Caged Bird, Free Bird

Asher had broken me down. From day one, he had controlled me and kept me in his “cage.” I don’t know why I ever loved him, but now, driving away, driving anywhere, listening to the rain, I realized that it was my time to be free. As I drove, Maya Angelou’s poem I Know Why The Caged Bird Sings ran through my head. I listened to the methodic sound of the windshield wipers as they cleared the water from my vision, and whispered to myself the most iconic lines of her poem. “The caged bird sings with a fearful trill, of things unknown but longed for still, and his tune is heard on the distant hill, for the caged bird sings of freedom.” I connected my own life to this line. I was the caged bird, singing for freedom, when freedom was only an idea. “His wings are clipped and his feet are tied, so he opens his throat to sing.” That also connected to me. In every other way, I was stuck there under Asher’s dictatorship, until I used my voice to ask for help from my family.

“The free bird thinks of another breeze, and the trade winds soft through the sighing trees, and the fat worms waiting on a dawn bright lawn, and he names the sky his own,” I whispered. I smiled. I had that entire poem memorized. I memorized it because I connected to it on a deeper level than with any other poem about cages or freedom. Cages. Freedom. Cages. Freedom. No other ideal connected so wholly with my daily life. I smiled once more. What used to be my daily life. Not anymore. I had reached out. I had opened my throat, and sang, and my call was answered. I got the help I had needed for so long. Asher was no longer the cage holding me in one spot. “But a bird that stalks down his narrow cage, can seldom see through his bars of rage, his wings are clipped and his feet are tied so he opens his throat to sing.”

I was the raging little bird. Blinded with hate by Asher, but having no power to change what I had to live with. And so blinded as I was, I had no idea that my way out - my help - was truly right in front of me, in this convenient little package called my cell phone. For years I lived with Asher and his abuse. Both physical and mental abuse. But one day, my light bulb turned on, and U told Asher I was going to the grocery store, and I left. When I went and sat in that store’s parking lot, I searched up a hotline. An emergency hotline for people who had no other option. When the woman answered, I started crying with relief, sobbing out thank you’s and giving her information.

That day when I returned home, I had purposely scraped up my hands, so that I could tell him I fell and he wouldn't question my red puffy eyes or runny nose that I had gotten from crying. He knew I had a low pain tolerance. He knew it was easy to make me cry. My thoughts came back to the present. I was at a red light. I glanced at my phone. I had several notifications from family members and friends. All were congratulating me, or asking me if I was truly okay. As I looked at the screen, a new notification popped up. One from a trauma counselor who would help me deal with the aftermath of Asher’s actions. Green light. I began driving again, just driving into oblivion. I had secretly saved enough money from Asher and had made a GoFundMe page on Facebook that he didn’t know about so that I could afford a new house. So I didn’t have to live with that monster of a man. If you could even call him a man. “He’s no man. He’s a coward. He’s a coward who feels like picking on women makes him feel better or stronger or something,” I whispered to myself. I was constantly trying to find ways to convince myself that everything Asher had done was to make him feel better about himself. And I learned the more I kept telling myself that, the less I believed that the way he treated me was consequences for my earlier actions. Which, I figured, was a good thing.

When I pulled over at a rest stop, I looked at my phone once more. Several more notifications had popped up. I took my time answering all the questions they asked, and reassuring people that I was perfectly fine. I answered my trauma counselor back last. Her question was about our appointment. She was asking whether I wanted to meet at home or in her office. I replied, telling her that I didn’t necessarily have a home for us to meet in at that moment, so that meeting in her office was more ideal. She responded quickly and kindly, saying sorry for my current situation, but that in the end, calling the hotline was the best choice I could ever have made. Calling that hotline, ultimately, in the grand scheme of things, was what saved my life. In the short minute I had texted Teresa - that was my counselor’s name - I had several more texts from friends and family. I answered them all, and told them that I wasn’t going to answer for a while, since I was going to be on the road. I said my “I love you’s” and my “talk to you later’s” and went on my way pulling out of the rest station. As I drove more to my new house, I thought back once more on Maya Angelou’s poem. I recited it all quietly to myself.

“I free bird leaps in the back of the wind, and floats downstream until the current ends, and dips his wing in the orange sun rays, and dares to claim the sky. But a bird that stalks down his narrow cage, can seldom see through his bars of rage, his wings are clipped and his feet are tied, so he Opens his throat to sing. The caged bird sings with a fearful trill of things unknown, but longed for still, and his tune is heard on the distant hill, for the caged bird sings of freedom. The free bird thinks of another breeze, and the trade winds soft through the sighing trees, and the fat worms waiting on a dawn bright lawn, and he names the sky his own. But a caged bird stands on the grave of dreams, his shadow shouts on a nightmare scream, his wings are clipped and his feet are tied, so he opens his throat to sing. The caged bird sings with a fearful trill of things unknown, but longed for still, and his tune is heard on the distant hill, for the caged bird sings of freedom.”

Moral of the story: Always ask for help. Never be afraid to receive the help that you deserve. Call for help. Good things will come to you.