear to you, I would NOT have done this to my baby. I swear I would not." She asked me how I think it could've happened, and I told her: I smoke with my right hand. My ashtray, however, is on my left, because that's where I was able to put an end table, so that's where my ashtray sits. When I sit in a reclined position, Deirdre likes to lay on me. When she's laying on me, and I'm going to go flick my ash into my ashtray, I raise my arm above Deirdre and get my hand above the ashtray, and flick my ash. The last Tuesday that Deirdre was here and laying on me, I happened to be smoking and I went to flick my ash, and at the same time, Deirdre moved her right arm, kind-of bumping my right arm. Then she said, "That was hot! Owie!" and I looked at my cigarette. It didn't need the ash flicked anymore; it'd been accidentally knocked off when my arm and Deirdre's accidentally collided. I asked Deirdre if she was okay, and all she said was that it had hurt, but she was okay. I even told Detective Love that I'd given Deirdre a bath right before she left to go back to daycare that Wednesday and I'd not noticed any unusual marks on my daughter before I sent her off. (And that was the end of the episode. Or so I thought. See Wednesday, June 7 and Thursday, June 8.) Detective Love said that, after talking to me, the whole thing was "much clearer" than it had been before, and she was not going to file charges or even issue a citation. Today's decision by Detective Christine Love and her sergeant makes it really the end of this episode. I'm sure The Soulless Ones will come up with something else now that they can't use me being an alleged child abuser against me.
Thursday, June 29 - Michele called me and told me that Visinet has the payment and the authorization for the visits. Has anyone called me to set up the visits? No, of course not.
Wednesday, July 5, about 7:30 PM - The family support worker who's going to be supervising my visits with Deirdre, Dave, called to set up a visit. My next visit with Deirdre is going to be a three hour one, starting at ten a.m. until one p.m. on Monday.
    At this point, on this day, it's been almost a month (twenty-eight days) since I've seen my daughter.
Monday, July 10 - first supervised visit with my daughter. I'll be having two visits a week, three hours each -- the reason they're three hours a piece is because the family support worker, Dave Cote, can't fit three visits a week into his (very tight) schedule.
Tuesday, July 11 - I happen to call my caseworker, Michele, because I'd talked to Deirdre's doctor's office and they reminded me to tell the foster parents that Deirdre needs to have her kindergarten physical done as soon as possible.
    Michele thanks me for calling, because she was about to call me. She's got an idea: since I, according to her, quote, "have so many problems with Deirdre's current foster parents," end of quote, she wants to move Deirdre back to Tory's. Tory's willing to take Deirdre back, too. Michele says: "Well, we don't know what's going to happen in court, so this may be for the best, if worse comes to worst. This way, Deirdre doesn't have to move from one school to another..." and so on and so on. Michele's mouth is saying "we can't predict what's going to happen in court," but her actions are saying, "I know what's going to happen: your rights are going to be terminated and Deirdre's going to be moved to Tory's anyway, when Tory adopts Deirdre."
    Just the night before, I was thinking of calling Michele and respectfully requesting that Deirdre be moved to a Jewish home. Jews are nice people, they're not Christian, and, most importantly to me, they don't try to convert you if you're not Jewish. Meaning they won't try to indoctrinate my daughter.
    Michele's decided that I'm being unreasonably prejudiced against Protestants even though I've fully explained my family history all the way back to 1332, and she's never respected my religious choice anyway (you'd mistake my religion for Wicca), nor my constant requests that Deirdre not be given any religious instruction, nor be taken to any worship services by her foster parents. I understand that it's really too much to ask that my daughter be sent to a Wiccan home...I'm tired of this crap.
    It's now a war.
Monday, July 17 - Michele called me. She told me that she happened to run into Jenny at court, and Jenny told her that she's (Jenny's) going to file a motion to block Deirdre from being moved to Tory's. Michele wanted to know from me why. I explained to her that after having talked to her on the phone, I thought quite a bit about it and decided that I didn't want Deirdre living with Tory. Michele asked me, "Why?" My response: "I don't trust her," meaning Tory. Michele asked me why I didn't trust Tory and I explained it to her this way: "Tory called me around 10:30 at night on June 11 and told me she knew what happened and she wasn't going to tell me. That's why."
    Thankfully, Michele's not even pretending to understand. Funniest thing she said: "Come on, you can't tell me that deep down in your heart, you really don't trust your sister?" in a cajoling tone of voice, trying to jolly me along. My reply was as matter-of-fact and came as fast as I could make it: "Yes, I can."
    I think Michele believes me now, but doesn't understand why my attitude towards Tory has changed. It's simple: Tory finally proved to me on June 11 that she wasn't really my sister, she was an agent of The Soulless Ones. Just like all the "service providers"/KGB informants.
Wednesday, July 19 - I'm adding an actual song to this page as a background sound. The reason I'm mentioning it here is because I chose it because of its lyrics. The song is "Believe," by Elton John, and the lyrics that inspired me to choose it for this page are as follows:
"Without love, I wouldn't believe
In anything...that lives and breathes
Without love, I'd have no anger
I wouldn't believe in righteousness
Without love
I wouldn't believe
I couldn't believe in you, and I wouldn't believe in me...
Without love
I believe...in love
I believe...in love
I believe in love"
So I felt that it fit here. I believe in love, and without that love in me, for my daughter and the Goddess, I'd have nothing holding me up. No strength to go on. Nothing left to live for, fight and kill for, die for.
Thursday, August 3 - Knock on the front door. It's a Sarpy County Deputy Sheriff, serving me with a summons to appear in court on the Motion for Termination of Parental Rights that was filed against me eight days ago. All that while...Mary Byrd, whom Deirdre and me had had a family therapy session with on Monday evening, July 31, is listed as one of the witnesses to the documents...and she didn't say a word. Tory is listed as one of the witnesses to the documents. Tory called me Sunday, July 30, to apologize to me about what she said to me last year about how "as long as Deirdre lives with me, she'll be raised Catholic." Tory didn't warn me either.
    I really do have a lot to think about now, don't I?
 

Wednesday, January 10 - Jenny informed me that, after reviewing what Mary Byrd has said in her report to the court, and that's probably what she'll testify to, I'll lose. I'd better start thinking hard about so-called "voluntary" relinquishment. We talk for about an hour and I agree to it on the condition that there is a contract written and entered in as a court order guaranteeing me "regular rights of visitation," "monitoring of report cards from school," and many other things that I know damned well Tory won't let me have if she has her way.
Thursday, January 11 - I'm actually forced to lie and say that I'm willing and have agreed to "voluntarily" relinquish my rights to my daughter. It takes a huge effort to croak out the answer to the question: "And you have agreed to relinquish your rights to the child?" My mouth doesn't want to say it, it twists in a rictus of movement, wanting to scream "NO! But if I don't, CPS will NEVER leave me alone for the rest of my life!" There's a pause, and then an angry, voice-from-the-grave sound comes from my mouth with the word "yes." Around 2:30, I sign all the papers except for one packet -- the contract. Judge Kelly's decided that since Tory and me are family that we'll be able to work it out ourselves. Shows you exactly how much he knows about my case.
Friday, January 12 - The only hearing I never attend that has to do with my case. I don't need to be there but Will should've been because his rights to our daughter were terminated by the court.
Tuesday, February 13 - As soon as I lost my daughter, I lost my apartment. The complex is Federally-subsidized only for families with children, and I now don't have any children. I arrange to have my furniture placed in PODS (Portable On Demand Storage) while I live with my parents until I can find another place for me to live. However, it's dangerous to let me alone at this stage: though I haven't actually tried to do anything to harm myself, I very well might.
    My parents learn quickly that the only way to cheer me up is to let me watch all the Battlestar Galactica and Star Trek: Deep Space Nine I want, and that I have unpredictable fits of rage against the courts, CPS, their minions and my sister that throw me into such violent rages that I turn them inward and have to be talked out of killing myself. The only thing stopping me: Deirdre's out there, and someday she'll need me.
As 2007 slips by... - In June 2006, my hair began falling out in clumps; I developed eczema and I couldn't sleep without Xanax. I had to switch to Cetaphil for facial cleanser and benzodiazepines for sleeping pills. My hair has thankfully stopped falling out, but I'm still on the knockout pills and I still have eczema. I thank CPS for all of it. Without them, I wouldn't have neared a total physical and emotional collapse, which is how they got me to sign my rights away.
   With no bills to pay but my storage, the digital cable and my cell phone bill, I can finally buy appropriate clothing for every season. Tank tops and shorts and a pair of capris for spring and summer, lovely long skirts in white and black, beautiful blouses, everything frequently accented with lovely embroidery, lace appliqués, spangles, bugle beads and other "sparklies." No dresses because I have to be able to give myself my insulin shots in my abdomen still. A new bed-in-a-bag set because my old one is full of cigarette burns from sleeping pills that snuck up on me when I lived on my own. Even all my nightgowns have burns and burned holes in them. I also buy Deirdre a present that she doesn't know about to this day, a present she still hasn't received and has no clue about: a lovely, frilly, ruffled lavender comforter set that's stitched in a heart pattern.
    I spent Samhain (Halloween to all you Christians out there) alone, watching "Ghost Hunters Live: Waverly Hills." I snapped a picture of the TV during the program and got ghostly, shimmering white images in it. Go here to see the picture.
    My mom helped me buy a state-of-the-art cell phone with a QWERTY keyboard inside and a 1.3 megapixel digital camera in it.
    A friend of mine, whom I'll call Jimmy Valentine (after the character in the same named story by O.Henry), won't speak to me anymore because his girlfriend is afraid that he just won't be able to resist cheating on her with me. What she doesn't know is that I have no intention of doing anything like that, I just desperately want his shoulder to cry on; I miss him so much it's just another hole in my heart: "Me duele mi corazon." The reason I call him Jimmy Valentine is because he's a three-time ex-con. Just like Jimmy Valentine in the story, behind bars for bank robbery. My Jimmy Valentine just couldn't resist the call of the siren known as crystal methamphetamines. I'd be the one with him right now had it not been for my CPS case: I stopped writing him while he was in prison because I was afraid CPS would find out and stop any and all "reunification efforts" if they knew I was in contact with him and had every intention of being with him as soon as he got out. Unfortunately, he wouldn't wait for my case to conclude; in other words, wait for me like I'd been waiting for him for years. We've known each other half each other's lives; we're totally comfortable with each other and we still love each other (since 1998!).
    It's now Sunday, November 11, and I'm now healed just enough to begin to try to find somewhere else to live by myself.
    As Paul Harvey would say: "Now you know...the rest of the story."
    A few notes on the new song on this page: The song is a clip of the song "Deliver Us," from the movie soundtrack "The Prince Of Egypt." Why am I using it? Here's why:
    --If you think of the Egyptian slave masters as CPS, and
    --Myself as the Hebrew slaves, and
    --the Hebrew God they're calling out to, begging for His mercy, to send a rescuer, as my Goddess, then
    --the song describes EXACTLY how I felt during the duration of my case, and how I feel now.
 

October -  Tory's marrying a really nice guy named Aahmer Nawaz, a Pakistani national. I'm looking forward to the wedding --they're having Muslim wedding, and because of that, absolutely none of my clothing is appropriate, so I ordered five and a half yards of gold-embroidered red silk (a sari, actually), so that my mom could make me a simple, three-piece dress that had a high neck, long sleeves and long skirt. I also ordered a beautiful pair of Moonstone chandelier earrings to go along with the outfit. It cost me $130 total, but I felt it was worth it.
   Until, that is, Tory called me and uninvited me to her wedding. Her reasoning? Her and The Byrd (Mary Byrd, Deirdre's extremely flaky therapist) decided that I should never see or speak to Deirdre again, because it allegedly "upsets her too much; she acts out for over a week whenever she sees you," end of verbatim quote.
   Maybe Deirdre gets upset not because of me per se, but because she wants to come home with me. I know what she's told Veronica because Tamy found it so interesting she had to tell me, and what Deirdre's said is good for me, nasty for Tory, but apparently Deirdre's damned near an Academy-award-winning actress, because Tory has no idea how much Deirdre hates everything that's been done supposedly "in her best interests."
   She feels angry because she feels betrayed...and not by me.
Thanksgiving Day - Tory allowed me to speak to Deirdre for the first time in a very long time. We're on the phone just long enough to tell each other we love each other, and that's about it.
   I'm very, very worried about Deirdre because of subtle clues in her voice which Tory seems to be deaf to. That and Tory's got Deirdre on whatever anti-psychotic will make Deirdre the most compliant. She's stopped telling me what she puts Deirdre on because I'm always telling her the severe side effects of each of them. Apparently she doesn't care about the side effects as long as Deirdre is obedient.
   Tory is going to cause Deirdre to rebel one of these days...and I'm sure Tory will blame it all on me. Like she always does.
   And this is what the state of Nebraska felt was best for Deirdre? They all must have rocks for brains if they think that this was the best thing they could do for her. My daughter is suffering in silence and no one but me seems to care.
   This is apparently the definition of "the best interests of the child." And the definition of a so-called "open" adoption.
   And no one actually gives a damn. Gee, thanks, CPS...for making my daughter and myself into very fucked-up messes. Thank you ever so much. I'm sure my daughter appreciates what you've done "for" her.
   I know I damned well don't.

I will update frequently as more happens.





[Fight CPS] [AFRA] [Cardassian Justice] [Parent's Guide to The System] [The Power To Harm]
[Save Your Children] [Legal Abuse Syndrome]
[My Selena Site, In Memory Of Selena Quintanilla Perez]
[My blog, My Strange Life...a.k.a. The Twilight Zone]

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