When parental alienation becomes grandparent alienation

 

If you know me at all, then you know I am quite open and honest about the aftermath of life as a result of all the brutal acts. Yes, I know that we have all come through some pretty horrific histories. However as I have looked into the lives of so many others like myself, seriously trying to find someone whose life has been ripped apart as deeply as mine; I still have not found anyone impacted by these issues of violence and rape in the same ongoing tragic way.

Perhaps I am just feeling sorry for myself right now because of the holidays, but seriously those who know me know exactly what I’m talking about.

There has been huge amounts of joy in my life, even with all the horror. My children of course are the ones who have provided the greatest of those joys. However, these days there is always at least one of my children, at all times, who feels in some way that the ugly lies their father and other paternal relatives filled their heads with during their younger years is true.

There are many times in the present when I wonder if their father thinks at all about what happened during those four years when he had them and the ongoing years when I raised them? Does he think about how he was able to completely destroy this incredible magic bond I felt with my children when they came into this world? They were my babies dammit, and he and his family who stood by him and allowed this all to happen had no f’n right. I was a great mother and my children knew that I loved them.

Do you think the family realized the damage it would do to the positive Mother/Child bond my children and I shared?

No, I was not perfect at any time, but they all knew I loved them and I would never have done anything to harm them in any way. He also knew taking my children and destroying the bond we had was the only way he could do anything to hurt me at all, it just didn’t matter what he did anymore. I was done with all of it. Still today my family, my children and grandchildren, are so far away I’m not sure if we will ever be able to truly connect.

‘D’; you got what you wanted, you destroyed it all!!! You infected their lives with your dysfunctional thinking. How dare you put my children in that home or in that woman’s care. How dare you steal them away from me and take away the one true love I always thought I would be able to call mine; those whom I had nurtured and loved would at least care enough to show some form of love for the mother who fought each day simply because they needed me to be there. 

It is because of his lies about my abandoning them; permitting him to steal them away; to keep them away from me and to run with them again after I had relocated for the specific reason of maintaining some form of contact with my babies. It is all of his vicious lies because he couldn’t handle that I didn’t want him any longer, so he used his rage and his need for control as a weapon to destroy the incredible loving bond I had with my children.

My kids do not see the real me as their mother; they see a woman with that name tag. I am not worthy of that connection, that special bond, that respect.

There are times when I feel like I am no different than the stranger down the street with them. If anything goes wrong in their life I am, and have been for years, the first one they call; especially for one child specifically. However, the holidays, birthdays, any day at all; this is when I often hear F**k you  or I hear nothing at all. It is another Christmas time and again, no one is around and the only contact I get is ‘What are you sending out for the kids?’

Most often they play the game of holding back contact with the grandchildren. The one grandson I was able to talk with briefly on Thanksgiving, it had been 3 or 4 months since I had talked directly with him, but his mother felt the need to call me crying through her depression every day; and I was there for her through all of it. Never did I turn her away not in these past 10 years since she became pregnant have I ever been the one to turn away from her at all. When I got the chance to finally chat with him I found out his world was in turmoil.

Again now, they have cut off all communications. They use their children against me just as their father used them. They cuss and swear at me, they condemn me in front of their children without a care for the disrespect or destruction of another generation of my own blood. I am so sick of this crap invading the lives of my blood. How dare this shit still go on.

My children are not babies any more. They have a brain and they are old enough to make their own decisions about the mother I was or wasn’t. If they would take a day to think about all we went through together and really remember the bond we had as a family, not too long ago. Where in the fuck did it go? What the hell have I done to deserve another generation turned against me as a person. My grandson and I had an incredible relationship together until about two years ago. This is when I was told not to tell him ‘I love you more than the whole wide universe’. That was something I’ve always said to all of my children when they were little. We sang when we went shopping together. We played with toys in the store together. We laughed together and yes we cried together, but it was a family love. Now my son rarelyif all even talks to me. My daughters, well we won’t even go there because of all I’ve said already, I’m sure you get the picture.

When does this insanity end? What is it going to take for me to mend this broken bond?

Parents your children are not pawns in a chess game of power and territory. They are human beings who should be loved and empowered to become the very best people they can by as many around them as possible. What in the hell is the problem if no one is being abused or harmed in some way?

Courts when a child is in the middle of this type of revengeful battle, you are supposed to maintain the child’s best interest, not condemn based on the amount of money or the attorney standing in front of you.

Do you know that I took pictures of my son’s little 7 yr old ass to a judge because in 2nd grade he had his ass beaten with a leather strap called ‘The Dancer’, the same strap their father had been beaten with. Let alone the times I was allowed to pick them up for visitation and one would have a bloody nose the other a handprint across the face, or some kind of smacking around because they were arguing. He told my children; ‘I beat you because you are bad and you deserve it’, this is what they still believe today. A punch in the face to my 14yr old for touching a weight set in the garage. 

Kids, when will you stop believing in all his lies and see what your life was really like?

Do you remember the Santa Claus who made sure to bring ‘The Dancer’ with him on Christmas Eve and if my children were biting their nails, or misbehaving in class, then they received a couple of mild swats with that same strap. What in the hell type of crazy ass impression of Santa does this leave on young children who have been stolen away from their mother? What in the hell kind of people make this impression of Santa on a child?

YOU ABSOLUTELY HAVE NO LOGICAL REASON TO HOLD MY GRANDCHILDREN HOSTAGE FROM ME AND USE THEM AS A PAWN IN YOUR SICK GAME OF POWER!! I am so tired of having to play this game. Be careful what you say and do because the kids will keep the kids away from you. NO not any more. Those babies may never know what kind of Nana they have. I know at least one will have good loving memories and I hope they help him through. I pray all of you children see your mother for who she is and who she has been to you throughout your entire lives before the chance to heal is gone forever.

The more I try to do to help my children through all of our past issues, I am simply ‘the crazy lady’, the emotionally disturbed woman who is always over reacting. I’m sure if they read this they will also think that I am again just ‘over reacting’. It is a knife wound they have made deep in my heart and today they just keep twisting it to make sure they know I hurt in some way. It really is as if they are not happy when connected with me, nor have any clue as to how to maintain a regular Mother & Child relationship.

I am so desperate for any recognition from them at all that I would appreciate even a simple text or any form of menial connection from them.

How is it that the one who put them in harm’s way, the one who has hurt them physically & emotionally, the one who never once supported their dreams or told them how well they are doing, how proud he is of them; yet this person who literally STOLE THEM AWAY all those years ago has left this deep of a wound in our relationship. I do not know if there is a way to repair all the damage that’s been done. It is the deepest abandonment I can feel.

Maybe because of my not being there to rescue them when they were being harmed the worst, they want to be sure I feel what they must have felt.

I tried to have that witch arrested for what harm I heard she had done to my children, as soon as I found out!! Funny it was their father whom she called and it was a meeting with him when he told me about helping her put her family back together, but he had left her not because of what was happening but because she also cheated on him; that’s what caused him to finally get pissed enough to leave. 

Dearest Creator Above, you know how hard I’ve tried to mend all of the pain in their lives, but today I am still the one they choose to shut out.

My oldest child remembers the day that I suddenly wasn’t there any longer. He remembers standing there in his ‘Woogie Boogie’ footed pajamas, waving to me as I waited for a cab to pick me up and take me to work that morning.

Our relationship, although I’ve tried endlessly to mend it in many ways, still not one single child cares enough about the woman who gave them life;  the one who dedicated the memoir about the impact of her childhood wounds and the grief of how it impacted their lives; she is not worthy of their respect, their love, their connection for the person I am.

How tragic things can turn out no matter how hard we try sometimes. I’ve looked at my life over and over again. I’ve dissected this over and over again. I’ve tried to see where it all broke apart and why they treat me like they do. I’ve allowed for them in some way because its how they always saw other people treat me, so maybe they feel its just a habit or they don’t see it as a problem at all which is even much worse. I just know that the only thing that ties me to them at all is the word ‘Mom’ rather than the affection you normally feel for that person. I’ve never beaten my children. I cried when I had to correct them, it broke my heart to see all the pain they had gone through.

All I can say at this point is I am so tired of this crap bleeding through my family’s veins. I must find a way to heal these wounds and give my heart some peace before my time here is done. I don’t want it to be after the fact that they realize later, how much I truly loved them and supported all their dreams, stood through all their challenges and even accepted their outrages and anger over all the pain.

I am done feeling guilty for what has happened. I can’t go back and change how things happened then. All I can do is be me in the moment today. The me who is now a devoted voice against these types of harmful actions, especially within our family unit. We always hurt those closest to us and our relationship has paid the ultimate price.

May Creator above find a way to help me bring a resolution to this heartbreak I’ve had for so long. I can’t stand one more holiday season or one more day knowing that I am being shunned away from my grandchildren now all because hey it is so damned easy to shut mom out, its what we’ve always done. She’s just a figure in our lives. Why should they feel any respect or kindness for me at all, they were not raised with those values instilled in them by anyone, except of course by all the acts of love & care I’ve given throughout all these years. I am lost. I am abandoned. I feel very alone. I pray for strength as I wait for this storm to pass.

Wondering if it ever really will?

Thanks for reading, hopefully it helps connect with another soul out there somewhere who is also dealing in this same painful reality. What happens when our children become the ones who emotionally & verbally disrespect and abuse us, shut us out and then use dangerous words to alienate the precious babies we should be cuddling and enjoying rather than begging for just a five minute phone chat so that you can say; ‘I love you and I’m still here.’

Much love, prayers and always those Butterfly Dreams

 

 

©Patricia A. McKnight

Dec 2013

Butterfly Dreams Abuse Recovery

Butterfly Dreams Abuse Recovery

Butterfly Dreams Abuse Recovery.

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Recovery in the aftermath of hell

 

butterfly dreams logo                MyJustice You can & will recover

You hold the tools to change your life beginning right this very moment!!

IMG_6807     Patricia ‘Trish’ McKnight

Author/Advocate/Key Note Speaker/Radio Host/Survivor

Founder/CEO; Butterfly Dreams Abuse Recovery

Butterfly Dreams Talk Radio

Always believe anything is possible with you in the active equation~~trish mcknight

As a person rebuilding your life after someone has taken your value there are a few things I would suggest doing to help you through.

1) Make a list of long term goals; You can start by creating a list of long term goals, such as I want my education or to build may career in abuse recovery. This will give you and end goal and when you hit this mark you will see yourself as a true thriver, not just a survivor.

2)Make a list of your daily goals; This can be anything from cleaning out closets, going to the grocery store, or checking into a school to begin those classes to keep you as an employable person, which then makes it possible for you to earn a paycheck, pay for housing, food, clothing, vehicle or other transportation. If you have had to relocate to escape your abuser, moved away from your parents or your abusive partner, you may want to have your goal list include such things as; applying for work, finding an apartment, apply for assistance through the state to help with shelter and therapy services. These daily goal lists are important to keep you going. You will see yourself checking off your accomplished tasks, doing silly little things by yourself and getting them done teaches us that we CAN do and CAN succeed at taking care of ourself, supporting ourself, and you will begin your life over again.

3)Start a Positivity List; this list is important for you to realize the good in you as an individual. You want to take a good look at yourself, not necessarily physical traits, but more about your inner person; such as, I’m nice to other people, I have good manners, I have good hygiene, I can accomplish my daily goal lists. These little positives will help you when you rebuild your self esteem from that inadequate sensation your abuser drilled into your head. Many times our abusers have to strip away our value and make sure we are dependent upon them, so we tend to lose sight of what is good in us. Make your list and add one new item to it each day!!! If you are around family and friends who support your healing, it is good to ask them to write down one thing they see good in you. This helps you to see that others have value in you as a person, so you don’t feel as if you are all alone in believing your personal worth.

4) Learn About Your Wounds; It’s important to understand how the abuse has effected you in other ways and learn to recognize the wounds you carry inside. There are many levels of emotional damage that come from the abuse. Every abuser is different, while they may have many of the same traits, their abuse is carried out in their own dark ways. This means that not every survivor is effected in the same way. We are all different souls with different tolerance levels. While one survivor may be able to walk out the door of their abuser and never look back; others may hang onto the abuser because of the deep need for parental approval or because you truly loved that particular partner; when it was good it was good, but when it was bad it was evil type of thing.

Having gone through multiple abusers and relationships myself, there have been different reactions to the leaving and rebuilding, recovery aspect. Each abuser left different wounds from their emotional degradation, control, battery, rape and attempted murders. Therefore, I find it important to understand what wounds you carry from the abuse.

1)​Do you have issues with anxiety over small things that wouldn’t matter or seem important to a ‘normal’ person?
2)​Do you wake with nightmares or have flashbacks which make you feel your life is still in danger?
3)​Do you have those really down days and not sure why?

​​These are all signs that your wounds are emotional and mental health scars such as; Post Traumatic Stress Disorder, Depression, Generalized Anxiety because you were always living in high alert of the next action against you. It’s important to know the scars you have and understand how to live with these scars of your abuse​​​​​​​​​​​​​​.

Recovery and rebuilding from abuse is like trying to put the pieces to your personal puzzle back together again. We may have known who we were before the abuser got to us, but then we have to learn who we are now. I have had many different issues from the abusers in my life. I’ve had to study on these conditions to learn how they impact my life now. Once I began to understand the why and the how of these conditions it has made it more possible each day for me to live in my present day life, rather than thinking constantly about what happened in those thirty-two years of hell.
As you gradually begin understanding how the abuse has effected you, then you too will learn how to see the new you.

There is a lot of personal strength gained from being an abuse survivor. We have to live as ‘normal’ in society while carrying these physical and emotional wounds from the trauma. We still have to support ourselves and society expects us to act as if nothing happened. They often don’t want to hear our sad story of pain. They don’t want to understand how we have these scars that still effect us. In most cases of family abuse (child sexual abuse or incest) the family will ignore it all together. No one will acknowledge the abuse or that it has any lasting affect on you. No one will stand up to protect you, instead they protect the abuser.

Find and Treasure the piece of you that was taken so long ago; FIND YOUR VOICE!! Hold it tight, admire its power. You can use its power to heal you.

Positive Thoughts About You
You deserve a safe place to sleep 

You deserve respect 

You deserve kindness and support

  You deserve as much love as you freely give to others 

You deserve roses in your garden of life

©Butterfly Dreams Abuse Recovery Nov 2012                                   Purple Rose_13

http://www.butterflydreamsabuserecovery.com

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http://www.facebook.com/triciagirl62

#MARSocial Author of the Year Competition – Give it a share and help get our survivor stories recognized for the numerous voices of silent children still living in this hell today!!! Thank you tons Smile 

http://marsocial.com/docs/marsocials-author-of-the-year-competition-my-justice-triciagirl62-another-excerpt-foxnews-cnn-msnbc-bbc/

Set backs of being a trafficking survivor

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.

Really Mother????

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!!

Patricia ‘Trish’ McKnight          promoblkwht.jpg

Butterfly Dreams Abuse Recovery

Author: ‘My Justice’

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Male Abuse Awareness Week Feature Broadcasting

Male Abuse Awareness Week Feature Broadcasting.

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butterflydreamsabuserecovery.com/childabuse.

If you are looking for information about Child Abuse, some SIGNS & RED FLAGS that are not often shared through other sites, check out what we have available here. You can contact us to discuss any of the information you find. Thank you for supporting or sharing what the team at Butterfly Dreams Abuse Recovery & our talk radio programs is doing to help bring awareness, education, support, and help to those who are living in the actions of these crimes today or the severe aftermath they leave behind!!!

My Justice – Patricia A. McKnight : AuthorHouse

My Justice – Patricia A. McKnight : AuthorHouse.

“He had a balding head of strawberry blond hair and thick rimmed black glasses. When I made eye contact with him and saw the shine in his cold blue eyes, the hair on the back of my neck started to quiver. This man was evil and I could see it in his eyes. The evil ran through him like blood ran through my veins. His huge thick hands reached out for me as I walked past him, yelling for Mom. She finally came walking out of the kitchen, drying her hands on a dish towel. Mom looked at Richie and I and said, “Trecia. Richie. I would like you to meet your new dad.” I couldn’t believe what she said. Sadly I looked up at her and said, “New dad. But I have a dad. He’s a good dad and he loves me.” Mom pushed me towards the strange man as she introduced me to Walter. Walter would become the ruler of my life. He would make all decisions from that day forward concerning my contact with my father, grandparents and anyone else carrying the McKnight name. He would also control everything else in my life, including my existence. Walter became my nightmare. He would destroy everything good in my life and the day would come when no one was permitted to even say my last name. Then on a winter night of February 1968 he made his first sexual attack. The next twelve years of my life would be under his complete control. His brutal attacks would come constantly with no recourse from my mother. His huge thick hand would sneak in to forcefully cover my mouth as I lay in bed at night; trying to sleep peacefully next to my sister, but quietly crying as I endured his sadistic games.” The evil of just one child’s nightmare….