‘My Justice’ the survivor story from hell that will change your perception of family harm

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Patricia A. McKnight ~~ ‘My Justice’

By John Miller on January 4, 2014 ~~ “Without any doubt, “My Justice” by Patricia A McKnight is one of the most horrifying, chilling and shocking accounts of child abuse, that I have ever read.”

By Stormy on March 26, 2016 ~~ “Difficult to read though it is worth it for the knowledge gained about one of the most horrific crimes against nature and the destruction that is left in its tracks.”

Lynn C. Tolson – Survivor/Advocate/Avid Reader/Inspiring Speaker for Survivors of Sexual Harm ~~”McKnight uses details, descriptions, and a direct writing model to convey the terror of her childhood and young adulthood. The style seemed stream-of-consciousness, as if telling a story all in one breath. While reading, I held my breath, waiting to exhale.”

Attention Media

‘My Justice’ is one of those survivor stories you will never forget. Described as ‘Shocking, Horrifying, Disturbing’; ‘It is amazing you are alive today’

I am constantly amazed in the types of careers who have focused their expertise in some form after reading ‘My Justice’ or have used this memoir to help others in their type of profession to truly understand the complex levels of the child, the woman, the mother who was brutally offended over a forty year period. From her early development extending into her third marriage this woman did not know what it was to have someone who didn’t try to degrade or harm you. She never received any medical care for her serious injuries sustained in the many attacks. Everything from serious concussions from being knocked-out or the many layers of filth, infected sores, and rotting, broken black fangs that replaced her childhood smile by the time she was thirteen.

Imagine never being hugged by your mother, never hearing ‘I love you, I’m here to protect you’ from the woman who brought you into this world. Mona kept me from the father & grandparents who would have helped me, rescued me and cared for me throughout my entire childhood. She permitted my stepfather to claim me and use me as property, to exploit me at our local taverns for a few beers, to hold private parties with large groups of grown men, or to take me on their dates to entice other men to buy our drinks while he grinded his groin against me as he slow-danced with me in front of everyone.

Imagine a mother who could be so dismissing and cold towards just one of her children, that she used her as a household slave. Everyday it was getting my younger sister to school, picking her up, walking her home, starting dinner immediately, helping my sister with homework, setting a proper table and cleaning up all the mess from whatever meat, veggie, and potato meal had been prepared by her alone. Imagine being told to use the toothbrush to scrub the lime from around the sink, scrub the crevices of the bathroom with bleach, to spend every day doing household chores and praying for just two or three hours during summer weekends to escape.

This is a survivor story that in truth still continues, because you simply cannot erase the physical, sexual, violent, and verbal destruction that became the only type of existence this one child ever knew. The depth of viciousness and disregard against this one girl is something so twisted, that not even the best psychiatrists have been able to understand. Most will say the story is completely unbelievable and that it was published as a ‘novel’ so it must not, and could not possibly have really happened. I assure society as a whole and welcome ANYONE who knew me as a child growing up in our small coalmining area to comment or prove me lying. If you know my family, if you grew up and went to school at Freeburg High School, Carl L Barton Elementary School, even those who passed through my life knowing my parents Malcolm & Mona White; I invite you to speak up and share whatever memories you might have of me. I know that if John Spurlock were alive today, he would be there supporting me and defending me as he almost gave his life on more than one occasion when he stepped between Malcolm as he was coming after me.

This is a story that is definitely happening to at least 1 in 20 kids in America today. It is a story on so many disturbing levels of harm, you may think of the brutal cultures that exist in other countries and just how horrific they really are against children. The worst tragedy of this story however, is that for the author, the influence and the impact of all the sustained injuries is a huge part of her life today. She desperately tries to fight to change our laws. She has educated her children on the rights and wrongs against other people and helping their children rather than living in the circling emotional suffering. This author gives her voice, her story, and reveals all of the ugly parts of her real person so that we can provide the support, recovery, and changes in our policies and healthcare system to ensure that we are able to be a society protecting tomorrow’s children today.

Join this strong advocate who gives presentations at universities, for nonprofit services, churches, and in community settings. You will find her across social media empowering others to honestly believe that life is in their control, they can change what is happening in their aftermath today and how it will affect their life skills, parenting, and even successful employment if they do not begin their own life changing recovery process today. She is a peer support person in addictions, substance abuse, sex trafficking, family violence, and most of all as an ‘expert’ in the constant drive to becoming whomever you wish to be as you take your chance at life.

Connect for more information online through the below links;

https://www.linkedin.com/in/patriciaamcknight?trk=hp-identity-photo

www.facebook.com/triciagirl62

https://twitter.com/triciagirl62

 

 

Most grievous cases of child abuse on record

In researching information on ‘The most grievous cases of child abuse on record’, I want to share with you some of these highlights. These are not just cases in America, they stretch around the world. These are five of the worst cases that pop up in my Google search result. In reading these, definitely horrific cases, I’m not certain if these are the worst, as I can think of persons spoken with at 40 survivors (some 10/12 men, some 20/25 women, about 4 teens) who made it through years of heinous sexual and ‘terroristic physical trauma’. I invite anyone who wishes to share their story to comment here. If you don’t wish others to know, create a fake identity and share your story so others know that your voice is one of the millions silenced every year.

Sadly the details of grievous violent & sexual harms to children are rarely reported until it results in death of the child. More common than not, is a circle of community, educators, family friends, neighbors, schoolmates – but no one reports because they’re just not certain it actually concerns them at all.

Before these cases make our media headlines, someone has to be taken to court and forced to take accountability either in Criminal or Civil Liabilities. This means that someone has to be affected enough to consider these cases the most dismissed, the most brutal, the absolute worst cases in our history. What is worst of all, the type of punishment given to the offender, Family Offender; earlier history lesser punishments but gets slightly more equal to their crime as we try to address these heinous cruelties which are dismissed by many then tragically end in death for the child…..As of this date the years of physical & sexual attacks against our children are RARELY punished at all, and most are given mild sentencing compared to the lifetime altering trauma of their victims.

Here’s a few for you to review…..Links attached to resource information

Mekhi Boone – March 13, 2013 – ‘Not a 2 inch area of his body that wasn’t bruised’

Reports first began against child’s mother July 2009

Father – Had long history of Domestic Battery Offenses against mother and Mekhi

Paternal Grandmother – Nov 2012

Father – Given custody, after being recorded as ‘Not a candidate for custody’ in 2011

As this shares – No one in the State DCF/TFI visited to check on him after Jan 2013

‘Beat to death’ March 13, 2013 – lasting wounds, each in different stages of healing, some new’

No one, either from TFI or DCF, visited Mekhi after Jan. 13, 2013, the lawsuit says.

The worst ever seen

After a little less than two months without any contact from the state or TFI, Mekhi’s situation changed suddenly.

Davis brought Mekhi to the Hiawatha hospital on March 3, 2013. Mekhi was unresponsive. Davis said the child had fallen down 30 stairs.

According to the lawsuit, Davis spoke of behavior problems with the boy. Hospital staff who removed Mekhi’s clothing saw bruising and abrasions all over his body in various stages of healing.

Mekhi had multiple injuries, including internal bleeding and bleeding on the brain. He was taken by helicopter to Children’s Mercy Hospital in Kansas City, Mo.

At Children’s Mercy, doctors diagnosed Mekhi with severe traumatic brain injury secondary to child abuse, a skull fracture, mid-line shift of the brain and multiple bruises. The diagnosis didn’t match the explanation Davis had provided.

“Children’s Mercy personnel including a medical doctor who had observed approximately 15,000 victims of child abuse, described (Mekhi’s) injuries as the worst ever seen for a child that age, and that there was not two inches of (Mekhi’s) body that did not have bruising on it,” the lawsuit reads.

On March 4, Petry — the DCF worker who had told TFI in July 2012 that Davis wasn’t a placement option — visited Mekhi in the hospital. She wrote in her case activity log that Mekhi had been “beat to death.” She noted Mekhi showed signs of sexual abuse as well.

Sexual abuse of children and teens by Priests of the Roman Catholic Church 2008

As many as 800 victims have filed charges, one Priest “O’Grady”; more than 200 victims throughout his years in the church.

O’Grady, having served half of a 14-year prison sentence, is now living in his native Ireland after being deported from the US in 2000.

Carnation couple charged in “worst case” child abuse of teen daughter – 

Prosecutors said the couple were investigated by Child Protective Services in 2005 when the girl reported being locked in her room for extended periods of time. The CPS investigation concluded that the allegations were founded after Long admitted to locking the girl in her room, but the case was not referred for criminal prosecution, prosecutors said.

According to police, the girl said her stepmother disciplined her by “restricting her water intake” to about half of a small Dixie cup per day.

The girl and her brother “were forced to sleep on the floor in the same room as their parents, and a heavy dresser was pushed in front of the door to keep her from sneaking out and getting water.”

That happened after the girl was caught one night sneaking out of her own room to drink water from the toilet, according to police. She told police she feared her stepmother would hear the faucets if she used them. For food, police said, she was mostly given toast.

The stepmother, who did not work outside the home and claimed to be home-schooling the children, also directly monitored her stepdaughter’s showers and bathroom habits “to keep her from surreptitiously drinking water,” police said. Showers were restricted to every two or three weeks.

The girl told police that her stepmother once duct-taped her hands behind her back and dunked her head in the toilet to discipline her.

If convicted of first- and second-degree criminal mistreatment as charged, Pomeroy and Long could face three and four years in prison, according to King County prosecutor spokesman Dan Donohoe.

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Women to be released after committing the worst case of child abuse in history.

Over the last fifteen years I have followed story after story of abused children. However, the case of Baby Briana has resonated in my mind from the first day I saw it ten years ago. Autopsy results showed Brianna Mariah Lopez, 5-months, 5-days old, died from cranial cerebral injuries. She had bruising and scraping injuries throughout her head, as well as on her upper forehead.
Baby-Briana’s died on July 19, 2002 in Las Crucens, New Mexico. She was only five months old when she was pronounced dead in the Memorial Medical Center emergency room at 11:10 am. The reasons of her death, child abuse.
Brianna had 13 human bite marks all over her body and head. There were extensive injuries to her head and fatal injuries to her brain. She had bleeding in the brain as well as around the nerves of her eyes. Her skull was fractured in two places, there were two rib fractures, two more on the thigh bones of each of her legs, and a fracture to her left arm. She had also been raped by the ones who were supposed to take care of her, her father and uncle.
Brianna was a victim of child abuse, considered by many people as perhaps the worst case in New Mexico history. Her parents, Stephanie Lopez and Andy Walters, and an uncle, Steven Lopez were convicted and are in prison.
The abuse started almost immediately. Instead of hugs and kisses Brianna received slaps and pinches. She was tormented on a daily basis, both verbally and physically. Slapped, kicked, punched, pinched, thrown, raped, etc. You name it this infant endured it.

‘Illinois Miracle’ Disputed After Child-Abuse Cases

During a drug raid on the far South Side on Saturday, the police found a 3-year-old boy chained by the neck to a bed in a foster home where they also found cocaine, cannabis and unregistered firearms. On Friday, responding to a teacher’s aide’s report of child abuse, the police found six youngsters — all former wards of the state — locked in an unheated basement with no food or toilet and only a quilt and a few pillows to cover the concrete floor.

”It’s horrifying when we see a case like that, but that is not typical of foster care in Illinois,” said Martha Allen, chief of staff at the state’s Children and Family Services Department, whose inspector general is investigating the cases. ”Every now and again we have incidents where something bad has happened in a foster home — the answer can’t be, don’t put kids in foster homes anymore.”

Children’s Bureau 2011 – Child Maltreatment in the U.S.

Selected Maltreatment Types of Victims by Age, 2012

Age    Med Nglct   Nglct      Physical      Psych        Sexual = (x6)

<1–2     5,212       157,713         30,689      12,371     1,660 x6 = 9,960

3–5       2,456       111,770          21,327      11,518    8,802 x6 = 52,812

6–8       2,157        88,314          20,883     10,331   10,827 x6 = 64,962

9–11      1,925        68,383          17,619      9,280   11,600 x6 = 69,600

12–14    2,097        58,491          18,308      8,229   16,560 x6 = 99,360

15–17    1,806        44,800         14,887       5,936   13,133 x6 = 78,798

(x6) 1AIn 2012 during the increase measure of concern about sexual assault, Congress released a statement –  ‘For every 1 report of sexual assault that is made, at least 6 others are not’ – This statement was confirmed by Congressman John Shimkus, Sept 03, 2015

According to DHS breakdown of this report into National Children’s Bureau FFY 2011

  • More than 75 percent (78.5%) suffered neglect
  • More than 15 percent ( 17.6%) suffered physical abuse
  • Confirmed reports provide (9.1%) suffered sexual abuse – remember X6 Rule

The National Child Abuse and Neglect Data System (NCANDS) report for FFY 2011 reflects the following breakdown in perpetrators:

A) Parents of child = 80.8%

B) Other Relative    =   5.9%   

C) Parent Partner    =  4.4%

D) Other Known      =  4.5%

**E) Stranger Danger =  2.1%**

Parents, Parental Partner & Other Close Relative = 91.1% of all maltreatment offenses

Female Offenders = 53.6%              Male Offenders = 45.1%

Age vs Offense

Children ages 1-6 are most often victims of physical abuse & neglect. Mothers are most likely to be the offenders

Children ages 6-15 are most often targets of sexual abuse, and sex trafficking. Reports in these files show MALES make up 94% of recorded sexual offenders. However history shows that Mothers are not commonly suspected; in truth many are compliant in sexual harm of their children, which occurs for various reasons.

**MOLESTATION LEAVES NO PHYSICAL SIGNS!! Molestation can occur at any age, even though we never want to consider our partner or a parent (or an older child) of committing such a heinous act. The signs of molestation are simply severe irritation of the genital area, rash around mouth, or other uncommon types of signs. Spotting molestation requires understanding age appropriate behaviors & interactions with others

Illinois Statutes – 

Confirmed Illinois Statutes:  720 ILCS –

* Child Physical Abuse – statute of limitations is only 1 year after 18th bday.

No SOL beyond age 18 for aggravated battery of a minor

* Physical Battery Against a child 13 & under- the crime can only be prosecuted if it is reported within 1-3 years of when the actual crime was committed.

* Sexual Abuse – Aggravated Criminal Sexual Assault (weapon display or threat) & Criminal Sexual Assault with a family member under the age of 18 or a non-family member under 18 in which case it was forced – 20 years after age of 18 is SOL.

* Involuntary Servitude/Sexual Servitude/Trafficking of a family member (720 5/10-9) – SOL 1 year after age of 18 only *** We have a proposal to extend this one. The trafficker can be charged for a sex crime – if they directly had sexual contact with the minor. But, if those who take part in sex acts cannot be found and prosecuted under sexual crimes…the trafficker goes free if we do not catch them within a year of the victim’s 18th birthday.

* Forfeiture Provision – There is some allowance for the abusers assets being taken away in order to care for the child, but no solid provisions.

Discussed with our local U.S. Attorney Office, Fairview Heights, Il – Sept 2015

There is no Federal Legislation in Illinois for grievous, sexual, trafficking/servitude acts against a child unless the victim is able to testify against their perpetrator. Tragically inability to understand, to verbalize in exact explanation to others as required by young victims, inability to feel safe, believing in the fear/threats/terror/torture; a young victim will never tell anyone about their harm.
Permit me to add a personal note here——
For the some 30,000 plus who have apparently either listened to my radio programs or read a previous post, know of a Social Media share about my case – This most recent personal interview with TV Producer/Toastmaster/Host – Ms. Rebecca Kimbel published Feb 1, 2016 – You will see extremely graphic and shocking photos of the scars I still carry physically from what I believe is the most grievous case of Child Destruction in Illinois; perhaps even across the country. As you will hear about some of the violently disturbing acts in Part 1 of this interview, Part 2 discusses PTSD; Community Abandonment; Participators in trafficking & public exploitation; more importantly what YOU need to be looking for in children around you right now.
RebeccaKimbel.com – Youtube Interview via Skype –
Part 1 ‘My Justice’ with Author Patricia McKnight https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=yqQ7e2564yU
Part 2 Healing from Child Sexual Abuse  https://youtu.be/QaexoCNqhcM
The Centers for Disease and Control estimate 1 in 4 homes dealing with some form of violent or sexual harm. A home inside every neighborhood and a family known by every small community. There are victims adult, teen, and young children in every walk of mankind. It is those who do not comprehend there is help available or that anyone will ever believe their dark statements, these are the WORST CASES OF CHILD ABUSE that will NEVER be known to mankind!!
Thank for reading, hopefully you’ll share….
Bravery, Strength, Courage, Freedom
Patricia A McKnight

A human society creating Victims and Offenders……

Often trying to assist victims of trafficking and other dangerous crimes, we find they don’t always see how serious the harm. For them it is something they just always had to tolerate in order to survive, so as a result by the time they are older teens or adults, they might not even feel it was an actual crime. I know because it happened to me.

The first time he took me out to another location I was about 10 years old and it was a tugboat down around the Baldwin Illinois area. He used to take me with him quite often, something I couldn’t refuse without punishment and something my mother never questioned regardless of what condition I returned home. He picked up a 12pack of Pabst and we took off driving, him feeding me all but three of the beers which he drank. Needless to say I was wasted. I don’t remember everything, but I sadly remember all the hands, the touching, groping, and oral sex I was made to perform on at least one of the men. They lit up a joint and took full advantage of having the intoxicated little girl to play with for their (and his) amusement.

Next it was the bar where my mother worked & all the local coal miners hung out. I was 11 years old when my stepfather involved me in very public exploitative measures so men would buy him beer and he could watch as they all flirted and played with me. He offered the one young man time alone with me outside, thankfully the guy responded ‘She’s just a kid’. However it set off a rage of fury when we immediately left and I was beaten in the car because ‘You’re just too ugly, that’s why nobody wants to be with you.’ My head was bashed against the window a few times, on the dashboard, and his hands clenched around my throat.

Surprisingly my mother came walking up and pulled me out of the car. She didn’t ask why I was crying, or what had happened; she simply hustled me home angry and screaming at me for getting drunk. It was all my fault those men wanted to do things and Malcolm was beating the crap out of me.

This was just the beginning of what would be the next five years of private parties initiated by him with neighborhood boys, schoolmates, and grown men who came to our house on late Friday night. It was all so ‘normal’ for me. It’s what I had been beaten into tolerating and no one was doing anything to stop it. The boys and men always laughed and enjoyed it, my mother stayed in her bedroom and watched tv or she took off for the weekend and left me there.

In all honesty, I had never considered myself a ‘trafficked child’. I didn’t understand how everything that happened and all the ways that I was used, manipulated, and forced into these situations created such a mess and it trained my behavior to be exactly what he wanted; his own personal little prostitute. Sadly by the time I was around 13, that is exactly what the community talked about when they saw me.
How in the world was I supposed to understand exactly how wrong it was when no one was doing anything about it?

The community members whispered about it and how I messed around with their husbands, boyfriends, and sons. They whispered about the filth that covered my body, the body odor, the infected sores, and how I rarely ever had time allowed out of the house because there was always something I had to take care of, or there might be something or someone who needed me to do something. I was the girl their daughters could not hang out with and the girl their sons were never allowed to date. I’ll never forget how it felt growing up in the center of that small Illinois town while neighbors, family friends, teachers, and classmates all made fun of me and shamed me, but not a single person ever tried to help me. In the end the only way I knew how to get through a day without being beaten was to do whatever was ordered, whenever it was ordered, and with whomever was next in line.

It wasn’t until after I started really focusing on coping through my Complex PTSD, and the debilitating injuries from all the physical trauma which existed for some 20 years in my adult relationships. I couldn’t figure out what it was about me, why did all of this stuff happen and why didn’t anyone seem to care? This is when I began writing ‘My Justice’; hoping to put all my pieces back together and help my kids understand that their screwed up ideas about relationships had resulted from how I had been so well trained to tolerate extreme harm and never believe that I deserved anything different. I was almost 50 years old before I was able to connect the dots of trauma, to my lasting wounds today. It was after the book was published and I took a training seminar on trafficking before I realized ‘OMG, that was me’.

Helping victims of Family Crimes, whether it be extreme physical violence, sexual harm, or perhaps even trafficking; these persons do not always understand that they were victims at all. To them, to me, it was just survival. I had to do whatever was demanded and I developed survival coping skills in that horror. This is what happens when we dismiss the possibility or even witnessed exploitation or direct harm of a child.

In trying to help someone cope today, we must have compassion for the emotional instability, remember they are just beginning to realize exactly how much evil they had to endure just to survive. Almost all of the adult & teen prostitutes today, first became victims as a young child. To them their body is nothing more than a sexual object, one built to satisfy others and to endure whatever they might inflict.

Helping victims of Family Related Offenders is a difficult situation because we teach them quite young to be quiet, stop crying about it, it’s nothing, it’s because you did something, it’s because we need the financial help, it’s because we need a roof over our head, it’s your burden to carry those very ugly secrets and never tell anyone about what happens here.

How many more victims of trafficking, grievous injury, emotional trauma, and lasting mental health challenges will our human society continue to raise as we turn our backs and pretend nothing happened, or convince ourselves that it’s not our problem. If you know about a family or person in harm’s way, then it just became your problem. If you don’t get that person help, who will? It’s time to stop raising Victims & Offenders, it’s time to initiate intervention and community involvement to stop ALL crime, even the generational teaching of tolerance about crime inside our family.

Keep in mind that it’s not just the children who are forced or manipulated into multiple sexual interactions or forced to stay quiet as they are beaten beyond recognition. These actions against persons inside our homes affects all races, genders, and most importantly ALL AGES. There are no boundaries when it comes to inflicting harm on those who do not understand or are not able to defend themselves.

We must defend a persons right to be protected regardless of who they are or where they live. Home doesn’t have to be perfect, but it absolutely must be SAFE. To provide any change is going to take a strong united human effort. Ending the harm inside our families, means that we give our children a better, safer world to flourish in their dreams and achievements. Teaching that all beings deserve safety, that we have worldwide laws & constitutional laws defending our right to be safe. This should be taught in every basic history class across the country.

Give a child the gift of freedom without the fear of grievous harm, especially inside their home.
Using information & resources shared on www.butterflydreamsabuserecovery is just one possible source of help. There are resources around the world to aid in this recovery process and life skills development for healthy parenting. If you or someone you know is in distress or being harmed, please research available resources in your area.

 

Thanks & be a blessing to those in your life’s path

Trish McKnight

Author: ‘My Justice’

Butterfly Dreams Abuse Recovery & Talk Radio Network

Child Sexual Abuse Prevention Specialist

Family Violence Speaker & Educator

Family Crimes and Terroristic Abuse Act – ‘Trecia’s Law’

We all need inspiration…..

Sharing this Beautiful power of HOPE!!!

Today I will do my best. If I have a good day, I will be proud of myself. If I have a bad day, I will not dwell on it. I will forgive myself, I will put it behind me and I will continue to move forward.

Written by Inspirational Quotes on January 9, 2016. Posted in Attitude Quotes, Happiness Quotes, Inspiring Quotes, Life Lessons, Life Quotes, Motivational Quotes,Positive Quotes, Quotes, Self Improvement Quotes, Self Motivation Quotes, Self Respect Quotes

http://i2.wp.com/www.dailyinspirationalquotes.in/wp-content/uploads/2016/01/autumn-219972_1280.jpg?w=910

Today I will do my best. If I have a good day, I will be proud of myself. If I have a bad day, I will not dwell on it. I will forgive myself, I will put it behind me and I will continue to move forward.

 

I’ve been so out of touch again. Is it the holidays? Is it the family chaos? Is it the physical chronic pain? Is it because I am trying to find guidance in what I NEED to do next? How do we make our life happen in some good fashion of function and survival? There is what I CAN do, and then what I CANNOT? Remember the prayer of ‘God grant me the strength, the courage, and the knowledge’; this is what we can only hope to feel inside ourselves each day.

If we hang onto HOPE or FAITH, whichever higher power or Creator you believe is guiding our life; this belief gives us guidance. It kind of keeps us going so that we never give up, that we never stop trying in OUR LIFE to get it right. We have two choices each morning, one is to figure out what we need in order to get through to the next step tomorrow, or we can give up and live with nothing inside us but pain and sadness. Living with the deep WAIT for someone else to come along and fix things for us; however, no one can do for us. You only become completely dependent on that person to provide food, water, money, cigarettes, drugs, alcohol, or whatever become the crutch we use to bury the sadness and the ‘should have done that’ thoughts.

I honestly have learned to live with a plan to survive each day; even now when I’m not at my best, but I still try to reach for something ALMOST everyday. In my heart I wish I could learn to live in the moment, but it seems there is so much chaos that keeps popping up and this makes it quite a challenge to be light, positive, strong, to keep believing, to keep reaching. This is where we all have to learn our own way, and walk our own choices. There comes a time in EVERY PERSON’S LIFE, when we have to say: ‘Now it is my bad choices that have brought me to where I am, so something inside ME must change. I will not always have someone else in my life to make sure that I’m warm, that I’m fed, that I’m held tight in comfort; always depending on someone else to FIX my mess again.

TODAY AND TOMORROW – I MUST SURVIVE.

Let go of the past sorrow, at least enough to allow some light to come forward in tomorrow. We cannot sit with blame, but only commit to ourselves that regardless of where we must start today; my choices are mine and the road goes two different ways; today is a new start and yesterday is gone; HOPE, FAITH, STRENGTH, COURAGE, BELIEF – this is what we must see in the mirror as we take our life’s lived knowledge so far to set out our choices each day. At some point it is our own responsibility to survive & to figure out the puzzle of our beginning mess to put things back and FIX IT ourselves. LIVE!! Never ever give up!!!

Voices InJustice Radio – School is back in session – Education in America 08/16 by Voices InJustice Radio | Current Events Podcasts

Voices InJustice Radio – School is back in session – Education in America 08/16 by Voices InJustice Radio | Current Events Podcasts.

Set your reminder friends, TEACHERS, PARENTS & TEENS – You’re invited to join in as we open the discussion about our American Educational System!! What are your concerns as kids return to school? Are their Racial Issues; Low Income Meals; After School Activities; Are kids getting a positive learning environment with the support from teachers & school officials? Do you worry about teachers possibly harming or sexually approaching your child? Would they tell you if it happened? School Violence is on the increase and today’s children deal with constant harassment, bullying, and online condemnation everyday. Their struggles today are unlike any other generation, are you prepared and do you have a relationship which encourages your child or teen to openly discuss their challenges? JoinPatricia A. Mcknight live Sunday evening at 9pm central time for your Voices InJustice discussing our American School Systems. Don’t forget to invite your friends & family to call in live or join the chatroom discussion. There’s a lot we need to address to ensure ALL CHILDREN & FAMILIES are given the open support they deserve to protect our children’s education. Looking forward to hearing music by Marc Joseph Ludeman!!!

Won’t you be sure to join us??

My Justice – Patricia A. McKnight : AuthorHouse

My Justice – Patricia A. McKnight : AuthorHouse.

Get your copy of ‪#‎MyJustice‬ thru most online resources. Your story may not be the one to make it big, but consider why your writing it in the first place. I’m amazed at the hundreds who have changed their lives, found courage to seek help and speak up. This true horrible story sadly still impacts my grandchildren’s lives. It’s not about making it big, it’s about making it end!

Honestly I’m quite stunned by the way this story has made it so far. College courses, outstanding five star reviews, and absolutely incredible press articles shared across the country. From New York to Australia, to the U.K. and in the San Francisco Journal. Even more important for me are all those persons who read this and then passed it on to someone still lost in the pain and silence. Find your voice, share your story, it will touch someone’s heart somewhere. xoxoxo Trish

The flannel pajamas– the warrior armor

youarenotalone    reflection   MyJustice

Dear Readers,

Every time I’m asked to speak at an event, I can’t help but be overwhelmed and triggered, so then I’m usually inspired to write. However the topic isn’t always pleasant. As with most of my writings this may be stressful for some to read, but if we do not challenge ourselves we can never move forward. This is part of my childhood memories and I hope it will empower and inspire you to become active in helping us update old laws and policies so that we can tell the children in America, that we are putting forth every possible protective measure to ensure that you will grow to believe in the protections; believe in your inalienable and fundamental RIGHT TO BE SAFE, to live free from harm and free from fear.

Thanks for reading, please sign the petition at the bottom and help us actively protect our nation’s children.

The story of ‘The Flannel Pajamas’ probably gives the best view into their daily fight for survival.

‘The Flannel Pajamas; a warrior’s armor’

Walter both hated me and adored me now. He still kept coming into the bathroom when I tried to bathe. He’d sit on the toilet seat, talking his filthy talk to me; making sure I felt as if I didn’t even know how to wash myself right, and also that I responded to all of his disgusting remarks. He always made me talk his dirty language and I knew way too much for my young age. I hated everything about my life. I hated him for making me participate in his sick little games. I hated everything about taking a bath, because it became part of his torture. I just wanted to get in the bathroom and hide, not bathe.

The last time I bathed he came in and I decided once again to try and be brave. I yelled downstairs to Mom asking her to make him get out. Of course nobody cared what I had to say as I started to speak up against him. When I yelled for Mom she just yelled back up for him to leave, as though it were an accident he was in there at all. The rage in his eyes grew so furious they looked like they were on fire. He walked out of the bathroom swearing he would get back at me. He would make sure I paid for speaking against him. Mother never asked, or seemed to care at all, if I was alright. In fact, she didn’t even care to hug me since he came into our lives and took away the happy child I was, and should have been.

He stomped down the stairs and when I hoped for her to start yelling at him or even better, maybe hit him; all I heard instead was the normal silence and him turning on the television. “What did I expect? There was never anyone that had stood up for me, questioned me, or helped me; why would that ever change?” 

Our new rental house was huge. The upstairs bedrooms were set up differently from most other houses I’d lived in over the years. We never seemed to stay in the same house very long. My little sister Rachel and I had the door to the right as you got to the top of the stairs. The interior wall had an open doorway from Mom’s room to mine. Mom slept on the right side of the bed, which put her on the same side as the open doorway. Walter would sometimes enter my room at night using that doorway, which meant he had to sneak out of bed and then walk along the end of their bed,walking past Mom to get into my room. Since Rachel and I shared a bed, not just a room, he had to be even more careful about his nighttime visits, because she was getting older and I know there are many troublesome memories she’s told me she’s had problems dealing with; although I’m not sure exactly what some of those memories entail.

As I got older, he would use more force in his hand that covered my mouth. When he snuck up to the side of my bed, his hand would clamp down around my jaw, squeezing so I could feel his dominance of secrecy during his torture. Actually he was growing more violent with me on a daily basis now. Since Mom was bartending in the evenings, it was easier for him to make my life a living hell. 

I had only one nightgown, which was a very thin, pale yellow, see through cotton gown. It had a white upper part around the chest just above my breasts with flowers of purple embroidered on it. It was a pretty gown, but actually much to old for me. Every time I wore it I felt ashamed because it was really too revealing for such a young girl. Supposedly this was a present he bought for me, which Mom had allowed him to pick out and purchase from Victoria Secrets when they took a day out for themselves walking around at the newly built Fairview Heights, ‘St. Clair Square’ mall. I had just one bra and shared my five year old sister’s underwear.

Richie had it made, or at least I thought he did. He had two doors which closed his room off. He actually had a door from the bathroom and a door from Mom’s room, and they both had bolting locks. Mom said, “He is a boy and boys are different from girls. He needs his privacy.” I could never understand the logic behind that excuse, but there was little I could do about changing her mind. He also had thick heavy flannel pajamas with a shirt that buttoned all the way up to the neck. I was so jealous of those pajamas and wanted them so badly. He had to pair of these awesome pajamas, but a night would come that I would sneak one of those, later stashing them away in the bottom drawer of the dresser I shared with Rachel. Although I only wore them one time, I did hang onto them. Much later as I was packing my clothes to leave home shortly after turning seventeen; I found them there and was instantly frozen, completely terrified and my breath stopped dead.

While I was trying to go through my day to day life of being a pre-teen dealing with school, my thoughts were always concentrated on hoping my mom was going to be home when Rachel and I walked in the door. It was my duty of course, to pick her up from class and be sure we came straight home. There were chores waiting everyday to be done. I still remember the extremely dreaded five block walk with my sister, who now had started kindergarten. The short distance felt more like five miles worrying about what was ahead that evening.

First I had to cook dinner for the five of us and clean up the kitchen. I had to do a load of laundry, help my sister with homework, make sure she got to bed on time, only then if there was time and peace I would try to do my schoolwork as well. This was my expected normal routine of daily life. Although my brother checked to make sure the trash got out, everything else my family needed always lied on my shoulders from about age ten. I really tried to pay attention in school, but there was just too many worries at home. My favorite subjects were Math and English, but I never had the guts to raise my hand or even answer a question when the teacher called on me. Walter had destroyed my self-confidence and my self-esteem with his constant abuse. Truthfully I really didn’t have either of those qualities, never believed there was anything good about me at all until I was about thirty-five. 

When I was in school all I noticed were the whispers and pointing from the other kids. I walked around by myself; keeping my head lowered and my mouth shut. Shelly and I didn’t have many classes together anymore, but she was still the best friend I had, the only one who seemed to talk with me now and then.

Everything Walter had done along with the neglect from my mother, just helped to confirm the filthy useless girl I felt I was inside. I didn’t want to draw any type of attention towards myself. Filthy, stench covered, ugly, and slave driven out of trained fear had become my identity at twelve years old. This was the only way I knew how to survive everyday. Survival meant I had to grow and adapt to my environmental surroundings. Distracting his attention away from me was my hardest chore. I kept hoping that maybe I could turn him off or better, maybe I could disgust him the way that I disgusted myself and then perhaps he would stay away.

Mom was never good at encouraging proper hygiene, nor did she care about teaching proper etiquette. She didn’t give the guidance that a struggling, drowning, young preteen girl needed. There was no discussion of boys and really no discussion of how my daily life was going. I was just there. There to clean, cook and take care of the family when she was working, which I surely understood she had to do, but I didn’t know that was supposed to include her husband. I felt as dirty and tangled inside as my hair and body were on the outside. I was ashamed of my life and the hell that I lived in. 

Despite my attempts to make myself as ugly as possible, nothing deterred Walter from the sadistic passion he held for me. The word “passion” was used by the multiple therapists who often told me that his involvement with me and my life had developed from a type of “sick passion and jealousy”. He sought me out no matter how hard I tried to avoid him. I think back as I write this and wonder if the more I tried to push him away maybe the more that action turned him on; this fed his need to terrorize me. Everyday I struggled just to complete my daily chores. He would sneak around me all the time. While I was cooking he would come by and rub my ass, whispering how much he loved it. He would come up behind me while doing dishes and grab my breast; pinching the nipple so hard it made me pull away in pain. As I sat at the table doing my homework he would sneak up and grab at me running his hand across my chest. He always looked at me with eyes glowing and a wicked smile of evil on his face. It was a battle to ensure the outside world only saw the make-up of our family. No one could ever know about the impossibility of trying to be a normal child while living in a torture chamber at home. I never wanted anyone to know the true hell that existed in our house. 

Things were always going to be evil on the nights when Mom worked, which was usually at least four night a week. It always guaranteed that my night would be hell. I could barely put dinner on the table or take care of my sister while trying to dodge his every move. Richie and Rachel were always safe; as I only ever saw him be mad at them once or twice the entire twelve years we lived in the same house as a family. If I maneuvered the night well I could at least get Rachel to bed without battling him for peace. When she got to bed I would run in the bathroom and wash off with a hot washcloth; it was impossible to attempt a bath.

My night started when his voice yelled out; “Richie get your ass up to bed and tell your sister to get her butt in here.” As my brother made his way reluctantly up the stairs he was angry because I was allowed to stay up longer. If he only knew, but I’m certain he has memories as well, especially a few particular nights with Walter for sure. I wanted to climb in a closet and hide or maybe find some hole in which to escape. The voice again, “Trecia Ann, get your ass down here right now. You better be ready for bed too.” This meant that I had best be wearing my little pale yellow nightgown; his favorite special nightgown just for me. A few time I’d try to be really brazen and leave my bra on to cover my breasts and some underwear for my bottom. This just made him angry and he made me take them off anyway, but as a little girl I would still try.

Climbing those stairs down to hell was as long as that dreadful walk home from school. I wanted to turn and run out the door; run anywhere. On this particular night I was so terrified that I went into Richie’s room and locked the door behind me. Walter was really getting pissed at me and started yelling with a deep growl in his voice. He was so furious that I hadn’t come back downstairs right away. “How dare I go against him,” he yelled out. It made him angry but no one else would do anything to help me so I had to try and protect myself. 

Walter’s voice only raged out towards me. He never yelled for my sister or brother, only me. He had his own private play doll; that was it, just a life size doll he had the freedom to play with; do with whatever he wanted. I wanted to be a plastic doll like the ones my dad gave me when I was a little girl. There would be no feelings or thoughts to race through my head; no terror to make me shake in the middle of the night, no feelings of any kind. His voice kept getting louder and I could tell how angry he was getting.

Desperately seeking safety I crawled into bed with Richie. As I curled up next to him and wrapped my arms around him, my little girl voice filled with small tears begged him to help me. “Please Bubby, please help me,” I said. Deep inside I just wanted to disappear, but I knew I could never get away from him. Every night it was the same. I’d pray as hard as I could, “Please God, please just make me a boy.” Richie finally pushed me out of his bed when Walter started threatening to come upstairs and get me. He looked at me; crying the tears of a helpless boy as he told me; ‘Sissy, I’m sorry. You have to go, he’s yelling for you. I can’t help you’.

I stood next to his bed, my small body just begging for someone to reach out for me, to protect me. I stood there with my arms locked around my body, squeezing and holding myself as I cried and pleaded for his help. He was just a boy though; what could he have done to help me? Before I left Richie’s room, I pulled out his dresser drawer and found a pair of those wonderful flannel pajamas, then I snuck into the bathroom, bolted both doors shut tight. The little girl who stood in front of the mirror looking at herself wondering, “What is it about me? What is it that makes him come after me?” My body was physically shaking from head to toe while I struggled to put on those flannel pajamas; “These pajamas will cover me completely and protect me”, as if they had some type of magical power which would prevent him from touching me.

I felt a little safer at first when I started down the stairs that night, but he was waiting at the bottom landing and I could see how angry he was. He stood there like a huge barrel blocking my way. He grabbed my hair as he pushed me into the living room and I fell to the floor. He yanked me back up by my arm and he used his other hand to undo his belt while he dragged me to the back of the house. It was that same hateful leather belt he had drawn blood with so many times before.

He threw me into the back laundry area of the house. Maybe I should have made a run for the back door. I remember looking at it, but I knew I wouldn’t make it, besides I was just a child; a little girl being beaten because she put on a pair of pajamas hoping in some way they would protect her. He slammed me into a corner that I couldn’t get out of as he swung the first sting of his dominating belt. He grabbed me and pushed me up against the washer forcing his body on me so hard that it felt as if I would break in half from the pressure. He was pushing me back with all of his weight, crushing me. I felt it difficult to breathe as he tried bending me backwards against the washer. He kept swinging the belt. He landed a lash around my thigh and the leather grabbed against my skin.

Off of the laundry room, in a little small corner was a half bath area, just a small sink with a toilet and shower stall. He drug me into the little room and bent me over the sink. Raging he ordered, “Get your hands over here and pull down your pants!” He just kept yelling and swinging the belt. “You lean up against that sink there and do as I said. Trecia Ann, you get those pants down now! Don’t you move little girl or I‘ll rip the shit out of you.” I remember his instructions for my beating every time I stand at a sink to brush my broken teeth still today. It climbs into the back of my head and shoots sorrow into my heart. When I look at the vanity I can’t help but remember the little girl who was so frightened that night; the girl who could not get away from him; the girl getting beaten for putting on a pair of flannel pajamas. That little girl buttoned them all the way to the top; tight around the neck, praying they would protect her. Sadly she was raped from behind at that old sink while getting beaten in furious rage for believing she could stand against him.

The horror I felt as he beat me was nothing new. His violence was constant; the constant reminder that he was in control. There was no escape for me so I had to adjust and allow his torture. There could be no signals to the outside world that this was happening. No one could ever know the truth that was my life. I remember so vividly the emotions of terror and humiliation that shot through me. The days of walking through the school with my head down, ashamed of myself for all the disgusting ways he inflicted his dreadful game of torture with me. Later, I learned in therapy and study, all too often the brutalized child swallows their emotions in order to ease the pain of survival and bury the shame of their life. 

After he pulled out of me, his words burned against my neck. In his whispering anger I thought the devil himself was speaking to me. “How dare you?” he said, “You think I called you down here to see you in those ugly fucking things. You just keep trying me every chance you get, don’t you? You think that you can stop me?” He stepped back and grabbed the collar of the shirt, then swung his belt and it wrapped around my thigh again. It stung and felt as though it was cutting right through my skin. I don’t know how long he had me there. He was enjoying the punishment that he was dishing out. “You filthy, ugly, little whore,” he yelled as he pushed my face into the mirror. “You think you can get away from me. You will never be able to get away.” He grabbed the collar as he growled, “Just do as you are fucking told and shut up.”

He pushed me out of the room, down onto a pile of dirty laundry. I felt like I was a piece of garbage lying there. “Please just let me disappear,”my thoughts begged. “Let me dissolve into the filthy pile of laundry, simply disappear forever.” His final statement as he walked away was, “Get your ugly ass up to bed. You keep trying to push me and I will get you. When you least expect it, I will be there.” He walked into the living room huffing from being out of breath and sat down in his recliner. “Get upstairs you little bitch and you better make sure everyone shuts their fucking mouth.” 

Slowly I pulled myself up; my body stinging from the belt. Then, half stumbling, I made my way upstairs. Quietly I eased into bed, my heart still pounding in terror and the welts still growing on my backside. Rachel was asleep; at least her eyes were closed when I looked over at her. If she heard him beating me downstairs she was too scared to say anything about it. My hands pulled the covers in tightly around my body, hoping that they would keep him away, although I didn’t really expect a visit from him that night. At least I hoped it was over and once again I had survived. There were times after the beating, raging fit, when he still needed more. He would torture, send me away, and then call me back for more or sneak in my room for another type of attack. Now my legs, butt and back were stinging from the belt. The dread of what might be next took over my thoughts as I quietly cried myself to sleep. Richie was in his room probably still in the same huddled up position that I had left him in, but he didn’t say a word and he didn’t come in to check on me. My body was exhausted from the beating and the stress of it all so I didn’t hear or feel anyone come sneaking around as I slept. He must have felt satisfied by his imposed torture and chose not to visit me. Trembling now as the feeling of terror comes rushing back, much the same as I trembled then. It really didn’t matter if he killed me because I already felt so completely dead on the inside and so isolated from everyone on the outside.

The next morning Mom was yelling for me to get Rachel ready and come down for school. As I opened my eyes I reached down to rub a spot on my thigh where the belt had landed. I had hoped it was all a dream, but the welts were there to prove me wrong. They swelled up more through the night and my entire thigh
was burning with pain. My legs and every other part of me were still very sore and when I inspected them I could see the purple mounds of blood lying just underneath the flesh, perfectly in line with where the belt had landed. There were marks on my back, down my buttocks and both thighs and a few marks that wrapped around my calves. My body was in so much pain from the beating and slamming around the night before. It really hurt to move at all. My head was sore from where he held onto my hair, which it seemed he always did. I tried splashing cold water on my eyes to help with the swelling, but it just made them sting. The bags around them were dark and so swollen I could hardly see through them at all


As I finished getting ready and started down the stairs, my mind was praying that Walter had already left for work so I wouldn’t have to see his stare. Mom, as always, said absolutely nothing when I slowly arrived downstairs. She didn’t show any signs that she even noticed me. The normal night of my terror and torture had become the routine and it meant nothing to anyone; it was as if I didn’t even exist. Mom didn’t care what happened to make me look like I did or walk the way was. She was so absolutely blind to the pain and hurt that I had been in for the past seven years. Her only concern that morning was for my sister to get to school. “You girls better hurry up or your sister is going to be late,” she said to me. So without saying a word Rachel and I grabbed our books for school and my dreadful day started.’’

From the written true horror of ‘My Justice’, published March 2011.

This is how a child feels when they are brutalized and sexually dominated, used in servitude, traded out and forced in silence to allow others to do whatever they want, completely without concern for any emotions they feel at all.

‘Hell Yes’ I do know very well just how ugly the idea that a parent could dismiss this type of brutality and disgusting actions against their own child. Even worse that someone you are told is your ‘Dad’, could be so intently evil against you. The thought that your happy childhood could change into something so brutal, is never something a child can control. They become objects in their identity; a slave to the needs of others, but without concern or acknowledgement for any tear they shed. Those you live with, those who should love and protect you in gentle guidance through life, instead they enjoy the terror in your eyes, the fear they smell like animals, the dominance over your very breath.

My monster, my terrorist, thrilled when others raped me, filled me with alcohol, weed, cocaine to manipulate; then sent me dancing from lap to lap. I still recall those moments, although its not something I want to remember at all. The days and nights when he wanted to hear all the gory details, then he looked me in the eye and said; ‘God will never forgive you now. You are no longer a young child and God will not ignore what you’ve done. God will never take you into Heaven, not ever.’

As ridiculous as it may sound, and as impossible as it may be, I am still afraid of my afterlife in many ways. I’m spiritual in every sense of the word, but I cannot step into a church without fearing the overbearing judgment of my life. I am afraid that if I haven’t learned my life’s lesson and have to suffer through again, there is no way I could possibly survive his torture ever again. I’m terrified in some way that the monster I still feel creeping around me at times, will be there; waiting for me so that he can attack once again. How bad is the fear when you fear that dominating monster in every single breath you take, in every moment you live, but even worse in the moment you die. Who will protect you from him then?

These monstrous types of offenders will do whatever it takes to demean you and destroy every part of your being. This particular monster stalked and preyed on me even when I was forty years old and temporarily staying at my mother’s new house in Eldorado, Illinois; I wanted to believe he couldn’t be well enough to climb down those stairs to the shower room, just has Mom had said when she refused to let me use her bathroom to shower. However, sure enough as I went to rinse the soap out of my hair, I heard something. When I stepped out to pull back the doorway curtain, there he stood. He was sneaking in like the monster he was; prowling to feed off the fear he had instilled so well.

This is why we most definitely need to continue every ounce of energy to create awareness, bring light to their dark tortured pain and isolation. They are too ashamed, too terrified, certain you will reject them and send them back to endure this constant hell. It is our duty, the duty of our laws and policies, to absolutely ensure that every measure is in place to help victims who need us, every moment they need us. Make sure that law enforcement, teachers, healthcare workers, even our neighbors and school mates understand how serious this is and how destructive to live day after day, month after month, year after year, attack after attack without ever a single person who cares enough to ask; ‘Are you SAFE?’

How is it possible that we have tens of millions of survivors of these types of terroristic family crimes, but yet we can’t seem to get more than 500 signatures? Are we not tired of the ‘Good Ol’ Boy Laws’? Are we not tired of the dismissal and blame we place on young victims? Are we ready to end the teaching of tolerance, silence, and protecting these Family Terrorist, who attack day after day, enjoying the demeaning destruction of bright beautiful children? It’s time and I, along with many other excellent warrior advocates, will stand with you 100% to update our policies in helping victims rebuild, but more importantly to begin teaching the fundamental, inalienable right to be safe for every being around the world. If we work so hard, give so much, to defend the rights of these monstrous criminals; then it is certainly equal we should work so hard to protect our victims, especially children, so that each will feel their own special type of Flannel Pajamas, their warrior armor to protect from the burning touch and keep them safe forever.

HOW IN THE WORLD DO WE EVEN JUSTIFY TEACHING SILENCE OF THEIR GREATEST FEARS; THE FEAR WITHIN THEIR HOME, THE CONSTANT TERRORISTIC TORTURE THEY HOPE TO SURVIVE EVERY SINGLE DAY!!

PLEASE HELP, PLEASE SIGN, PLEASE SHARE!!!

https://www.change.org/p/mr-president-please-enforce-the-right-to-be-safe-for-all-persons-especially-our-children-enforce-family-terrorist-act-trecia-s-law

Thank you for reading here. Thank you for protecting the children who come into your life’s circle. If every one of those millions of survivors will make a commitment to protect just one child today, this will ensure a beginning to an end of these very ugly, brutally monstrous, terroristic types of family crimes.

Best Regards,

Patricia ‘Trish’ McKnight

Author: ‘My Justice’

Speaker, Trainer, Advocate, Survivor

Butterfly Dreams Abuse Recovery 

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