Autistic And a Survivor of Incest, Child Prostitution and Sexual Abuse

 It's important to me that I am clear on who I am, what I have lived through and why I am so odd.

True Story. This is Me.

Incest Survivor Amy Maureen Murphy Timeline as of July 11, 2022

 

From birth to 26 years of age- incest, sexually abused by my father at least 2-3 times a week

2 to 3 years old- dad allowed his three friends to sexually abuse me on a semi-weekly basis, usually every Friday when it was beer, cards, and child rape

3 to 4 years old- the first time I remember being given to a man for free and for money, two separate occasions. Both times it was to my dad’s Commander at the Air Force Base he worked at.

4 or 5 years old- first sexual assault by a stranger/ non-family member; the first man not sanctioned and that my family agreed could molest me. He was a store owner who ran the corner store when we lived in Saginaw.

5 or 6 years old- forced to perform oral sex on a teen who was working at the grocery store meat market section. He bribed my older brother and I with candy. I think this happened only once.

5 to 9 weekly or monthly molestations by my paternal great-grandmother who took perverse pleasure in bathing and fondling me. That stopped when she died when I was 10.

7 to 9 years old- dad hosted private parties with a host of men who paid money for myself or my sister for sex. This took place at private homes on the West Side of Grand Rapids. Probably half a dozen times at least.

7 to 9 or 12- Dad would take me to specific public restrooms every two weeks or so. Each work day was at one of four locations in lower Michigan. There were typically two shifts, 4-7 or 7-9, and most took place on Wednesdays or Saturdays. Rockford, Grayling or the Lansing are were the most frequent work places.

9 year old- drugged and raped by my soon-to-be-priest great uncle with Manna approving and great-grandmother there as well.

9 years old- my dad gave me to the scrap metal manager to make money for sexual favors. Not sure how many times that may have happened. Once for sure.

9 to 13- evil grandmother trained me to become her personal sex slave to satisfy all of her sexual needs and perversions.

10 to 14 or so – the specific years are murky as dad tried different ways to sell me and make more money. At one point, he would get a hotel room near the highway, use his CB radio to talk to and entice truckers to stop by for sexual services by me. This was high risk and high reward. Probably happened under a half dozen times, I’m guessing.

14 to 26- most of the sexual abuse was dad on a weekly basis although he did have me service his boss and coworkers on occasion. He bought me a car because I performed for a co-worker who significantly lowered the price due to my whoring. When dad wanted money, discounts or favors, he would use me, sell me.

The sky is falling, The wind has gone out of the sails..I wait, motionless, for a breeze. I speak in Visuals. Thinking in pictures

 My youngest son is preparing to leave my home and go off to college. My mind cannot formulate all the words to accurately describe the plethora of intense emotions raging beneath my surface, thus, I am presented with visuals, pictures of how I am feeling.

Inside my head it looks like the sky is falling. I cry. I know that the pieces of sky will fall for sometime and that the sky will never ever be the same again. The Sky Is Falling.

I recall a similar visual phrase from when my older son was having some big difficulties. The phrase at that time was "All Fall Down".  It meant just that. Everything has fallen, all my hopes, wishes and dreams that I had for my precious had suddenly came crashing down. Buildings crashing down, I remember that sound all the time in my head. All Fall Down. An extreme red alert for overwhelmingly sad and tragic emotions. 

At night, as I explore how I am feeling, trying to put it into words, I see myself adrift in a massive ocean. I am standing in a boat with one small piece of oar and the sails are scattered at my feet. The wind has gone. I don't know which way to paddle so I stand in an empty boat, in the middle of a vast and windless ocean. Waiting. Waiting to figure out where to go next.

I think in pictures. Especially when I cannot find the words to explain how I am feeling. 

Yes, the sky is still falling. But I am still standing.

I had to teach myself positive emotions

 

I Had To Teach Myself What “Good” Felt Like

I am unique and extremely bizarre. The way in which I was raised could be categorized as sick, twisted, sadistic, and perverted. My dad and grandmother taught me to be both their whore and whore to many other strangers and men.

In a way, it was to my emotional wellbeing that I never experienced happiness, excitement or joy because I felt my miserable existence was perfectly normal. I did not miss out on my childhood, rather, it was just a childhood with a different scale, an emotional measurement. I think most unabused people have a wide range of emotions from a 1 which is very bad, awful to 100 which is pure happiness and bliss. My scale simply measured bad, worse, awful or agony. It was a very small, narrow scale of emotions that I had to work with. In a nutshell, things that happened to be were on a scale of badness. If it wasn’t bad, I did not know how to categorize it. The only positive thing I can remember from my childhood is birthday cake. Birthday Cake was great!!

I felt no love, only handling and use and care not to cause me enough harm that I’d end up at the hospital or require medical care. I could be used but not handled too roughly. There was no love there.

When I moved to Oregon, I started going for walks in these big, beautiful and bountiful old growth forests lush with carpets of ferns under foot and trees wearing blankets of hanging moss. As I walked, I felt not bad. But I could describe it no further. So, I tried something. I started repeating “this is good”, “this is what good feels like”, “this is what not hurt feels like”, “I like how this feels; this feels good”. And I walked and walked and repeated these new and strange thoughts. I was pretty sure that what I was feeling was a positive emotion and I guessed that the feeling was “Good”. Before that, I didn’t really have first-hand knowledge of what Good felt like. I had to teach it to me. I discovered I could feel Good. And I let that feeling grow.

My emotional growth had been stunted, stomped on and eradicated to the point that I had only experience with negative physical feelings. Growing up there was no one feeding me love, care or kindness. It was a devoid, empty and flatline way to live but it was all I knew.

I’ve been expanding and growing. I’m becoming aware of the telltale signs that what I am doing or where I am “feels good”. I’ll notice a subtle or wide smile upon my face. I’ll notice a warmth in my heart and tears of wonder and happiness falling on my face. No one taught me this. There was no one demonstrating these emotions to me. I have had to teach myself what others innately know or have most likely experienced.

God, I know I am bizarre and my upbringing, my days have been filled with agony, torture, unbelievable perversion and crimes committed against me by those called family.

I’m 59 years old and I am just finding the words to explain an existence beyond outrageous.