Davey1, World of Justice Forum, thanks so much for sharing – we must begin fighting for the voice of every child!!
‘This amazing story of survival will capture you from Prelude to Ending. It will shock and disturb the deepest parts of your being. In it you will walk the path of a little girl so utterly destroyed by those entrusted with her care; abandoned by all those who could have and should have been concerned.. You will feel her strength to survive as the townspeople around her ignored the child’s cry. Trecia Ann will allow you into her thoughts; her exasperating fears which haunted her soul
A True Crime Memoir of Horror, Evil, and Courage
Patricia A. McKnight
Fndr/C.E.O. Butterfly Dreams Abuse Recovery
Trecia Ann is an adorable little girl with bright blue eyes and long brownish blonde hair. At the age of five the sweet kindergarten child is filled with joy and innocence. Her mother spends time each morning preparing her child for school with braids in her hair and a kiss on her cheek to start her day’
Then it all changes when hell fell in on the child’s world as the devil with dark coal stained hands reached in to terrorize and steal away her voice. It was a cold December evening in Southern Illinois. She and her older brother anxious to get inside, guarding themselves against the chill of the winter wind. However, as she stepped into the threshold of her home, suddenly everything she knew about life was filled with fear. The hairs on the back of her neck stood straight up as she caught the cold blue steel of evil glaring from his eyes. In that sudden brief second the rush of fear that shot through her soul was colder than the winter wind throwing the leaves around and slamming them into the ground.
This devil that dominated their house from that moment forward, would control every moment of her days and terrorize each of her nights. This man would degrade, beat, stalk, taunt, molest, rape, trade and sell this girl for the next twelve years. The mother she loved would no longer care if her beautiful daughter rotted in his sadistic attacks. Trecia would be denied any medical care as her young growing body rotted away in the filth, leaving the deep pitted ugly scars that would cover her skin and her soul for the next 40 years. The beautiful child that once was, would become just an object for his evil games.
The adorable hero of this memoir wasn’t just abused within her childhood home, she was tortured. The entire community around her watched and judged, abandoned and shamed; tagging the child as the ‘filthy rotting village whore’ by the time she was thirteen. This is not just a horror, this is an extremely ugly truth that happened to just one little girl. Now that child has removed those thick black coal stained hands which ripped out her soul and held her trapped in the madness of destruction. This child was trained and forced into a life of acceptance and tolerance, slavery and torture, attempted murders and a battle ground in her home barely survived.
Today she has made it through, and as you read this journey, see what she does today, hear her voice and the voice of the silent survivors around us all; you too will be pulled into this world and forever changed. You will become a great defender of children and aware of the darkness that grows like a man-made cancer within our homes. Only you and I can eradicate this human behavior of destruction to provide at least some sense of safety within every child’s home.
Join in this mission by simply sharing this link and the links to other voices in this battle of change. It is simply about taking back our power as human beings, understanding that all living mammals are given the ability to live strong & fly free, creating their dreams and achieving their own true self.
You can also share with this empowering voice of just one girl, by connecting through our many social sites;
Check out my Vizify Video here; https://www.vizify.com/tricia-mcknight/twitter-video
Linkedin Professional Profile – http://www.linkedin.com/pub/tricia-mcknight/39/2a8/753/
This blog site is one I highly recommend for everyone. I’ve never seen a site that stays so up to date and discusses so many varying issues of child welfare and human justice.
Check out this one about Bullying, the quote I love best on this blog -‘There is only one RACE the human RACE and that is a RACE we all have to WIN!’
Yeah to Davey1 for always awesome write-ups
Why even successful women are insecure about their looks.
On a TV show, designed to create argument and disharmony, where contestants are
scrutinised by millions of people watching on TV, any insecurities are always
going to be magnified and exposed.
There is this subtle message running through all mass media..
. that beauty is equated with happiness and success”
Childhood is such a short spam of time and should be preserved for as long as possible!
Even as I started this slightly off topic item, I was seeking suitable images, when up popped an advert for a concert I had been enquiring about an hour earlier. The technology that has made us so aware of world…
View original post 866 more words
There are many different areas of being a survivor of hell which I’ve written about these past three years. In many writings throughout this entire blog you will find writings dealing with all the puzzle pieces we need to examine and shape into our present day lives. You’ll also find many writings which focus on the depression, P.T.S.D., anxiety, finding your center to begin your healing path, the anger which still comes and goes, and the severe neglect of all medical and dental care which has left me so tragically scarred.
However there is an area which still holds me back and one I haven’t focused on much, THE TRAFFICKING OF THE CHILD I USED TO BE!!
This is the process of stealing away who we are and ripping away any sense of value as they use us for trading, manipulation, and offer us out as an object without care of how we feel or what it does to our inner being. It all went along with complete disregard for all of my other care & feelings. It was also a huge part of what my small little community of Freeburg witnessed and knew about, yet chose not to be bothered, because as always ‘I simply was not worth the effort’.
When my stepfather started using me to entice the other men in our little village of Freeburg, Illinois; it was my 11th birthday. It was this day that I began feeling like nothing more than HIS OBJECT. Yes the molestations were actually just an insertion away from being rape at that point, and yes he was a regular visitor who attacked almost nightly as I lay in the same bed next to his own little girl and Mother just a thin wall away.
On this particular day, I was taken to the bar where Mother worked through the week and a family acquaintance who had been at our house with his own wife and young girls was bartending. They made sure I was drunk with double shots of vodka in a small glass of orange juice that day, one right after the other to celebrate my big #11. It was the first time he offered me out to a young miner. Thank heaven this guy was decent enough to say ‘No, she’s just a kid’. However, Malcolm banged my head off the dashboard of the car when we went outside and repeatedly growled at me, ‘You’re a fucking ugly bitch that’s why nobody wanted you in there’. This would not be his only or his last attempt. The one thing he found out that trip is that when he got me drunk he could manipulate me into using my body in a sexually enticing way to attract the attention of men and then they would continue buying the drinks.
Ah Ha, a way to get drunk for free!!!
Oh yeah, I didn’t get my birthday that day at all. Mother was so furious he kept me out so long that she chased the girls home from the party, stormed up the street to yank me out of the car; yelled at me during the two blocks we walked home, and sent me straight to my room. Hmmm, again I was being punished, just as it had been when I was 9 and she walked in from work early to find him ready to insert his penis into her naked little girl lying next to him in their bed; the girl so terrified that tears were running down her cheeks. Yet I was always the bad girl, the one to blame for what he did.
It was just shortly after this experience at the bar when I was first taken out to the barge boat with a crew of about 10 young men. These guys enjoyed the entertainment Malcolm had brought them. All I knew that day was he had told Mother he was taking me fishing. We picked up a couple cases of beer and we drove down some back rode that took us to the edge of the Mississippi where this barge boat was anchored. It was in the middle of nowhere. There were not any barges around this tug boat was moving. There was just this small wooden dock which was shaky, seemed unstable. The boat was parked along the water’s edge with green grass and a big ol’ tree hanging there filled with beautiful green leaves. I remember getting on the boat, although it took some help from one of the guys because I’d already drank down about three full beers he had handed me during our drive. He used the excuse he was taking me fishing quite a bit. It was a staple he could always get away with and she never asked me if I wanted to go or why I didn’t want to go, she just simply sent me along as if to send me out of her hair for the day.
I always guess my teen ages during these events by means of what happened BEFORE he used his favorite shotgun barrel to rape me, and AFTER he used his favorite shotgun barrel to rape me.
This particular day spent with the barge boat guys was before, so I wasn’t yet close to 13 and my body was still quite small and under developed. I think back on these events and remember having more than one set of hands groping and probing me. I remember more than one penis being rubbed against my mouth and having to hold onto them, just like he had taught me to do with him. However, what I remember most are the faces of these young men, the many men. I can always remember the faces even if I didn’t know their names.
Malcolm enjoyed every moment watching me there with those grown men. He enjoyed them getting me high and feeding me more and more booze. He enjoyed them blasting a stereo with rock music, which he always hated unless it was for one of these types of ‘special days’. I believe they had an 8track with the Rolling Stones playing in the background. I remember it was making every bone in my body hurt as they banged away. If you remember the early Stones, it was actually pretty heavy during the mid 70’s as were most bands back then. However, the Stones have always been pretty recognizable by their music. To this day I cannot stand to hear their music because it takes me right back to that boat and again I feel the many men surrounding me from every angle.
There were at least three trips to that barge boat I remember, but the faces were not always the same. Most of the men looked to be shaggy, grungy, and about their around their late 20’s to early 30’s. I remember being terrified. I remember quite clearly not knowing what was going to happen, or who was going to do what. I remember not knowing who was behind me and not being able to focus clearly. This may have been my body dissociating because it was too traumatic or it may have been caused from the drugs or alcohol.
Lord only knows what they were feeding me to lower my ability to fight back and make a child so drunk she just fell into their arms.
There was the night I was ordered to have the party while he took Mother out of the house. Malcolm picked out what I was supposed to wear. He told me what boys I needed to invite and then gave me the instructions on how to start playing spin the bottle and allow them all to grope and take me into my bedroom upstairs. This happened on more than one occasion that would always lead to playing Post Office and I was the only piece of mail to handle.
I remember the school mates who lined up to receive the blow jobs or were ordered to take me into the next room and “give me the fucking I deserved”!!! I remember two school friends of my brother’s whom I thought I could trust as friends. Upon their invitation I went for a cruise to smoke a joint. The next thing I knew we were parked on the back rode, I’m thrown down in the backseat of the car with one of teens on top of me and my zipper broken as he ripped off my jeans. I remember well the face of the other guy as he stayed on the front seat with his head turned back, watching and cheering on as his buddy plugged away and I was crying for help. The guy in front was one my brother had been hanging out with for about four years or more, so they were pretty close friends; otherwise I never would have gone with them in the first place. He looked me straight in the eye while his buddy raped me and then told me what a ‘rotten fuck’ I was. ‘How disgusting I was and why did he think I would be worth fucking in the first place’.
These are the types of rapes and orgy type of events that were such a huge part of my teen years. Most of them took place after the rape via shotgun barrel, but it certainly didn’t make them any less traumatic. As I got older it became more difficult for me to be lured into the parties because I was finally working and did my best to be gone as much as possible, especially if I could work late shift at the cloak room of the restaurant. Thank heaven for work because it became my way to escape it all. I didn’t have to be at home slaving for them if I was working. I didn’t have to be available to attend the late night parties if I could work instead. Malcolm and I began fighting each other constantly.
I’m not so sure just how much my brother and sister knew about all of the parties, rapes, orgies, but I know they knew about the beatings and the molestations from Malcolm himself. Either way they too were just children and trapped in the same alcoholic daily fueled home I was in, so I wouldn’t have expected them to do anything for my rescue even if they had the chance. I know there were a few times when my adopted brother John protected me, which happened more so after my other brother went off to the army at 17. John was still living at the house mainly because he really didn’t have anyone else who wanted to claim him as their son. Mother opened her house up to any child that needed a place to sleep, eat, rest, call home for awhile or just needed some form of kindness. Funny though, she didn’t give a crap about what was happening to her own daughter. Anyone could do anything and she would call me the whore for allowing it to happen.
My God, what would it take for her to just see me as her little girl, her daughter, her flesh & blood, the child she created and carried, gave birth to and cared for; at least until the man she married began attacking me while she was home, in the next room, giving me away, parading me as if I was some type of treasure for others to use. A treasure which only he could determine who and what they did to me. A treasure he could force or coerce into whatever situation suited his sadistic pleasures at that time.
These days there is a lot of excellent work I’ve done in my healing from being a sexually abuse, raped & molested, beaten & tortured child. However, there is also a lot of accepting in what my body has been put through with the many other men. How do you tell people that before you were 17, you have no idea how many teen boys & grown men had used your body for sex?. How do you tell people about how they were multiples at once, not just a guy here or there? How do you explain to people that when you look them in the face, knowing they know all about your past, you’re terrified of what judgment passes through their mind?
So many had used me one way or the other, orally or raped, and then told me I was like screwing a dog or a horse. I wasn’t worthy of them even admitting they had sex with me. I can understand the older men in our little community, because I was just a kid and they were paying Malcolm to come to the parties so they could feel up the child who was forced to drink, get high, and be their entertainment; all while Mother sat in her bedroom watching TV and giving me a snide ‘Have Fun’ as she closed the door.
Its bad enough to accept that you have no clue how many men there were throughout those years. Its horrifying to know that I barely escaped as Malcolm wanted to put me up in my own little trailer; have his own little private lock with his own little private key; so we could have all the little private parties he wished and invite as many as would pay!!
Sadly, I’m not so sure that what’s been swirling around in my head lately is because I’ve been looking more into working directly with some anti-trafficking advocates & task force rescuers, or if its because I’ve been pushing myself to promote the book? Anytime I start putting myself out there on display, be it in promoting the book; or really, doing anything that brings the attention and focus to my special anything, I instantly start hearing all of those voices saying to me; ‘What a dirty, ugly, rotten fuck I was and they had no clue why they thought I would be worth their time or money.’ As I got older it would be boyfriends & husbands who smashed my head into the mirror while screaming about how ugly I was and why in the hell did they end up with me?
All of these condemning words accompanied any type of vulnerable position I might have been in and today as I’m reaching out with some focus on me and on the book, I am right back there again and it’s like a jagged knife ripping away at the healing I’ve built up to protect me.
How and when does it end? When will all that they have done to me be over and all their evil have passed through my spirit so that I can truly be on the other side? Why is it that during all those horrific teen years of my life did not one person ever feel like I was worth saving? What was it about the blue eyed child that made me such an outcast by all of those around me? Was it the rot of my skin, the stench of my body, the broken black fangs of my teeth? Was it the evil of Malcolm and his wicked games?
Maybe one day I will get my answer, but truly I’m not so sure that will ever come. As I’ve said, this has been eating away inside this past couple weeks and I feel like, as one dear friend put it so well, ‘Like Trecia Ann is screaming I’m alive and no one is listening, no one feels that I am worthy once again.’
What a tragedy life can be at times. How horrible the feelings of being a sex trafficked child and knowing in your heart that so many knew and chose to do nothing. How am I supposed to feel about all of it now? Angry, yes I am, but trying hard not to express it. Who would I express it too, there is no way to address all those who took part, witnessed, or just didn’t give a damn. Malcolm is gone now and Mother made sure he was buried with full military honors. Mother is out of my life and we haven’t spoken but a few hateful words in the past five years. None of my siblings want anything to do with me at all, and that was way before the book went public or before I even thought about writing it at all. Who should receive the anger, myself for what I took part in with the alcohol and weed, cocaine and a few downers? Could I have escaped any earlier than I did? Could I have done something to stop it all from happening? Was I that trained to just simply obey or did I know the beating may not be survived if I turned them all down and started screaming?
I’m not so sure what to think of myself now. I’m not so sure how others will accept this when they read it. However, something tells me much like my writing to help those molested and raped by their parents and others, this too is a way they will be able to feel and process another part of their own pain. I’m taking a huge chance at putting this out there, I can only imagine what whispers will be shared. However, in my healing and building a new life for myself, one without shame and without pain, this is a part of the process I must work through. Let’s pray that it reaches those it should. That it helps just one young person who has been forced to endure these same types of vicious crimes. Maybe someday it will all be done and I will then simply be able to just be me and just be happy.
‘I am screaming, I am alive, I do matter!!
Butterfly Dreams Abuse Recovery
Author: ‘My Justice’
©Butterfly Dreams Abuse Recovery 2012
Butterfly Dreams Talk Radio
Featured Broadcasting Program
Male Abuse Awareness Week
Presented & Provided by
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Special Radio Interviews
Nov 25th – Dec 7th
Official Press Release by P Luna Foundation
Nov. 25th, Monday – Philip Paris; Author ‘Men Cry Alone’
Barbara Ochoa & Stephen Spires
Nov. 27th, Wednesday – Dave Pittman, Fndr – Together We Heal
Blair Corbett, Fndr – Ark of Hope for Children
Dec 2nd, Monday –Molly Wolfe, Research on Male Abuse
Lori Barnes, Representative Pluna Foundation
Dec 3, Tuesday – Ms. Jennifer Irons, C.E.O. MEStudios/Writer/Producer
‘Shame’ Short Film, Domestic Violence Male Victims w/ Cast
Barbara Ochoa, Fndr. PLuna Foundation / help4guys.org
Dec 4th, Wednesday – Michael Skinner, Fndr Surviving Spirit & Musician
Harmini, Christian Rap Artist/Actor/Model
Barbara Ochoa, Fndr: Pluna Foundation/Help4Guys.org & Musician
Dec 5th Thursday – Mr. Bill Murray; Advocate/Speaker/Survivor
S.C.A.N. Blog Talk Radio Programming
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John Miller, Survivor & PlunaFoundation Rep.
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Let’s Hear It For The Boys!!
©Butterfly Dreams Abuse Recovery Nov.2012
Patricia ‘Trish’ McKnight
Fndr/C.E.O. Butterfly Dreams Abuse Recovery
Butterfly Dreams Talk Radio
Author: ‘My Justice’
May you take a breath, find one positive thought and focus your energy there when things get difficult. It always helps us to find a happy place in our thoughts. If we can think of our most favorite time, a favorite movie, a favorite memory filled with laughter; this can be a great resource in coping through anything. Healing after abuse is about retraining our process in living.
We come from a history of people saying bad things about us all the time, or threatening us; things which are strong and difficult to carry around. Even after we escape those bad times, the words still stay active in our heads and this keeps us trapped in the pain. However, this also gives the abuser power over us. Their words and actions can often be a haunting experience. It also controls how we see ourselves. The abusers win when we allow them to continue controlling our world. They win when we are adults and continue accepting their abuse. They win when we allow ourselves to believe all of their ugly words, no matter when they say them or what they say.
The abuser gains control when we doubt our worth in finding someone to love us. They gain control when we don’t enjoy ourselves when spending time with friends or our own new family. They have control when we doubt we are pretty, or we think we don’t look this way or that way; when we doubt our ability at all it is because we are giving the abuser control and allowing their thoughts to circle around in our head. They are controlling the thoughts in OUR brain. The one thing which no one should be able to control at all. The one true freedom given to us when we were created.
I’ve heard people in prison say – ‘They can cage up my body, but they cannot cage up my brain’. This is the same as an abuser. They can trap us in their hell only so long as we are unable to find a safe place or are not able to be rescued. However, once we are in a safe place the recovery and rebuilding process MUST begin. Why? Well if you are going to be able to support yourself, take care of your children, or face the responsible adult life; we cannot allow the thoughts to keep us from achieving the dreams we seek.
Much like we have to change our behaviors from always falling victim to a predator and continuing to live in tolerating the abuses, we also have to retrain our thoughts. It is the hardest part about our recovery. This is why I ALWAYS recommend keeping a POSITIVITY LIST going. Start making a list of all those amazing things in your life today. If you are SAFE this is the first thing you want to list. If no one is hurting you today, then this is a great positive and you must often remind yourself of this as you go through your day. When we are not in the greatest position, perhaps our finances are strapped or none; perhaps our health is not the best; perhaps our home is not yet achieved, but all of these things can be worked on and they can and will change when you begin to believe and take the needed steps to change them.
We CAN learn the skills to find a job in which we can support ourselves. We CAN learn how to control our finances so we don’t fall in the pit of debt. We CAN heal ourselves so that we become stronger and more capable of building the life we deserve. We CAN heal ourselves so that we find the one true love. We CAN smile and be thankful for the safety we have and for what we no longer have to fear. These are things which we CAN NEVER GIVE UP ON ACHIEVING.
When we give up on life, then we give up on our possibilities. I know how difficult it can be, it seems these dark thoughts will never leave our soul. However, I am also on the other side, at least for the most part anyway. I can’t tell you that it will ever completely leave your heart, because I’m not yet done in my own growth and not sure that we are ever done being in recovery. Much like an alcoholic, drug, or food addiction getting past this types of trauma is something we must continue to press through. You can’t erase the fact it happened. You can’t erase the physical wounds you are left to carry, such as PTSD or Fibromyalgia. Yes, Fibromyalgia is an after effect of abuse. It is connected to the Fight or Flight risk which has been such a twisted part of the abuse itself. Our bodies have been living in constant high alert. Our response has been restricted to that harm, and especially for children, there was an intense fear but you could never escape or do anything to fight back. This is where the wiring of our response system today is still criss-crossed and we often find ourselves in a panic when we cannot get away from a triggering memory. This is when we feel overwhelmed and begin to panic, our bodies tense up, and heart starts pounding.
What I’ve learned these past five years is the logical side of being in recovery and how our memories and bodies must be guided through the steps of learning how to JUST LIVE without all of the chaos we are so trained to endure. We can often respond better in a high alert stressful situation because it is what our bodies know best and our brain understands the connection between high alert & response. This is the part of understanding where we are today in our recovery that will help us through those painful memories and triggers.
In using the process of the Positivity List, understanding the connection between the fear we knew then and our body’s response to things today, even the physical wounds; this is a huge beginning in your recovery. The Positivity List is a great tool to share with your new family and friends. When you ask them what they think is so good about you or what they see in you, these are often things we don’t see. These are the good things which the cruel words have taken away. You can gain them back and really absorb them by taking what positives these new people say and adding them to your list. When you start hearing those voices and their mean words swimming around, take out your list and begin by reading it aloud over and over again. Even if all you can say is ‘I’M SAFE NOW’ this is a beginning place. I know it may seem ridiculous at first, it did for me, but it actually works. You have to really concentrate, just like the Muscle Tense & Relax exercise, or the Control Breathing Process you must concentrate on the words you are saying. The idea is that you are #1 – putting new thoughts in your head for you to think about #2 – you are RETRAINING your thought process. Your brain will eventually understand that when the bad thoughts come back, it will go into gear and switch to your positive or happy thoughts instead. It is like RETRAINING our body to respond appropriately in our new SAFE environment. Yes, it is something we have to work on. Yes it takes a huge effort on your part. Yes it is absolutely a process and will not just magically transform overnight.
This is the part of ongoing recovery in retraining ourselves out of our abusive history. Just like when you leave a relationship, leave your home for the first time as an adult, start a new job, or even become a new parent; now you must become your own NEW PARENT. This is your time to teach yourself the things you wish your parents would have taught you. This is your time to teach yourself the new job skills for living your NEW SAFE LIFE. This is your recovery, it must happen at your own pace. Your pain is not like any other person’s pain. Your journey is not like any other person’s journey. This is your new beginning. Before you do anything else and start your journey, take a moment to give yourself a huge hug and comfort the pain when it gets to be too much. Remember, when no one is around for you this is the time you must be strong for yourself. Believe that you are incredible and the roses in your garden of life will begin to blossom. Today is your day, today is your new beginning and I pray these tools are just part of the coping steps to help you through your training as you learn to live the life you deserve.
I hope you wake each morning and wrap your arms around yourself, begin to sing & smile, feel the love of friends who care; that you see the sunshine if only in your heart. YOU HOLD THE ULTIMATE POWER!! Don’t give up and don’t let them win. Today is the day that you begin to truly shine. My hope is that you are able to feel happy no matter what has happened in your past. My hope is that you are able to rise above all their ugly acts and see yourself as the true beautiful creation you are ❤
Live your dreams!!
Author: 'My Justice'
Founder/CEO; Butterfly Dreams Abuse Recovery