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Okay, it was when I was eight when this started.The worst time in my life. I am pretty sure it was in August but I'm not sure. If I did the maths correctly then it was probably August. Sorry, I'm rambling. Okay, well, I was getting bullied badly from this girl who lived up my street. I had to walk to school with her because I was too young to go by myself. Anyway, on the way, she'd choke me, give me chinese burns etc etc. And at school she'd find me and take my lunch. I finally got over my shame and told my mum. It had been going on for months and so my mum went to the school and complained. The deputy principal sat both of us down along with my mother and because the bully was respected in the school and she was a tremendous liar she had a reason for each thing. So, mum took me out of school and so I stayed home. For at least six weeks we were happy, I was doing pretty much nothing though which got boring. A letter came in the letterbox, telling mum she had to write a letter explaining my absence. So mum wrote it out and we walked to the school to hand it in. The deputy principal was in a meeting but f course we weren't going to stick around. So, mum took me by the hand down to her office and barged in. She held out the letter in one hand, the other letting go of mine. And then the deputy principal started screaming that my mum had hit her. I pressed myself between the door and a cabinet while the P.E teacher the deputy principal was having a meeting with. He jumped up and slammed mum into a wall, pinning her there while the Deputy principal kept yelling, call the police, call the police. I was shrieking, let go of her =, let go of her. I was crying. A teacher took me from the room and then mum came out, tears running down her cheeks, she grabbed me and took me home. She told me the police might be waiting at our home or might be coming so we waited. The police indeed came and told me that they were going to question my mum and that they were going to take me to the station also. We went in seperate cars and they said I'd be returned to my mother at six. Well, six came and I asked "When am I going home?" They replied, "soon, there was just a little bit of a delay." So half an hour came and went, then forty-five minutes and I was starting to get worried. "Please, when am I going home?" I cried. At seven, social workers came and told me I was going to have a slepover. I was taken from my mum that day.
I used to have two hours a week, an hour every thursday and friday and now I live with her again and she drives me insane. But it is better than foster care. Sometimes I wonder if I stayed inside hell would life be better than it is now?