Black Secrets

They don't wear any flag or colors you can see

But we see black when they attack you and me.

Sometimes they kiss us good morning ;

Then with a hiss they strike without warning.

To others they appear so sweet & kind

If only Mom didn't act so blind

The sickness grows inside of this soul

But he threatens me if I ever told

He stalks in the darkness; sneaking about

My soul starts to jump; churning inside & out

He is next to the bed; suddenly there looking around

The hand shoots up; then comes clasping down

Molding tight against my mouth

Keeping me quiet so that I don't shout

There's another hand that rips & tears at my breast

It feels like fire as it rubs on my chest

Gently at first but then so painful

The breast isn't grown to give him his handful

The little girl is terrified and wants to cry

But she curls inside & tries to hide

If her soul can bury the feeling she has

Then she won't feel the fury of his attack

His eyes are glowing

The devil is showing

The hand still gripping around her mouth

Grows tighter as his other hand burns going south

"Why does he hurt me so as his hand moves about?"

Grabbing, digging, probing, & pinching

Twisting & turning the hand is stinging

My sister is sleeping next to my side

She sleeps and never once opens her eyes

Mom is asleep in the room through the door

She never accepts truth & my cries are ignored

Quietly gathering in the corner of my eyes

A tear trickles down as my soul starts to die

The hand on my mouth is released just a bit

He shoves in his penis; but nobody sees it

"Where is God to attack this devil?"

"He should put him in the ground

all neat and level."

The little girl is now tightly holding her breath

Still he pushes inside as he twists her young breasts

He pulls out so quick and grabs my hand

On my vagina is where it must land

It's almost over she screams loud inside

He'll soon prowl away & leave me to cry

The filth is now stained deep in my soul

But there's nowhere to go;

I'll be dead if I told

The nightmare is there stalking & haunting

Every morning the others are laughing & taunting

"Why can't they see the mark left on me?"

I want to scream but there's no way to break free

He threatens me always to keep his secret

He will kill me if ever I speak it

Throughout the years the burden of shame

Grew so deep; angry & maimed

The Lord has taken the devil away

A part of me is peaceful; finally safe

My burdened soul starts opening up

But the horror again has swung in and struck

The secret shame I've been forced to carry inside

Is creeping its way from where it did hide.

Finally I look at the world and scream

See my star - Now watch it gleam!!!

Written by: Patricia A. McKnight
Author; My Justice

Survivors-Stress-Triggers-Holidays

We all know how much added stress comes from the holiday season, but if you are a survivor of Child Abuse or Domestic Violence or if you were raised in a home where Domestic Violence occurred you may suffer additionally from the triggers set on by this time of year. It is tragic to think that a time when its supposed to be all about happiness and family that there would suddenly be an invasion of violence, but unfortunately for many this is the case. This time of the year is when more suicides occur from the strain put on us and the sadness that overwhelms us. The survivors of abuse know very well how the horror of their memories haunt them.


Survivors of child abuse often get anxious with the thoughts of being around those who caused our pain. Maybe we are hit with panic attacks just from the idea of spending time with those who chose to ignore the abuses. If you are in a domestic violence situation maybe you are dealing with the panic of wondering when your partner will explode. It usually isn't a matter of "Will they", but instead "When will they"? Someone who is living in ANY type of abusive situation will be suffering with depression, fear, anxiety, and possibly even the thought of suicide. Unfortunately I know this well because of my own history and experience. I had the trauma of surviving through both; twelve years of sadistic abuse as a child and more than twenty years in repeated abusive relationships.


As a child I wanted to be so excited about Christmas and presents, but for me it wasn't possible. Our family tradition was to have my step-brother and his family, along with close friends of my parents, over for an evening of drinks and dinner. I was the oldest girl so it became my duty to help prepare the feast, serve the drinks, collect any presents that were brought over and put them under the tree, and of course be the gofer for whatever anyone needed. This was my normal everyday experience though, so waiting on everyone wasn't anything different for me. I usually got to open a present if someone brought it to me, but on most of these Christmas Eve's I was just there to help out. My brothers, who were older, would usually hangout in their room; my little sister would always get presents because she was still very young. The one thing I could always depend on was the argument that would start after my stepfather had a few drinks. As the night went on and the gifts were traded between friends and family, the guest would often get aggravated at my stepfather's demanding behavior towards me and slowly begin to leave. By the end of the evening the rage in his voice would be fierce when he called on me to do something; I was his slave instead of a child to be loved.


After everyone was gone it was time for me to get the mess of our evening cleaned up. My mother would go to her room or sit in the chair to crochet while I was made to get everything back in order. As I finished the last of the dishes and walked my tired self into bed, my head would begin the normal stages of anticipated panic over his nigh time visit. It never failed that as the lights went out in our home he would come creeping into my room and the thick coal stained hand would cover my mouth to hold me captive while my body endured the burning pain of his touching and probing. As I finally drifted off to sleep I knew the morning would be happy and calm for at least the first few hours of dawn. The Christmas day however would continue the daily cycle of his drunken rage, his demanding control of my moments and the expected serving and cleaning up of the holiday meal.


As I went through the many different adult relationships, I found myself feeling that same type of stress when I was cooking the Christmas dinner and entertaining the family and friends that came to my home. It would begin to rush through my body like a hot blade as I served up all of the dinner plates, the many sweets I would bake the night before, picking up all the messes from the children's morning of excitement and again going above the call of hostess to ensure that every one's needs and wants were met. The same stress that I was filled with as a child would eat away at me inside while I tried to maintain a house full of joy for everyone else.


The different relationships required a different ending to the night of holiday joy. Some of them would be interrupted with a raging voice of anger over something not quite perfect. If I was lucky they would pass out drunk during the clean up and I would be able to tuck my children in quietly with hugs and kisses for sweet dreams. Almost always though would be that same expectation of sexual gratification they demanded for allowing me a fun filled family holiday. Whichever way my day went, it was still the same panic, stress, perfection and voice of demand that controlled my Christmas holiday. I don't remember a holiday season that my triggers weren't set off in high gear the moment I woke on first day of December; it seemed the dread of the holiday set in instantly.


If you are a survivor of the childhood or domestic abuse you probably have felt these same feelings of stress and depression. Perhaps you still live in that dreaded holiday abuse that seems to gain fuel this time of year; however, I pray that you are not. If you no longer are in that abusive environment then please try to remember these five things to help get you through:
1) First and foremost, remember that you are now safe. There is no longer the rage of an angry parent or partner that is dominating over you and instilling that feeling of fear.
2) Try to remember that the emotions you are feeling are memories of the hell you survived. Memories only have the power you give them, so try to keep your focus on the good things in your life right now. It may help to alleviate that growing sense of stress you feel.
3) Remember that it is your life now!! No longer does anyone expect perfection from you, except maybe yourself. It may seem that everything needs to be perfect for your holiday, but relax and enjoy it rather than trying to keep up with the pile of messy dishes.
4) It is important to acknowledge these buried emotions that are coming into your brain. Allow yourself some time to cry while listening to that perfect emotional song, or scream out in the woods if you need to. If you feel overwhelmed by what's going on around you then step off into a quiet room for a few minutes to regroup and get your thoughts back to the present instead of the past.
5) Reach out to someone you trust for support. Other people don't know what you are feeling inside so they can't see what is bringing you down in a day that should be filled with fun and laughter. Perhaps if you talk it out you will be able to let go of that additional stress you feel right now. It could be a great place to start your healing.


We all should be able to enjoy this holiday time. You deserve the emotions of happiness as much as you try to give it out to others. Take a deep breath and as you exhale let the bad memory flow out of your body and diminish into the air around you. It is my wish that you be blessed with the peace and happiness you deserve this holiday season and always.


Patricia A. McKnight
Author: "My Justice"
Creator of "Survivor's World" online support group
Blogtalk Radio Host - "Survivor's Speak Out"
Sponsored by: Dreamcatchers for Abused Children
Non-profit 501(c)3 Child Abuse Organization
http://www.dreamcatchersforabusedchildren.com/
"My Justice" available through:
http://bookstore.authorhouse.com/Products/SKU-000373503/My-Justice.aspx
http://www.amazon.com/My-Justice-Patricia-McKnight/dp/1452071691/ref=sr_1_1?s=books&ie=UTF8&qid=1323705462&sr=1-1
http://www.barnesandnoble.com/w/my-justice-patricia-a-mcknight/1100371904?ean=9781452071695&itm=1&usri=my+justice

May you have roses in your garden of life

My Justice-About the Book

This amazing story of survival will capture you from Prelude to Ending. It will shock and disturb the deepest parts of your being. In it you will walk the path of a little girl so utterly destroyed by those entrusted with her care. You will feel her strength to survive as the towns people around her ignored the child's cry. Trecia Ann will allow you into her thoughts; her exasperating fears that haunt her soul.

Trecia Ann is an adorable little girl with bright blue eyes and long brownish blonde hair. At the age of five the sweet kindergarten child is filled with joy and innocence. Her mother spends time each morning preparing her child for school with braids in her hair and a kiss on her cheek to start her day. Her older brother is the second greatest person she knows. He is only 18 months older but in her eyes he is her hero and her best friend. Then on one cold December night however, her life would change in an instant. The cold of the winter wind would not be as chilling as the rush of fear through her body.

After spending a wonderful weekend celebrating her fifth birthday with her father and grandparents, the last happy memory would be her grandmother's hug as she said goodbye; returning the young children to their mother and pulling away as they ran up the walkway to their door. As she went rushing inside to search out her mom and tell her about the amazing birthday presents she carried under her arms, the little girl would stop dead so fast with fear that she almost stumble over her own two feet. There, sitting on the old style 1960's turquoise colored couch, was the devil himself. In that brief second her hairs on the back of her neck froze and the rush of fear that shot through her soul was colder than the winter wind blowing around outside.

Trecia's mother came walking out of the kitchen to welcome her daughter with a hug, but as she stepped towards her mother she was shaken by the huge thick hands of evil reaching out for her. She stood between her mother's legs, grabbing hold for protection. Then her mom spoke words that would haunt her forever, "Trecia Ann, honey, this is going to be your new Daddy." Her dad was wonderful and loving, but this man had eyes so cold they shined like steel and as he reached for her, the temperature dropped and she unconsciously shook with terror.

Two months later her life would be changed forever. This devil that dominated their house would control every moment of her day and terrorize each of her nights. This man would degrade, beat, stalk, taunt, molest and rape this girl for the next twelve years. The mother she loved would no longer care if her beautiful daughter rotted in his sadistic attacks. Trecia would be denied any medical care for the filth that ate away at her skin. She would never receive any dental care or be provided with even a toothbrush. The school, the towns people and even the police would ignore, but whisper about the ugliness of this child. Her school mates, just children, would tease or turn away. The once shining bright eyes of a child now carried only pain and loneliness.

It is only after years of healing that Trecia Ann has now chosen to remove the coal stained hand that trapped and held her silent. The horrific secrets of her past and the behaviors of a "trained" abused child are now being shared. It is my own childhood of nightmares that I use to speak out for the millions of survivors who carry the terrifying traumas of their past. We all deserve to have roses in our garden of life and it is by talking that we can truly help to educated and protect those who cannot speak out and protect themselves.

You can purchase "My Justice" from the publisher direct through this link:
http://bookstore.authorhouse.com/Products/SKU-000373503/My-Justice.aspx

You can also purchase the Kindle version from Amazon.com or the Nookbook version from bn.com - the direct link for these are listed below:
http://www.amazon.com/My-Justice-Patricia-McKnight/dp/1452071691/ref=sr_1_1?s=books&ie=UTF8&qid=1321025311&sr=1-1

http://www.barnesandnoble.com/w/my-justice-patricia-a-mcknight/1100371904?ean=9781452071695&itm=1&usri=my%252bjustice

MAY YOU HAVE ROSES IN YOUR GARDEN OF LIFE

The Love of the Mother

Many times I have written about the scars of my abuse; the "trained" behaviors that I was taught as a child. It is very hard to explain the depths of these scars because there was such an extensive amount of damage done by my parents. They were the people responsible for teaching me the right and wrongs of the world; the right way to present yourself as a decent person to others, however there was no sense of decency in our home. In fact, my home was poor with no respect for each other in our family.

The natures I was taught were of drinking at 11 with my stepfather supplying the alcohol for parties as he got my mother out of the house, but later I paid the price by having to endure his disgusting touch on my body. There was barely any food at times and if we were lucky there might be toilet paper when you went to the bathroom; if not just use whatever towel was laying around on the floor. This wasn't because we didn't have a decent income in our home, because my stepfather was a coalminer in the 70's and my mother a bartender. As many people know the coalmining trade has always been a good paying job and I know from experience what a bartender can make in just a weekend of work. We had three children in the home, but even though they both worked the alcohol took most of the funds that came in. Often the rent couldn't be paid and we would have to move every couple of years until I was about 13 and they bought a small, cheap house through a friend. A home where all of the children slept in one bedroom and the parents in another.

As a child I was always taught that my wants, needs, feelings did not matter. All that mattered in my home was that I did my job as family care taker; cooking, cleaning, babysitting, and dealing with my stepfather's sadistic behavior. This had always been my life and I didn't know any other way, except what I would watch on television after my sister was put to bed at night and if my stepfather was too drunk to attack me. At the age of 12 I had to quit bathing in my home because that meant leaving myself trapped and vulnerable to my stepfather's attacks. It never mattered if my mother was home, sitting in the next room or downstairs, nothing stopped him from coming in the bathroom to tell me how to bathe, what and how to wash my body. After I had no success at getting my mother to stop him I chose to quit bathing altogther.

The next five years were spent growing up in this terrorizing childhood. No one cared that I didn't bathe, in fact they would tell me how disgusting I was, but no one protected me either. As my young body started to decay with the filth and infected sores eating at my flesh, there were never any doctor visits to get help for my rotting skin. As my teeth were breaking off and huge black holes growing in my mouth, there were never any dentist visits or even the supply of a toothbrush. It wasn't that we didn't have family insurance; the UMWA supplied complete family medical and dental care, my parents just didn't care to get me any help. The only thing my mother cared about was that her house was cleaned, dinner cooked, dishes done, my sister watched and my stepfather was kept away from her. The one person who should have done everything possible to protect and love her daughter; the person who should have taught me about being a young lady and having dreams to better myself and respecting myself, instead turned me away and allowed the sadistic abuse to continue. The filth that had grown over my body invaded my soul and created a person that I am still ashamed of to this day.

After I escaped the disgusting hell of my parents home I promised myself that I would be different. I became obsessive about not only my body's cleanliness but also of the home in which I lived. There was nothing that was allowed to get dirty and I tried to recreate the person they had raised. My first domestic relationship turned out instead to be just another cage of violence against me even though I had done everything that I could to change the person I was. By the time I was 19 the abuses of my life had left me horridly scarred inside and out. My skin was covered with the deep scars left by the rotting flesh; my teeth broken and filled with black holes both in the front and back of my mouth. I learned to smile and use my top lip to hide the huge holes that had eaten away at my four front incisors. To me my reflection is what I hated more than those who had created me. All that I saw was a girl eaten away by the abuses of her past.

Even though I carried these scars I hid them well from anyone's view. It wasn't possible for me to allow them to see the person I had been. I had to convince myself and the outside world that I was a decent, kind, respectable person who had grown up with values when infact the only thing I knew for sure was that I didn't matter to anyone. Then I met a man who would give me a chance of dreaming that I could be someone better than who I had been. As he and I grew to love each other I would be tossed in the middle of two different worlds; one of which was filled with nightmares & filth, the other highly repspected with money and decency. David didn't know how deep the scars were, but he didn't seem to care. He showed me only love at first, but of course this would last only until we married and left the area I called home.

He was military so right after we married he left to set up house in our new place of duty, England. It would be three months before I could go over to join him and the man that picked me up from the airport was not the same man that I had married. It wasn't that he was physically abusive, instead his entire demeanor had changed. This man who had met me while sitting drunk at the bar every night had now become this vision of his family; highly respectable and expecting of my appropriate behavior. Unfortunately I was pregnant and our fist child was due within just a few months of arriving. There wasn't much I could do but hope that it would work out for the best and our children would be happy.

When my son was born there was something that had changed inside me. I wanted to be the perfect mother; loving, affectionate, protective and doting. Everything about becoming a mother thrilled me. There was nothing I wouldn't do to give him the best of his mother. He was teaching me how to be a decent human being, but the scars of my abuse would never heal. I had been taught that my feelings didn't matter, so even though I didn't much care for the way our household was being ruled into perfection there was never a word of that shared with my husband. I felt that my unhappiness with him would only bring pain to my son and destroy his perfect home.

The next four years were spent trying to hide everything I disliked about our marriage and no matter what my husband expected of me, his needs and desires would always be met. I was the perfect housewife and mother; I had taught myself that this was my new life; for my son, and my new baby girl, it was worth any sacrifice to keep them happy, loved, and safe. Their father was a good provider although there wasn't much of his attention that he gave to his family. His focus was on what was good for his career and he would achieve that goal at any price. When we were preparing to come back to the states and our tour of duty in England was coming to an end, he walked in the door one evening and as he sat down at the prepared dinner table he simply stated, "We are going to the Netherlands for another 18 month tour." There was no discussion about this, in fact I didn't even know he was thinking about doing this. We had only discussed going state side again and getting stationed around his family so that our children could get to know their grandparents and grow up in a stable home. Now out of nowhere he was taking us to a country where we couldn't even speak the language. To me this was devastating. I was already growing more depressed with each of the lonely days spent in England.

Our whole marriage began to disintagrate with this one decision he had made. All I wanted was to raise my children in a home where they wouldn't have to keep moving around; leaving friends and everything they knew with each new place. Their father had taken my dreams, which we had talked about many times together, and shattered them in front of me. My only choice was to follow him, be with him and keep my family together. His goals for his career began to cloud the dreams of his family, but in his "all about me" attitude this did not matter. When we arrived in Holland, the Netherlands, my children and I were so desperately trying to find stable ground to regroup and put our family back together.

We spent 14 of the 18 month tour over there with him, but I was just going through the motions of the marriage. The man I trusted to honor my wishes and hold our dreams together had thrown all of it away for a move to better his career in the military and put my family in danger. The entire area was on high risk alert of terrorist attacks from the bombing of Grenada. The searches and constant sirens of preparedness would push me deeper into isolation and depression. As I spent my days spotlessly cleaning my house, baking, cooking, sharing time with my children; the depresion would just continue to grow. Their father never said a word or questioned what was wrong as I cut off my hair within inches of my scalp; shutting myself away from anything except running errands with my kids and doing the best a wife and mother could do. He didn't seem to care that the woman he supposedly loved was falling apart right before his eyes. He went into work each day with perfectly ironed uniforms and our life on the outside met all of the expected behaviors of the perfect military family, but I was the one who was sacrificing all of myself for that image he demanded.

After 14 months I begged him to send the kids and I back early to visit with my family, which I now desperately missed my mother and wanted only to be around people I knew again. It took a lot of debate, but he finally gave in and with that four months of distance between us our marriage would fall apart and end in our first divorce. He had no problems with agreeing to my having custody of our children. He had no problems with me keeping them in the town I had grown up in and around the people I had grown up with. He was moving on with his career and he didn't much worry about spending any time for visits with them. When he had leave it was spent elsewhere and not by coming to see his children or even calling them; but of course they were still babies then. He didn't seem to worry about the care they were getting because he knew how devoted I was to them and how much they meant to my survival as a person, but six months later when I had attempted suicide I was concerned about myself for the first time in my life.

Living back around my parents was more of a nightmare than I had expected it to be. My stepfather stalked me and would hang out where I worked, inviting every man in the bar to screw his daughter and tell him all of the details. He would stalk around my house at night and then offered to supply me with assistance in finances, but only at the same price I had paid as a child. Everything about the person I had tried to create was falling apart inside me. The perfect mother and wife I had been was now grasping at every string to hang on each day. The house was still clean, my children still well cared for; but I was being drawn back into the bar life of late nights out drinking and smoking weed. This is the person I didn't want my children to know. They were sweet, loving and innocent and they deserved only the very best of childhood. Inside I didn't feel capable of giving them that person any longer and one night I downed about 80 mg of valum by chasing it with a half bottle of tequila. It struck me that my children would wake and be alone until God only knows when someone would check in on us; so I called a friend to come help me save my life and went to see my first therapist two days later.

It was then that I called their father to come and take them until I could go back to school and get the education I needed to better support them. He hadn't even called since the divorce, but I knew that he would protect them until I could better myself and get them back. However; when my babies left a few days later I completely fell apart and could no longer function or even think about how to begin over without them. It led me to calling their father, apologizing for ruining our marriage and begging him to take me back. At that point I would have done anything to be back around my children. Inside I felt desperate to get away from the parents that had destroyed the person I should have become. Their dad was setting up life in Maryland and quickly he accepted me back as his wife, but of course that came with the high expectations of perfection. I still had not gotten the much needed therapy and healing, because when I had gone to the first appointment and talked in front of my mother about the abuses I had been taught to accept, she turned on me; slapped me and told me if I talked about the family in that manner again she would make sure that I was shut out completely. For whatever reason, my mother was the one person I couldn't go against.

Reuniting with my children after that six weeks apart was the most exciting thing in my world. There wasn't anything I wouldn't do to keep their world safe, happy and perfect. I went back into the arms of a man I no longer trusted and felt our love would somehow heal. Quickly I became pregant with our third and we once again shared the vows of marriage. In my heart I didn't know if I could truly pull this off again, but I was desperate to try. During my pregancy I went back to get my G.E.D. and then on to trade school for a degree in business management and accounting. I carried my still broken teeth and my scarred skin, along with the deep emotional wounds that had never healed, and went back to being the perfect wife and mother. My children were my world and each day was beautiful so long as they were in it.

Unfortunately it didn't take long for the marriage to start to change. Once again his actions were turning my stomach and it was all I could do to get in bed with him each night. My degree was useless at this point because the cost of daycare was more than I would start on a pay scale. When our finances began to struggle I offered to go back to bartending part-time so I could earn the extra money we needed. As I got back into working a couple nights a week and started making friends with some of the wives that came into the bar; they began inviting me along for girls night out. At first I would call to get permission to go out after work, being sure to ask if the kids were sleeping soundly before I agreed to go along. Then it became a regular routine, but my husband would begin to demand his needs be met at home. His actions were becoming more and more perverted towards me; treating me like I didn't matter and calling me his whore in bed as he made love with me. This all came to a close one night when a handsome young bouncer swept me up for the evening and I cheated on the man waiting at home. That one night; that night that I became the person my parents had created; that night has never been forgiven in my own soul. It was that one night that changed everything in my children's world.

There father kicked me out of the house, stole my children and left the state with them. He packed up the three bedroom townhouse filled with eight years of collecting together and my entire world was gone. My drunken, stupid decision to allow myself to be taken in by the man who seemed so kind, would turn out to be the biggest mistake of my life. It not only left me abandoned in a state far from anything I knew with nothing but a basket of clothing, but that would be the destruction of the happy, innocent children I knew. Their father would fill their heads with horrible tales of their mother not wanting them; not loving them; leaving them for someone else more important. When I moved to the state where he was staying with his parents; arriving with my basket of clothes in a 10ft U-haul and $30.00 in my pocket, I had no clue how I was going to survive or what I would do, but I was there for one reason and that was to be around my children with the dream of getting them back in my arms.

He was furious that I had arrived only 3 miles from his parents home. As I started to build a life there he asked me to come back for a third try at our marriage, but it infurriated me that he even think I would go that round after he had stole my children and filled their heads with his lies. He had refused any contact with them for six months, even though I would drive the four hours to see them before I finally moved to chase after them. I didn't have the confidence in myself at first to think I could survive with them on my own, but I knew that I couldn't live without them in my life so I chased him to Pennsylvania and started putting a life together from absolutely nothing. It didn't take long before he was willing to bring the kids for visits on my days off, but when I turned him down that night all bets were off. He became the vindictive man that I always knew he was and the threats against my life would come with calls in the middle of the night. He would tell me, "Bitch you are only still alive because I am a nice person. At any time they could find your body floating down the Allegheny river."

For four years I watched as he would beat my children leaving handprints on their cheeks or bloody noses for bickering with each other. I would repeatedly take him to court only to be shut down by the power his family held with their money and prestige as their older son was a partner in the law firm which defended him. He ran off once again with my children to Oklahoma, leaving just a phoned in message on my desk that he had left with them. The system was taking half of my pay each month to pay for child support and I was ordered to maintain their medical insurance as well. This order continued although no one would help me defend or even force him to move back to Pennsylvania with them and maintain the visitation that was ordered. I felt completely overwhelmed and helpless against him and his family's money. The six months he spent in Okalahoma with a new wife and my children had caused irreversersable damage. The children had been abused by her and her sons while they were there and my own son was terrified of me by the time he brought them back. It broke my heart when I took cookies to his class for his fourth grade birthday and he moved behind his chair for protection refusing even the slightest motion of a hug from his mother. The man who I had created these three beautiful children with had destroyed who they were inside; defending their father's beatings as, "I deserved it - I was bad!" It took four long years of fighting and being there; accepting all of his threats and his family's put downs before he finally gave up and sent them back to live with me.

There was already too much damage to the mother/child bond we had before. The years of weekend and holiday visits could not repair the lies he and his family had fed them during that time. To this day I still carry that huge mound of guilt deep inside for the pain I caused them and the destruction of their happy world. Their father still maintains that he has done nothing wrong to harm them; nothing wrong against their mother; nothing wrong in his perfect image of himself. The relationship between my children and I still has not healed, even after the more than 10 years of their mother providing the food, shelter, love, encouragement and support to guide them through. They refuse to see the disrespect they show towards me and the constant straining to maintain a relationship with them is tearing me apart. There is nothing I can ever do to repair what has been done, but I feel that even the slightest bit of truth from their father about me would somehow change what they see. As I view them today and watch them grow in their adult world, it saddens me to know that I am just someone they view as not "that perfect mother" they once had, but instead someone they can attack with hatred in their words and stabs at my heart of disrepect. They have no endearing love for the mother that carried them, nurtured them, and loved them with every part of her being. They only view what I must do to help them in their lives because of that attachment I still carry so deeply in my heart.

I know how badly I have let them down and I know the damage they carry from the mistake I made so many years ago, but there is nothing I haven't done to try and make up for what we lost. There is nothing I haven't tried to provide them and nothing that will ever heal that horrible loss that I feel of the mother/child bond that their father and his family so deteminedly destroyed. For all of the mother's that continue to fight the system for their children against the odds of ever getting them back; I beg you to never give up. Although the relationship may never be the same and the scars of the abuse you carry may never heal, it is your children who wait for you and that is a fight worth enduring. I pray for your success at winning the fight to gain back your children. A mother deserves the chance to rebuild that love with her children. There is no greater loss than the love lost of a child towards the mother who knows no happiness without them.

A Survivor's Words

A Child’s Story of Abuse

A Woman’s Story of Domestic Violence

A Survivor’s Honesty about the

Crimes and their Scars

There are many different sites that will provide you with statistics about Child Abuse and/or Domestic Violence. The majority consensus is that 80% of our children will be or have been a victim of Child Abuse. Also, one in four women live as victims of Domestic Violence.  In my life there was a total of 32 years of abuse; surviving 12 years of brutal sadistic torture from my stepfather; continuous severe neglect from my mother; and then 20 years in multiple abusive adult relationships. In the novel "My Justice" , I have finally removed the hand that has kept me silent for over 40 years about the abuse I've survived and the scars it has left on my soul, my skin, my mental well being. This story is meant to give it's reader a honest look into the thoughts, feelings, and trauma of a child so completely controlled by terror while all of her basic needs for existence were disregarded. The simple necessity of a toothbrush, a smile, a tender moment of kindness; all of the most simple things in her life were ignored; especially that need of safety. This story will suck you in and allow you to feel the pain of this child; her struggles just to survive in her home each day.

As she grows to become a decayed person inside and out; you will feel her need and walk through her life as she searches for that one true person to support and love her. You will be able to share the desperate need of this true survivor as she walks from one abuser to the next in her life. When she thinks she will be rescued from her home of torture; it becomes just another cage of control. When she finds the one to father her children; you will feel the depression as his actions of emotional and financial control rule her world. Walk through her adult life and see the multiple of violent abusers that hide behind the promise of true love, but instead threaten, beat, and attempt to take away the very breath of her soul.

The survivor in her is determined to provide her children with love and safety, but she lacks the skills and training of a good parent. You can step into her family and see how the scars of her abuse have caused pain, chaos, trauma in the lives of her children. Through the help of a friend, she finally makes that choice to escape from the madness of evil. Her spirit will push through that path she was trained to follow. She is able to escape and tries desperately to become the woman, mother and person she was truly born to be. Her strength fights each day to conquer the nightmares as she struggles to provide that safe, loving home that her children deserve. The choices of men come and go; disrupting the home she creates for them. When she feels that her world is finally safe you will also be sucked into the sadness she has when her health is what fails her now. Once again she is left with three children to care for and no way of making that possible. She reaches out for the needed love of her mother, but finds only the mother who had neglected her cries and left her to rot; the stepfather who continues to stalk and haunt her nights; this is all that she has left.

She returns to her home determined to be safe and bring her children back. Again she will fight to rebuild her safe world and attempt to guide her children into adulthood. It takes strength and time, but when she reaches the end of her violent path she will become successful at being a survivor, reaching her happiness, and also feeling that true sense of safety as true love comes into her life. His tenderness and love support her as she heals to find her voice. You will want to stand for this survivor as she continues to grow; now speaking out for all victims of these silent crimes. The strength of this story will fill your soul as the author shares the nightmares that haunt her sleep; the flashbacks that haunt her days; and the peace she is determined to give all survivors of these traumas.

This author and survivor, Ms. Patricia A. McKnight, is asking you now to read her story in the novel, "My Justice", and give your voice to stand up for the millions of those who are trapped in the forced silence of abuse. It is time for us all to put and end to these continued crimes of silent torture. It is now that she requests us all to be aware of those around us; protect and help the lost souls of all abuse victims. As you read her story, you will feel how lost; abandoned; threatened; tortured these victims can be. Let her story provide you with the insight and knowledge you need to be vigilant and stand up against these heinous crimes. If the silence continues then the scars of these crimes will continue to affect the lives of our children. It is only by talking about the affects of these crimes that we can create a safer world for them.

My Justice

is a brutally honest glimpse into one woman’s struggle to overcome the abuse – and its long-term effects – that nearly comes to define her. It offers a powerful narrative and stirs the emotions of fear, sadness, desperation; strength, happiness, and finally peace. Safety!!!

About the Author

Patricia A. McKnight is a survivor of abuse who is driven to speak out and help empower other survivors from similar environments. She acts as an advocate, encouraging all to speak about their experiences so that we can educate others about the horrible cycling affects of abuse.

If you would like to connect with me or possibly discuss a speaking arrangement

please email:  

trish.mcknight@live.com

You can also connect with me via Facebook

facebook.com/triciagirl62

Follow me on Twitter

@triciagirl62

You can view the First Five Chapters Free
when you check out the links below

http://www.amazon.com/My-Justice-Patricia-McKnight/dp/1452071691/ref=sr_1_1?s=books&ie=UTF8&qid=1314885707&sr=1-1

  http://www.barnesandnoble.com/w/my-justice-patricia-a-mcknight/1100371904?ean=9781452071695&itm=1&usri=my%2bjustice

Published through Authorhouse Publishing Company

Copies of "My Justice" can also be purchased directly through

http://bookstore.authorhouse.com/Products/SKU-000373503/My-Justice.aspx

May you have roses in your garden of life!!