"Blackbird singing in the dead of night,
Take your broken wings and learn to fly . . . "
I remember hearing that for the first time. I think it was Kel who sent it to me. I liked him, Kel. He was tall, stocky, reminded me of my dad, but my age. And I liked him as if just yesterday I was fourteen. But that makes sense, because the years between then and now are fuzzy at best.
Kel had an affinity for the Beatles. Oh, when I say it that way - it sounds cute. Like Kel wasn't a megafan, like he didn't talk about them every chance he got or know every song.
Kel's attraction to the Beatles was one thing about him I didn't understand.
But he sent me this song, and immediately I loved it.
"Blackbird, fly, blackbird, fly,
Into the light of a dark black night."
The months since Kel sent me that song in April have felt just that - like a dark black night. I have felt as though I am flying blind, and yet as I look back I realize that I am simply growing my wings. ...although, it would be silly to pretend that I don't have growing pains.
I started therapy in July. I'd been before to get testing for ADHD, but this was different. I sat across the chair from the general psychologist in the cold blue room. It was July. I shouldn't have been cold.
"You wrote on your form that someone pressured you into sex."
"I won't make you talk about that here, with me. Would you like to talk about it with a woman?" He was so understanding.
"Yeah, I need to talk about it but I don't really want to."
For once in my life, I couldn't speak.
As I drove away, I remember thinking, How could this awful thing have happened to me?
I was growing wings, and those were growing pains.
I've met with my therapist almost weekly since July. I've talked about my grandmother. I've told her bits and pieces of my story. I've remembered traumatic events. But only now am I beginning to piece together what really happened. Especially chronologically.
I am a survivor of domestic violence.
These are the words of one learning to fly.