Who I am today

 

miracles-happen  “I’m not feeling sorry for myself, so please don’t pity me, it really just makes the situation worse. What I need is to know that something I say or do or write will help you support someone whose been harmed, as well as prevent or intervene when something happens in your circle today.”

Over the past ten years I’ve been on a reality mission to figure out who I am, without focusing on what has been done to influence my past beliefs and behaviors. Learning about the aftermath of my personal war and the influence I have left on those I treasure most. This is not an easy process and one which comes and goes in different situations and challenges as I get stronger and learn more about myself and the actions of others; all resulting in who I am today.

My idea of self appreciation and self worth was never developed because I was put in my place, and lived in the example of who THEY thought I was or the value I carried as a person. Tragically, just in America, we have 3.7+ Million children still living in those same types of environments today. Even worse is that myself and millions of others know exactly who that child might become tomorrow, especially if they are not given help or have at least one positive person who gives them something more to believe in and seek to achieve a greater good.

My stepfather, Malcolm White, was truly walking evil; to me he was and always will be the devil himself. In fact, he used to quote; ‘Heaven doesn’t want me and the Devil is afraid I’ll take over’. I knew in my heart that he would definitely kick the Devil’s ass and de-throne him without an ounce of effort. However ridiculous as it might sound, I am still afraid of his ghost some six years or more after his death. I can still feel him lurking around like an animal after his most favorite prey. I can’t sleep for more than three or four hours at any one time, then suddenly I’m shocked awake and for a split second I’m still in harms way, even though I truly am not.

For Malcolm, the violent molesting attacks that began before he married my mother was not enough. His appetite for cruelty and deviate influence progressed to the point I became HIS PROPERTY; my mother, Mona, stepped aside and did absolutely nothing to help me or care for me ever again. I was told to shut up and stop whining. I still hear this from my siblings today on the rare occasion I speak to them at all. For me the only family I had died in March 1989 and I still mourn his death today. I just stopped by his grave last week and thanked him for helping as much as he could. He was just a boy, a boy who willingly lived in our home until he was 22yrs old; but he was a boy who stepped in front of Malcolm’s rage more than once and he stepped in front of the loaded weapons pointed at my head. He would have taken that bullet rather than see me be harmed. For John, I will never have the chance to repay what he did for me, which was the best that had happened until I was 40 yrs old.

Malcolm influenced my sexual behavior with other boys and men within the community of Freeburg beginning around age 11, when he first arranged a special party with a case of beer and about five neighborhood boys who hung with my brother. I was instructed on who to invite, how to dress, and what to encourage and allow these boys to do with me. It is the most shameful and disgusting memory that I carry. I attended school with these boys. I saw them hanging in the park everyday, and I would party with them being my ‘friends’ for the next five years.

It was just a few weeks later he took me to JB Tavern, just two blocks from our house, where my mother worked and all the coalminers hung out. I was fed double shots of vodka with orange juice, so many that I puked the entire evening and next day. We were there for about two hours when Dave and a crew of miners came in to shoot pool and toss back a few beers. I was given a dollar for the jukebox and instructed on how to ‘shake my ass’ as I played the music. I was asked to pick out the cutest guy, and then taken to his table and offered out for a trip out back or in the car; all it would cost is a couple of beers. This was my value if I had any at all, and when he looked at Malcolm and said; ‘She’s just a kid’, I was taken to the car and beaten for being so ugly no one would ever want anything to do with me at all. ‘I was lucky they wanted to ‘f***’ me’. This was who I became and just part of how I was used until I finally escaped, running to move in with the first guy who asked; a guy from thirty miles away who didn’t know anything about me or my family history. I just needed to get away before I either killed Malcolm or he killed me.

At that time I was 17yrs old; he was going to purchase a mobile home and put me on a plat of ground where he would have his own special key to come over anytime and bring whomever he wished. I didn’t care who helped me get away and I certainly didn’t take time to evaluate who he was or how he treated me. As a result of my inability to realize the inner cruelty he had, the following two years would be almost deadly on a weekly basis.

In the influence of my parents, I became the perfect lifetime victim. It didn’t take much kindness for me to open my legs and my heart; for me to seek their approval regardless of the cost, so long as I felt they wanted me. My behaviors became coping strategies. I was fed a case a beer before I turned 10 years old. It was the way Malcolm reduced my rejections or put me in a manipulating and controllable condition. I was given my first joint before I was 12 and to say the least, this is what I depended on to numb the loss and disgust that I couldn’t escape. Lance was the first to give me cocaine, and I even did a few small hits of acid; but it definitely was not for me and the cocaine was too expensive, so my constant state of being was either drinking or high, or both until I got pregnant and left the country. It was a blessing to be removed from all that surrounded me, but the man I married was not the same man I lived with over there. This man had me in the perfect place; I couldn’t escape and had no one around to talk with or convince me that I wasn’t as low a piece of crap as he insisted I was. Our society wasn’t even discussing the acts of child abuse or family violence back then and I definitely didn’t know anything other than what I had been so well trained to accept; it was my ‘normal’.

From 20 to 40 there was a handful of failed and cruel relationships, some more violent and destructive than others, but each a reflection of the only thing I knew. I fought constantly trying to absorb all of the bad so that my kids would never know that type of pain; however, I didn’t realize just how the chaos was affecting them and the example of womanhood I was giving my daughters. Imagine seeing your mom be beaten to a pulp while you’re sitting at the kitchen table waiting for her to come eat dinner with you. Suddenly the perfect plate of food she delivered to him goes flying across the room, and because she wasn’t going to sit on the couch with him, she was thrown, kicked, punched and slammed against walls, the stove, the sink and the door. Finally the fighting stops and she comes into the table, trying to calm your little sister and get everyone to eat as if nothing happened. Imagine the confusion and human value your children learn in our examples of tolerance. How do you think they will grow to see the world and what value they will hold precious about themselves? What will their children learn and how will they behave in school or in the teenage social situations as they develop?

This is our human conditioning and it leaves an ugly mark on all those affected. It distorts our value of ourselves and how we treat others. Some might become extreme protectors and put the needs of others higher than the needs of themselves and their happiness. Some might become lost in drugs, alcohol, or even deviate attacks on others. Some of those like me get so lost they can’t get out and are emotionally wounded forever; these are those prone to submissive and self harming behavior, that which commonly ends in suicide or overdose ending in death. They can’t hold productive steady employment and have chronic health conditions which studies are finding are actually early onset conditions that first show up as Juvenile Fibromyalgia or Early Post Traumatic Stress; conditions that hold trigger reactions before the person is old enough to realize the effect at all. The overall economic cost to society, becomes the taxpayers burden because of these invading health and emotional conditions that cause a reduction or inability to sustain in self supportive life development. Most have difficulty in learning skills or the development of healthy, productive life skills. After all when did they have time to concentrate on homework or study for that big test?

Personally, I’ve got so many injuries and health problems my body and my daily life are a mess. The cost of my constant healthcare in pain management, medications, various procedures, circulatory and pulmonary progressive diseases; I’ve been on disability since 2007. I would have to say that the worst of my conditions today is the permanent spinal cord trauma which has caused elongated cystic sacs to grow inside of my central canal, a condition called Syringomyelia. This alone causes wide spread severe pain, but add in the intense Fibro & Head Trauma and you’ve got a disastrous mess. I’m not feeling sorry for myself, so please don’t pity me, it really just makes the situation worse. What I need is to know that something I say or do or write will help you support someone whose been harmed, as well as prevent or intervene when something happens in your circle today.

Victims and Survivors need to know that their suffering and their voice matters to someone; that someone cares enough to help heal the wounds and make us stronger so that we can provide a better life for ourselves and more importantly our children. We need the law changes to prosecute these types of repeat heinous offenders. For most of us, we will never be given a chance at justice, because the laws of our past allow absolute minimum time to report or press charges; in Illinois these offense statutes allow only ONE YEAR after victim’s 18th birthday. Hell, I didn’t even know what the word trafficking was and definitely feared this couple so much, along with the condemnation of those around me; my life was something so destructive and disgusting I couldn’t tell anyone what happened to me at all until I was around 35 years old. Some knew that my childhood wasn’t pleasant, but no one, including myself, really knew just how evil and tragic it was.

We are NOT our parents, and we do NOT have to live in the sorrow, pain, and pattern of harm or victim they taught us. We have a choice today and we can actually use the strength of amazing survivors who are finally able to discuss what’s happened; use their courage to speak up as a precious gift. This is a strength beyond measure they cling to and can use, not just to help themselves, but to influence how we help and how we can truly save the life of someone else today. You can be the one to step in and take the bullet; you can stop the bleeding and help stitch up the wounds of our kids lost in the pattern of destruction, crime, drugs, and harm they are trying to survive today. Please don’t sit on the sidelines and judge what that person should or shouldn’t do, because until that same personal violation is against you, then you can never know how it feels or the damage it causes. You may be stronger than they are and bounce back with no problem, but you may watch someone else slowly disintegrate so horribly that it becomes their own extinction.

Today I use my past, all of it; my behaviors and my pain, my bad choices and the influence I’ve seen continue in my children and grand children’s lives; I use all of this hoping that somehow I can help empower one other survivor to believe they absolutely matter. Hoping that I can inspire one victim to get help for themselves and their family. Hoping that I can change the offensive behavior of someone who has been harmed, but reacts and attacks others in their pain. We DO NOT have to harm others or devalue ourselves, because on this amazing planet; every life and every breath taken truly matters and we all have the power to do something about it.

Be a Hope-Line & save a life

Thank you for reading & I do hope you’ll share

Love for all,

‘Trish’

Butterfly Dreams Abuse Recovery

Author: ‘My Justice’     mj-2

http://www.facebook.com/triciagirl62  

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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

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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!!!

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’

©Butterfly Dreams Abuse Recovery 2012 

http://www.butterflydreamsabuserecovery.com

http://www.blogtalkradio.com/butterflydreamstalkradio

 

 

Hopes, Dreams, Moments of Laughter; Thriving

          Hopes, dreams, laughter; Michal Madison Art

 

 

 

 

Victims do not have grand moments of these three irreplaceable gifts in life. When you live as a victim of abuse or violence you thrive for the calm moments, rather than filling them with hopes, dreams, and laughter.

Maybe you view things as I once did:

I hope he doesn’t hit me today

I dream of the day when I am safe

I laugh at nothing; would you?

A Survivor, who is finally safe, might have these views:

I hope I can take care of us

I dream of getting of one day finding love and giving it in return

I laugh when the kids play now

Then we become Thrivers and we see like this:

I hope tomorrow is just like today!

I dream of who my children and grandchildren will become!

I laugh almost daily at something!

I live in true love and feel all the glory of these three gifts.

It is my wish for you; May you become your own Thriver. May you take that first baby step towards your life; your hopes, dreams, moments of laughter. No matter what your today is always believe that time changes all things;

You are always possible

You are given these gifts with your life

You are strong enough to succeed

You are Never Alone and others will help you

Never let go of these gifts, you too will become a thriver!!!

Without them we cannot see our tomorrows.

They are your gifts, use them wisely!!

Michal Madison Art

(c)Patricia A. Mcknight

Author/Advocate/Speaker/Writer/Talk Radio Host/Survivor

http://www.patriciamcknightsjustice.com

http://www.facebook.com/triciagirl62

Photo art by: Michal Madison

Watercolor Artist/Advocate/Talk Radio Host/Survivor

http://www.michalmadisonart.com

http://www.facebook.com/michalmadison