A Child the Town Forgot

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Hello;

May I please ask for just a few moments of your time to read this message & view the short two minute attached video? Any consideration is hugely appreciated. http://youtu.be/0Rpt_oHU5NM

My name is Patricia ‘Trish’ McKnight and I am reaching out to find an organization or person who will help me continue the healing journey forward.

Why I am contacting you….

There are many thousands of survivors of past abuses & violence speaking up today about the horrors of their past. In our society it seems we have become almost numb, trained into tolerating a certain level of these attacks within our homes. Today, I am trying to break this silent barrier!! Myself and many other advocates work online and in our communities constantly helping those who’ve been harmed to find their way out of the cloud of madness and finally find their own path in life, letting go of the pain to soar into their future. So now, I am contacting any and all who have the power to create change in our society. You have this power and you can encourage many others to stand with the survivors, rather than blame the victims. We were children left by the tolerated generational acceptance to these acts, but we no longer have to teach our children this tolerance. We can change how these crimes are looked at & prosecuted today. We can change their future by empowering them with voice. Erin’s Law has paved the doorway for us to teach our children about sexual abuse, but are we teaching them? Are we teaching them to speak up no matter who is harming them; even if it’s their parents. As most of us well know, these acts are most often done within the walls of our own homes. The families don’t want the embarrassment of the public’s knowledge so they put on the best front possible to the outside world, but when the door to our home is closed, then only the victims know how dark the evil can become.

You see, my family didn’t put up any kind of false front at all in our rural community, there was no perfect family life on the outside of our home. It was simply that my stepfather and his vicious temper were so well known that my mother got away with placing herself as a victim, but I know that she was never harmed by this man. Instead she gave him her oldest daughter, the child she had with her second husband and the one she used as a house slave, a family caregiver, the family whore.

A bit of my history; I grew up in Freeburg, Illinois, which used to be a small town American coal mining community. My time spent there was most of my youth from about 1969-1983. I know during these times things were much different than they are today, but not that much has changed in our rural areas, nor our cities when it comes to abuse & violence within our homes.

Sadly, I was the child a town forgot, a town dismissed, a town ignored and today I carry the emotional wounds & the physical scars because of the fear of my stepfather’s evil. At the age of five he first viciously molested me while my mother was at her bridal shower preparing to marry him just a few weeks later. This attack was done while he was babysitting my brother and two other neighbor boys. He enjoyed that he could be evil with an audience to watch and it just got worse from that moment forward.

At the age of nine my mother walked in early from work and found him in bed with me; completely naked with his erection ready to be inserted. At eleven he began offering me out to other local men at the town’s bars for the price of a couple of beers. I was just twelve years old when he brutally raped me with the barrel of his favorite shotgun, my younger sister & older brother were downstairs watching their favorite television show. By the time I was thirteen the people of Freeburg didn’t see a child being sold out, brutally attacked, ignored & neglected from all forms of medical care & human kindness; they saw the girl who was used to excite their husbands, too well informed about sex for her age. In short, the reputation I had at this very young age was simply put as, ‘The village whore’ and this reputation would stay with me throughout my teens.

My mother would not protect me from him, although she knew exactly what was happening. She wouldn’t stop him from trapping her child in the bathroom every time I tried to bathe. He used his ugly games to teach me how to wash the right parts of my body; this started right after they were married. Mother also refused ANY & ALL forms of medical care or basic human needs, even human kindness for her own daughter was something she just couldn’t allow herself to do. She used her daughter as her housekeeper, babysitter, family caregiver, cook and willingly sacrificed her daughter so that she would not have to tolerate the sadistic needs of the man she chose as a husband.

By the time I reached thirteen, I had already taken my own small step at protecting myself when I chose to stop bathing, sounds disgusting I know. From the age of twelve when he wouldn’t leave the bathroom and mother wouldn’t chase him out as she sat downstairs hearing me shout out for her help; this is when I took that horrible choice and never bathed again for almost FIVE YEARS. Think about this please, just for a moment, a young girl beginning her periods, growing through puberty, used as a house slave, given as property, sold to local men for their enticement & wandering hands; even her own family still see her today as HIS WHORE and not the child who needed rescued from their evil cruelty. The small town of Freeburg left me to grow in this hell; filthy, rotting, and disgusting.

I attended Carl L. Barton Elementary school at the early stages of his evil attacks, which haunted me in the bed I shared with my much younger sister. His almost nightly visits were predatory and his thick coal stained hand clamped tight around my mouth to prevent so much as a whimper from seeping out. The next day at school my homework was never completed and the teacher’s would berate and belittle me, calling me stupid, lazy; making a point to direct attention my way. They were disgusted by the child whose skin was rotting away; encrusted filth covered my skin, my teeth plaque covered and broken black fangs dangling in my mouth. Almost everyone avoided physical contact in fear of catching whatever was eating away at my flesh. You’ll see a brief video attached above which shows the scars from the infection that covered almost every inch of my skin. My breath was rancid, my body horrifying and with an order as bad as the breath from my mouth. Simply put, I carried every single sign of wicked abuse, neglect, disgusting hygiene, a reputation that was built from being traded out; the local daughters were not permitted to hang out with me and the sons were not allowed to date me. I was garbage and EVERYONE in our small American town knew who to call when I did something wrong, they knew who the parent’s of this rotting whorish child were, but not ONE SINGLE PERSON ever asked so much as a question about my well being. Not one single teacher ever said a word, not one single adult man who attended the late night parties at our house for years ever said a word about the girl they used and then discarded; not one young school mate who came to the house parties filled with marijuana & alcohol, accepting the forced oral sex and handed this filthy girl as a toy ever said a word when they saw me in school the next day. It seemed all those years not one single person, not family, not neighbors, not even our local law enforcement or the many who came for the fun; I MATTERED TO NO ONE and THEY LEFT ME TO ROT IN THE HOUSE OF HORRORS.

The life I lived when I left my childhood, was one filled with self destruction; lost, confused, alcohol & marijuana addition, then into more than 20 years of almost deadly relationship/domestic violence. My three beautiful children born to my first husband had no choice but to grow in the shadow of a broken abused mother. They hid in the closets as my second husband violently beat me and on more than one occasion almost killed me. This evil of violence & abuse which took the voice of the little girl so long ago, then invaded my children’s lives and it took me until their mid teens to finally break away and slowly build a broken, but safe, existence for them and for me.

Today, people have referred to me as a ‘Hero’, ‘Conqueror over Abuse’, and even a ‘Freedom Fighter’, however I’m just simply doing what is now deeply engrained in my soul. I, along with co-founder Michal Madison, are presently building a nonprofit organization to help provide knowledge, understanding, and help for families, victims, survivors & communities who have been harmed or are dealing with some form of abuse; Butterfly Dreams Abuse Recovery the website Steps to Recovery, along with the community outreach broadcast of Butterfly Dreams Talk Radio, which has built a huge social following and reached over 30,000 listeners is turning into a great success – bringing awareness, enlightenment, empowerment, support, hope & faith for the many millions of survivors & advocates around the world.

I’m so grateful to say I’ve been doing a number of crucial speaking venues’; one recently with Dr. Elaine Alpert; an educational speaker for the Division of Global Health & Human Rights.

This was a chance to empower healthcare professionals to take every opportunity to question the safety of everyone who visits their offices; they may not get a second chance to save a life or rescue a victim. Coming up next, on the 19th of Sept., I am giving a two hour training presentation at the Victims Rights Annual Conference in Bay City, Michigan; invited personally by the Prosecuting Attorneys Association of Michigan.

Thankfully, by the grace of Creator, I am alive today to share hope & help for the many who are still living trapped in the silence of these crimes.  I’ve published my memoir of hell, in the story ‘My Justice’, built an incredible talk radio program, and am now moving forward with building the official nonprofit status for Butterfly Dreams Abuse Recovery & Talk Radio Programming. I am here to encourage others to stand up and say something, protect the children within our families, within our neighbor’s homes, and never let another child be so ignored by a community that they are left to rot in the evil within their home.

Thank you for any time you have given this message and plea for your attention. I’m grateful to be able to speak up and help others know their life after abuse is possible. I am grateful that I have finally found love; I am finally safe, and although I carry the physical & emotional wounds, although I carry the ugly scars & broken teeth; I am still alive!! I am building dreams in hopes that one day we can end this tolerance and begin teaching the true value of our children’s lives. They are not simply objects to be used, beaten, raped, sold and stolen away. We can inspire hope & help together, connecting hearts & holding hands around the world.

Respectfully,

‘Trish’ McKnight

Patricia A. McKnight

p.mcknight@charter.net

butterflydreams@charter.net

Phone: 618-304-7438

Author: ‘My Justice’myjustice_patriciamcknight

Exec. Director: Butterfly Dreams Abuse Recovery & Talk Radio Programming

12156430-butterfly-dreams-abuse-recovery

Website: http://www.butterflydreamsabuserecovery.com

Talk Radio: http://www.blogtalkradio.com/butterflydreamsabuserecovery

Educational & Empowerment Speaker

Survivor & Emotional Health Abuse Recovery Research

Survivors World online support group

Blog: http://www.survivorsjustice.com

Linkedin: http://www.linkedin.com/pub/tricia-mcknight/39/2a8/753/

Facebook: http://www.facebook.com/triciagirl62

**Believe all things are possible with you in the active equation** ~trish mcknight

art designs by: Michal Madison, Watercolor Artist for the Abused

©Butterfly Dreams Abuse Recovery 2012

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Why would you just stand there and watch me die?

This blog takes me deep into thought and I wonder about even publishing, but to heal I must see the reality of my world.

You all allowed this to happen!! What the hell did I ever to to you? Then you have the audacity to turn away and abandon not only me, but my children. My family actually damns them because of what our parents created in me. The town of Freeburg, Illinois watched for NINE LONG YEARS as I rotted in the hell of my world. Not a single one of those 1500 citizens ever questioned or urged someone to get involved.

‘Why would you just stand there and watch me die?’

‘My Justice’ is a cold hard look into what you all watched or took part in throughout those many years. Sure there are those who were only children, as I was; still many of those young men enjoyed the whore this man created and shared or encouraged others to play with; still everyone ignored her existence every day.

It is not possible for me to complete my healing until I have processed all the emotions I was forced to bury. The tears I was forced to swallow, the madness I’ve carried and the pain I felt. There was not a single day that I didn’t pray someone would help me. There was not a single night that I didn’t ask God for His mercy to take my out of my nightmare.

‘How am I supposed to deal with all of this now? Should I look back and say they didn’t know what to do? How can I blame them for what my parents did?

What would you do if it was you?’

Is it possible that you would see the reflection I see and feel no pain or sadness? My skin is covered with the scars of the rotting infected sores. You remember, the ones you saw on me and made sure your children didn’t associate with me because of what they might catch or what they might be lured into doing? You blamed me and judged me, shunned me and saw a young girl as the village whore. The one your sons were never to date. The one who might infect your child with some skin eating disease. You remember me now? How would you feel if it were you? Would you have allowed this to happen to any other child? How do you see your moral standards now? Is there any remorse for your ignorance?

‘Why would you just stand there and watch me die?’

‘Do you understand what happened and just how serious, almost deadly, these grievous attacks became? Believe me, Mona and/or Malcolm committed or silenced me in servitude and protecting my personal terrorist?’

To the school officials and teachers who I had contact with every day; those from Carl L. Barton Middle School during the years of 1974 ‘til 1977 and those of Freeburg Community High School. Although I started school and moved to your town when still a very young child, entering third grade with Ms. Boyer; it wasn’t until I was around 11 that things really started getting deadly in my home.

Was I really that transparent that you didn’t notice me at all? Seems a bit funny to me since the P. E. teachers and kids would not only avoid any and all physical contact with me, but you made sure to shame me in front of the others. You stared at my filthy unwashed uniform filled with the stench of my unwashed body. You glared at the scabs and flesh eating sores that covered my arms and legs. The girls who I changed clothes with in the gym locker room for six years stared and whispered about the rumors and bruises that often cover my young body. These are my memories of you and I cannot erase my reality.

To the law enforcement; you knew of his alcoholic rage and perverted behaviors. You knew, around 13 years old (1975 – 1980), that our home was constantly the party house. Almost once a month these parties consisted of one grown man, one young girl, and at least 5 young boys. You heard all the rumors about the pot that was smoked or the girl offered out like candy. You definitely knew from the kids wandering around inside and outside, each holding cups or cans of beer; the loud music and traffic that concerned the neighbors, but you did nothing.

In my eyes, none of you were not brave enough to do your job and check on the children of this home. When you stopped me out on the street, to either talk or question me, you saw the rotting teeth and in our roasting hot summer days you saw my arms filled with filth and huge sores. You did nothing!!

You knew either by rumor or being told by the bar owners, that he was so dangerous when drinking my mother warned all of the tavern owners to ban him from whiskey completely. However, since they too were afraid of what he might do, they watched his fury grow, then sent him home; knowing there were young children. Remember the little girl who came in to get her mother a pack of cigarettes almost daily? Remember the man that charged his beverages and never paid you back? Remember what you thought of the man?

 How could you just stand there and watch me die?’

For the adult men and family friends who came through my life; you supported my mother and felt pity because of her husband. You looked at her and said, ‘Poor thing, she’s got to put up with so much hell from that man.’ Do you know he would have crawled naked over fire for her, not once did he ever threaten or harm her, she had the power to stop him and chose to pretend there was nothing wrong with it at all.

The adult men who knew me, watched as he first began exploiting at just 11yrs old at JB’s Tavern. You all got a great thrill out of feeding me Vodka & Orange Juice, or Seven & Seven. You enjoyed watching me ‘shake my a**) as he ordered me to play the jukebox, entice you all to buy him drinks. What about those who came to our home on those late Friday night’s smoking joints & groping a child as you passed her from lap to lap as you watched ‘Debbie Does Dallas’; have any of you ever thought about that child? Did you even pay attention to the filth, the broken teeth, the sores on her body? Your kids all shamed me about it in school almost daily. Eventually it became just the way I was and this is when the mothers prevented their kids from hanging out at our house, friending me, or permitting their sons to date me. Did any of you ever wonder for a moment about that young girl? 

How could you just stand there and watch me die?’’

I write this and feel the anger boiling in my soul. I know the mix of emotions racing about trying to figure out who to forgive and who to blame. What would you do if it was you? Was I not human? Was I not a child? Do you see the many torturing wrongs you allowed by your refusal to intervene? Do you see that when you chose to ignore the screaming, crying child you watched get beaten in the street or passed out like candy, how you abandoned her and deepened the belief she was his object instead of a little girl?

‘How could you stand there and watch me die?’

‘Why did you shun and abandon me?’

‘What am I supposed to do with these memories now?’

Comment about ‘My Justice’ from my therapist; ‘The entire town of Freeburg should be required to read your book so they can see what they allowed to happen to this beautiful little girl’.

My therapist tells me how wonderful I am, how the horrific childhood didn’t destroy the good loving soul within. She tells me to see the beautiful person she sees, but how do I do that? The pieces of me are torn apart and thrown around in the wind as if merely dust. My heart lies on the side of the road as if a pile of shit left by some creature! How do I grab these pieces of me and mold them back together to see the wonderful, happy child God created?

I feel her strength in me. The child who held on through every night of his disgusting, horrifying, brutal crimes has finally come to the realization that she is a human being and more importantly that she matters. That little girl has found her voice in the midst of all those swirling particles of madness and she speaks to anyone who will listen.

 ‘Please look into the world of the children around you. Look deeply, through the many silent screams; is there darkness or evil around them?’

There are millions of children who are still being harmed today; in this country, right at this very moment! Do not judge them, shame them, abandon them, blame them;. Rescue them, help them, support them, encourage them, inspire them!

 Or, Will you just stand there and watch them die?

Perhaps one day my voice will be heard. Perhaps one day it will matter. More importantly perhaps one day this story will empower you to save the life of a child today!!

~~~~~ Never to be silent again~~~~~

I AM HUMAN! I AM WORTHY! I AM ALIVE!!

©Patricia A. McKnight

Author: ‘My Justice’              mj-2_thumb.jpg

Advocate/Speaker/Writer/Blogger/Talk Radio Prod & Host

Survivor/Founder: Butterfly Dreams Abuse Recovery

http://www.butterflydreamsabuserecovery.com

http://www.blogtalkradio.com/butterflydreamsabuserecovery

Facebook.com/triciagirl62    

Cycles of Abuse–Stop Whispering by triciagirl62

Thank heaven Miss Carrie Underwood says it clearly; ‘Blown Away’ Official video

Official video ‘Blown Away’ by Carrie Underwood