Shatter the Silence

By L. D. Smith

LD Smith knew life had been different for her, harder than it should have been. At the age of 12, she began feeling sad much more often than her friends, who seemed fairly happy with their lives. But it was at age 12 that the abuse began and LD first attempted suicide. I lie in bed fearing the sound of footsteps on the stairs. Footsteps now in the hall. The door opens. The door closes quietly. Then the sound I fear the most, the click of the lock as the signal my nightmare is about to begin again... Adult survivors of abuse and molestation and those with mental illness are often told to remain silent, to discuss their lives in dark corners and in hushed tones. Shatter the Silence seeks to break that cycle as LD Smith candidly and eloquently tells the story of her own journey-and it is not pretty. It is not a fairy tale, and unfortunately it is reality for so many. She invites you to join her and learn what being strong really entails. Know that it is possible to stand proud and speak loudly the story of survival.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Outskirts Press
• Release date: Oct 11, 2017
• ISBN: 9781478792291

L. D. Smith

LD Smith graduated magna cum laude from Ball State University with a Bachelor of Science and currently works for a global company managing clinical drug trials. She lives with her husband, two tabby cats, and a schipperke. She has two grown children who attend Ball State University and live near her home in Muncie, Indiana. She is a survivor of childhood molestation, abuse, and domestic violence and has been diagnosed with PTSD and as Bipolar I. In her free time, LD enjoys writing, quilting, and crocheting.

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Shatter the Silence

All Rights Reserved.

Copyright © 2017 L.D. Smith

v2.0

The opinions expressed in this manuscript are solely the opinions of the author and do not represent the opinions or thoughts of the publisher. The author has represented and warranted full ownership and/or legal right to publish all the materials in this book.

This book may not be reproduced, transmitted, or stored in whole or in part by any means, including graphic, electronic, or mechanical without the express written consent of the publisher except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical articles and reviews.

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ISBN: 978-1-4787-9229-1

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PRINTED IN THE UNITED STATES OF AMERICA

Dedicated to those who are struggling alone in the dark. May this be a shining beacon for you to find your way to a better place.

With special thanks to my husband and my children for always standing by me. I could never have done this without you.

Author’s note: Welcome to my life. The following pages are a true account of my life beginning at the age of twelve. Most of the book centers on the journal entries from the countless books I have kept in my lifetime. The story is true. Names and places have been changed to protect the innocent and in some cases the guilty.

As a survivor of abuse and molestation and as an individual diagnosed with a mental illness I know we live our lives shrouded in darkness and masked in silence. Stand up. Speak loud. Be proud of who you are. Let those in the world know we are not broken. We are strong. Remember, when life seems at its worst that things change quickly and tomorrow may be the day you have been dreaming of. At the very least it will be a different day.

Remember there are those who love you even though they forget to say it sometimes.

                              -Belle

Part I

Lost Hope

Everything I had hoped for,

     Everything I had prayed for,

          All I had worked for,

               Finally Achieved

—taken too quickly

                         ---lost forever

The Beginning-and Ending-of a Dream

In an ideal world the grass is green, the sun is always shining, and everyone is safe. Life is beautiful, there is no suffering, and there is no pain. In real life, things are not what they seem and never what we would prefer.

SILENCE…As survivors of abuse, neglect, molestation, and mental illness we are told to keep quiet. As survivors we need to raise our voices and let the world know our story. This is my long journey. It is not a fairy tale. There is no happily ever after. It is a slow descent into madness from which I feel I will never escape. The horror began for me at age twelve. I will start my story when the darkness finally enveloped me, twenty-three years ago at the age of twenty-four…

1994

April 2, 1994

     Even though we never met you

          We love you

     We only knew the joy you gave us for a short time

          We miss you

     We will never have the chance to hold you

          Or to tell you how much you mean to us

     But in our hearts and in our minds

          You will always be our miracle baby

     We will never forget you and

          We will hold you near our hearts forever.

               Baby Smith

               Died April 1, 1994

               7 weeks old

     Sadly missed forever,

                         Love,

                         Mom and Dad

I had not been out of school very long. We had moved an hour away from family for my first real job. After trying to conceive a child for over a year we decided to begin the search for help. For a year and a half we went through invasive and expensive infertility treatments. We decided to go through an exploratory surgery to see if there were any problems internally. Unbeknownst to us we were seven weeks pregnant. No pregnancy test was performed prior to surgery, which resulted in a life-threatening infection for me and the loss of our first child. In the next pages you will see a glimpse of one of the more traumatic moments in my life…

April 10, 1994

Today is only my third day home from the hospital. Our baby died only ten days ago. We scheduled a laparoscopy on March 30th to find out why a year’s worth of infertility treatments hadn’t worked. During surgery they discovered I was seven weeks pregnant. As near as we can tell the baby was conceived on February 9th, very near Valentine’s Day. The baby would have been born close to November 9th. We were very excited about having a baby for Christmas this year. Dan already had plans to buy the baby’s first train to put around the Christmas tree.

We developed an infection (from the catheter used for the dye studies, which were not completed) that resulted in the loss of the baby’s life within thirty-six hours of surgery. I’ll never forget how excited we were when we found out we were pregnant. Early on Thursday (about 10 a.m.) I started chilling and the doctor prescribed an antibiotic. The baby died about 9:30 Thursday night. After a night of severe cramping and bleeding we went to the emergency room. Friday morning at 9:45 we had a suction curtilage to remove the baby and the infected material. I went home on Friday. Saturday I was doing better. By Sunday (Easter) I was very sick and mentally devastated. Monday morning (April 4th) I was admitted to the hospital for fluids and IV antibiotics. The strain of bacteria I contracted from the contaminated catheter only responded to IV medication. I spent Monday through Friday in the hospital.

Now that I have improved physically, there are a million emotions to deal with. That is part of the reason I started this journal. I have reached the point in my life where I can’t find a reason to continue living. I went through this on Sunday (Easter) and I was so sick I gave up mentally and physically. IV antibiotics and forced fluids helped me physically (even if I didn’t want to be helped).

I only knew I was pregnant for two days. I don’t know how but I was very attached to our baby. Maybe it’s because I knew I carried the baby for seven weeks. I feel very responsible for the death of the baby. The baby counted on me for its life and its protection. I let her down. I let them put me under and because of that my baby is dead. I guess in my mind I know that if God had chosen to let the baby live He would have no matter what I did. I pray a lot to try and understand why God let her die. I feel in my heart God was sparing me from losing the baby later or watching her die. I don’t understand His purpose in giving me a precious child and then taking her away. I guess I’ll never understand why.

Many people blamed the doctor and the hospital for the baby’s death. I don’t understand why they didn’t run a pregnancy test before they did the surgery. I have to remind myself that not having the surgery wouldn’t have saved her; no matter what I do now or how I feel, nothing is going to bring her back. I will spend the rest of my life missing the baby I never had the chance to know. Although no baby could ever replace our first child, I pray every day God will send me another child to love and cherish. Maybe one day I will be a real mother.

April 11, 1994

My Child,

We were only blessed with your presence for seven weeks. I only knew I was carrying you for the last two days of your life. There are so many things I never had the chance to tell you. The first thing I want to tell you is that I Love You. I don’t think I ever had the chance to tell you that. But I hope you know that I love you and I will for the rest of my life. The next thing I want you to know is that I’m sorry. I’m sorry I didn’t protect you from the surgery that resulted in the loss of your life. I’m sorry I didn’t know I was carrying you. I don’t know how I could have lived those seven weeks and I did not know it. I guess what I want to say is that I miss you. I miss you very much and I will forever.

-Love,

Mom

April 11, 1994

Baby,

I just got off the phone with the doctor who discovered you and removed your little body after you died. He asked how I was doing. I am very sad. I still blame myself for your death. The doctor asked why I was harder on myself than God was. He said God didn’t blame me; why should I have higher standards than God. I guess I hadn’t thought about it like that. I asked the doctor if I could see some pictures of a seven-week-old baby. I often wonder what you looked like. I asked him if he could tell if you were still alive on Friday morning. He said you had already died and that your body was unrecognizable. I am still very sad about losing you. I will never understand why you had to go. I wish I had known I was carrying you before the surgery. I know you tried to tell me. God doesn’t blame me and I’m trying hard not to blame myself. Please do not blame me. Please don’t hate me. Always remember I love you. I miss you.

-Love,

Mom

Heartbreaking letters at a time I believed I had achieved my dream, even if for a very short time, and it had been ripped from my grasp. I had suffered nothing but pain in my life. I only ask one thing, to be a mother, to love and care for a child, to show everyone I am not a failure and deserve to be loved.

April 16, 1994

It is midnight. I have been alone most of the day. I am extremely depressed today. Too many things on my mind. I have been considering seeking counseling to get through some of the issues that have come up. It seems whenever something goes wrong, more this time than ever before, the things I attempted to ignore, tried to forget, have a way of coming back to haunt mr. I remember the relationships in the past. I remember the violence, the abuse, the lies, the broken promises, the rejection, and the pain. I remember wanting to take my own life and I remember trying. I remember physical abuse and sexual abuse. Mostly I remember feeling very alone. I cannot help me, and if the counselor can’t help me, what am I supposed to do? I’m very confused. I don’t feel like I’ve dealt with the baby’s death. I may never get past it. I cannot re-live this grief for the rest of my life. I need to find a way out of this hell.

God, please help me!

April 23, 1994

Depression is a very lonely place. I cannot find my way out. My heart aches for the child I carried but never knew. I feel a huge loss because the baby is gone. I have a massive hole in my heart. I feel empty, desolate, but I cannot cry. When I begin to feel the loss of the baby it becomes very overwhelming. I rapidly reach the point where I don’t want to live. I can’t handle being that close to the edge. Maybe I will jump off.

Life had been very difficult for me. I finally left my family home, where I had suffered so dearly throughout my childhood. This was a combination of abuse and molestation along with untreated mental illness. I have never valued myself, or felt valued by anyone else. I deserved the pain and torture I endured.

This is how it has always been,

          This is how it is now,

And

               This is how it will always be…

Part II

Letters

to

Heaven

My mental state continued to deteriorate rapidly. I had never been in counselling but I was desperate. For the first time in my life I reached out for help. I didn’t know if anything would come of this. I had to try.

May 9, 1994

I went to see the counselor today. There were so many things I wanted to say. I just couldn’t seem to get the words out. I often wonder if this is punishment. Do I deserve it? The years of sexual abuse were not enough punishment? Did I try hard enough to get out? If I had stopped it sooner would this still have happened? Was it my fault? I don’t understand why I am thinking of her (my molester) since we lost the baby. Is this what I deserve? I know that sounds impossible and in my head I know it’s not true. It is difficult to get that from my head to my heart.

After being raised in a strict church most of my life I had been taught God could do anything. At this time in my life I was very angry with God. Why did you give me a child only to take her away? I am such a horrible person, I do not deserve to have children.

Later…

I just got off the phone with the pastor. I told him about Vena (my main molester). This is the first time in many years that I have written or spoken her name. She threatened me that if she heard so much as a whisper, there would be repercussions later. Someone may read it. Someone may hear it. Someone may find out about us. I have never written this down but I think for my sanity it is time I did.

(flashback) My fifteenth birthday is tomorrow. Church was long this morning. We are having Pastor Rob and his wife for dinner. They are downstairs. This time they brought their daughter Vena with them. She is visiting from Arizona. She seems very nice.

I have been very upset and crying a lot lately. I am sitting in my room, at least the beginning of my room. The walls aren’t finished yet. Vena has just come in. She seems like she actually cares. It feels good to talk to someone who listens. We have been alone here in my room for a while, but no one cares where I am. She looked me in the face and told me she knew I had attempted suicide. How can she know? I haven’t told anyone. I took an entire bottle of pills last night and spent most of the last twenty-four hours in bed asleep. No one noticed. In an effort to be certain I succeeded I also slashed my wrist the night before. I didn’t inflict enough damage to be concerned. I can’t even do that right.

It was euphoric. Watching the razor slice into my skin. The sight and the smell of the blood. The sense of relief as the blood flows down my arm and drips on the floor. The pain makes me feel alive. It makes me feel something. I am keeping my wrist wrapped in an elastic bandage. If anyone asks, I sprained my wrist. It doesn’t matter really, no one asks. I am so overwhelmed all I want to do is cry. How can she possibly know? No one knows.

We finished dinner. Mom and Dad announced at dinner that Vena would be living with us for a while. She is going to help Mom around the house and do what she can to help us finish the house. I’m alone in my room and I think I should try and get some sleep.

I’m in my pajamas and I thought I would add a few notes before I went to bed. It is getting late and the house is quiet. As usual, I can’t sleep. I do enjoy sitting alone at night in the silence. The house is usually so noisy. The silence is broken…footsteps in the hall.

Someone is up. Who could be up so late? I turn. Vena is in the doorway. What a relief. I was getting concerned. She sits on my bed. We talk long into the night. I can’t believe someone is willing to listen, someone who understands.

Things change quickly. She puts her hand on my knee. Slowly her hand slides up my thigh. I can’t take my eyes off her hand. She places her hand under my chin, lifts it gently, and forces me to look in her eyes. I’m confused. I don’t know what is happening. Everything is in slow motion. She kisses me gently. Then she pulls me forward and kisses me passionately. Time passes very slowly. She stops and quietly whispers in my ear that she is the only one who loves me and the only one who can protect me and keep me safe.

I didn’t realize at the time that this would become a common occurrence. The idea of kissing Vena became more and more acceptable. Isn’t kissing a person of the same gender who is ten years your senior what every fifteen-year-old does? Doesn’t everyone have someone to hold them and caress them at night? It was a confusing experience.

(flashback)

I wonder if she will come tonight. I can’t stop thinking of her. I feel safe in her arms. It is late and the house is quiet once again. I hear her familiar steps coming up the stairs and down the hall. I love talking to her. She walks in as she does every night and sits on my bed. I don’t feel comfortable with kissing her but I can do it if it means I can talk with her. She pulls me close and is kissing me very softly and sweetly. Something is different. She grabs me forcefully and painfully this time. She aggressively pulls me forward. Her mouth finds mine. Roughly and passionately she kisses me, forcing her tongue down my throat. My head is spinning. What is happening?! Okay, I can handle this. What do I do? Is this what friends do? She pulls my shirt off over my head. Her hand is moving aggressively and quickly up my thigh. Finally the moment that will change my life forever. She pulls down my pajamas and forces her hand under my waistband. She is touching me, caressing me. Her voice is forceful, hot, and threatening in my ear. It will be okay, just relax. It will feel good. Be very quiet. She is getting rough. There is intense pain. Suddenly something I have never felt. My body is on fire. There are intense and urgent surges rising in me. My body contracts and I fall exhausted on the bed. That doesn’t end the evening’s events but I can’t bear to think of the rest.

That night began three long years of forced sexual acts and unbearable abuse…

(Flashback) I beg her to stop. I want to scream. I cannot make a sound. A single sound will only result in more degradation and unbearable pain. I am a lesbian and we are in love. When I turn eighteen, we will run away together and live happily-ever-after. I am officially a horrible person who does terrible, immoral, and degrading acts.

She has moved on with her life and I am stuck with the scars and torment she left behind. I want to write her or call her to scream at her for all she has done to me. She should know what she put me through. Why should she go unpunished?

May 28, 1994

Today marks five years Dan and I have been together. Unfortunately, I have been alone most of the day. I haven’t had a very good day. I feel like going in the kitchen and washing down a bottle of pain pills with a pint of vodka. I want to die. I want to put an end to the pain.

I cannot have a moment of peace. The worst part is the flashbacks. I see the scenes from those years over and over again in my head. I don’t want to remember what happened. Re-living the horrifying acts of sex, physical violence, and mental abuse is terrifying. Going to bed every night knowing I will please her in whatever way she chooses. God, let the suffering end. Let me die.

May 29, 1994

I tried to go to church today. I went into the sanctuary but I could only sit in there for a few minutes and I had to leave. It made me very nervous to be in a church again. I didn’t have any flashbacks but I had to work hard to hold back the feelings and memories. I guess I went to church this morning because I am still searching for something to hold on to.

I still have an irresistible urge to drink myself into a coma. I’m still afraid to be alone because I still think death is the easiest way out. It is so painful to go through all these feelings. I guess I can’t take this much pain over such a long period of time. It’s been almost two months since we lost the baby. That and dealing with the memories of Vena and my life while she was in it. I’m struggling to keep my head above water and she is happily living her life. She doesn’t even realize what she did to me. The last time I talked to her she acted like it was nothing and we should be best friends. I honestly don’t care if I ever see (or speak) to her again. That is not entirely true. There are times when I would like to see her and tell her about the hell she put me through. As if losing the baby wasn’t bad enough, I have to contend with more guilt. I did feel ashamed when I was at church, like I had done something horrible. I still feel, sometimes, like losing the baby might be a punishment for allowing the relationship to continue as long as it did. If I stop and think about it rationally I know, I think, I hope, what happened wasn’t my fault. I prayed a long time ago that God would forgive me. I guess sometimes I question if it was my fault. I am tired of wrestling with this. I just want it to be over…

We tried our first infertility cycle after we lost the baby. As much as I wanted it to succeed, I had my doubts. Of course, like so many other times, this cycle failed.

June 13, 1994

All predictions were correct, the test came back negative (as usual). Life is beginning to seem like a cruel joke. I spent years trying to get pregnant. During that process I lost what may prove to be my only chance to have a child. I guess it wouldn’t be quite so bad if we didn’t have to wait a month in between treatments. We won’t get to try again until late July. If we had made it this time the baby would have been born in March. I guess that means another Easter alone watching everyone else’s children hunt for eggs. Unfortunately, we will not have a child when the anniversary of the baby’s death comes around. I guess I thought having a baby to hold might make it hurt a little less.

I miss the baby today. If she hadn’t died I wouldn’t have to go through all the treatments and disappointments. I miss her so much. I guess I am afraid she may be the only child I will ever have.

I am very disappointed and discouraged. The infertility doctor said the treatment cycle went very well and not to get discouraged. I guess it is going to be another depressing Father’s Day.

On this night more than any I’ve known so far, I long desperately to hold the baby in my arms.

June 17, 1994

Today has been a very bad day. I almost had a nervous breakdown at work. All I’ve done today is cry. I’m not exactly sure why I’ve been crying so much. I didn’t cry this much after the baby died. I guess maybe the failed cycle has reminded me again, like I need to be reminded, that my baby is gone. I don’t understand what I could have done in my life to deserve this. Infertility was difficult to deal with. Losing the baby because I pushed to have the surgery is almost too much to handle. I know it is stupid but I still feel responsible for the baby dying. If only I had insisted on the pregnancy test or something, maybe the baby would have lived. I know in my heart that my baby probably wouldn’t have lived much longer and if she did I think she would have been sick. Why did God give me a baby and allow her to die? I don’t think that God killed my baby; if anyone did, it was probably me. I don’t understand why this all happened. Other people go through their life with only minor heartaches. Why is this happening to me? What did I do to deserve this? Am I that bad of a person? It’s not just losing the baby; it’s being stuck here in this town, and maybe never being able to have another child, and being molested, and being beaten, and being hurt by too many people.

If life is full of ups and downs, I think I am being cheated on my ups. I know it sounds like I am feeling sorry for myself. Maybe I should be thankful for what I have. I am thankful for Dan. He is my rock in life. I can’t imagine life without him. I guess sometimes I’m afraid he’ll be taken next.

I wonder if Dan and I will ever have another child. No child will ever replace her but maybe it would hurt less if I could have a child of my own to hold. That is by no means the only reason I want to have a child. I have always wanted to have children. It feels weird to know I am a mother and very sad because I do not have a child to love and raise.

I cried all day and I had to leave work at 11:30. I think I am going crazy or I am having a nervous breakdown. I feel better now that I am home. I wish Dan didn’t have to work tonight. I hate sitting here in the apartment alone.

Later…

Today has been a bad day. Emotionally I have been grieving a lot for the baby today. I haven’t been able to stop crying.

I miss the baby so much today. It’s been two and a half months since the baby died and I think I miss her more today than I ever have. I loved the baby since long before she was conceived and I love her more every day. I would have loved to have had the chance to meet her and hold her even if just for a moment. I don’t understand why it was only for such a short time and why it ended so soon. I’m sure everything has occurred for the best, at least as far as the baby is concerned. I would not have been able to sit and watch her slowly drift away. I couldn’t stand to see her suffer. I feel in my heart that she died peacefully and, hopefully, painlessly. I hope she understands I did everything I could, in the short time I knew I was pregnant, to protect her and keep her alive. I only wish I had known before the surgery that I was pregnant. I hope she knows I would never have consented to the surgery if I had known about her. I have to live with that guilt forever. I only pray that she has forgiven me and she knows I would never have done anything to harm her if only I had known.

I know this all sounds like a replay of the letters I wrote just after the baby died. I feel more guilty and alone now than I ever have. I love her and miss her still.

June 18, 1994

Baby,

Today has not been as bad as yesterday. I feel kind of numb. I still feel very alone. We, you and I, bought your dad a diamond ring for Father’s Day. It’s very pretty and I think you would like it. I hope and pray that maybe next year we will have a larger family to celebrate with. I really miss you. Father’s Day has been very hard for me so far. I guess I am glad it only comes once a year. It seems most holidays turn out to be a time of mourning for me. Thanksgiving will be bad because this would have been our first holiday with you. Now I will show up at Thanksgiving with just your dad, and I am beginning to wonder if I will ever have a child of my own to love and hold.

I miss you very much and I love you with all my heart.

                         - Love,

                              Mom

June 19, 1994

Today is Father’s Day. It has been a hard day for your dad and me. It was nice to see our fathers. I still wonder if we will ever have children to come and visit us on Mother and Father’s Day. Your dad loves the ring we bought him. It has your birthstone in it (a diamond for April).

                         -Love,