Woah, lots of questions. I'll try my best to answer them.
I no longer live in the house that i lived in with my children. I couldn't stay there, i simply couldn't. So many memories. Too many. So much hurt. It was breaking me, so i had to get out. The DC were removed just before Christmas, around the 18th i think, and i remember after they went just getting in my car and driving. Somewhere. Anywhere. I ended up the other end of the country, staying with a good friend. He'd been there through all the court proceedings and was with me when i told the children that they weren't allowed to live with me anymore. The next few weeks passed in a bit of a blur. I can remember seeing Drs and feeling like i wanted to die. I wasnt useful or productive and I drove hundreds of miles to spend an hour with my babies. Saying goodbye to them was always so hard because it felt - and still does at times - like years until I'd see them again.
Around the time i started seeing my therapist was the time i started getting my life back together again. Dp and i had been FWB for a few years, but somehow it had developed into a proper relationship and he began to come to LAC reviews etc with me. He has been an amazing support and his parents have been wonderful to me. They are all a part of my support network, alongside family that I'd been NC with for several years who have also been incredibly supportive of myself and the children.
So... the house. It was always cluttered. Always. Four kids and there was toys and clothes everywhere. No pets or anything. I had invested in expedit from IKEA, but the younger kids took great delight in emptying all the boxes out everywhere.
I'm disabled. I have osteoarthritis and back problems. I live with chronic pain. I was also a single parent to four very busy children. I was trying to cope with the fallout of the abuse and the effect this had on them. I had to fight tooth and nail for them to get the therapy they needed. It felt like no one would help and there was only so much i could do myself. Some days the washing didnt get done. Those days rolled into one another until i ended up with mountains of dirty washing. Then when that did get done i ended up with mountains of clean washing. Carrying it upstairs was bloody hard when i could barely manage the stairs myself. So the piles mounted up. The kids had bunk beds but i couldnt climb up them to change the bedding so I'm embarrassed to admit that there were times they slept in dirty beds. They really didn't deserve that. They deserved so much more, but at times it was a choice between feeding them or trying to put clean bedding on. I just couldn't manage on my own. I was totally overwhelmed and sinking fast. I couldnt see it. Everyone else could, but i was too proud/ashamed/terrified to ask for help. Homestart came in and told me what i needed to do, but said they couldn't do it for me... i knew what needed to be done, but i physically just couldn't do it. So went the circle. Social services were good with me. Gave me respite but all i could do then was sleep. Everyone could see i was drowning except me.
As for my children's fathers.. DC1 and DC2, their dad died when DC2 was 4 months old. And the day i found out that my children had been abused i also found out that DC3 and 4s dad was a paedophile. We had been married for 28 days. Obviously I threw him out and we're now divorced. DC see him 4 times a year, supervised in a contact centre.