Page 112 of Salute, To Bravery
Chapter Nineteen.
Chapter Twenty.
Chapter Twenty-One.
Follow Lee VanBeek.
Flying by The Daisy.
Two women battle their pain and their memories that have left them both scarred. Seeking therapy, they discover kindred souls and a place of acceptance and love. But events move to separate them even as they try to cling together. When a parent does his best to change what you want, and acceptance isn’t forthcoming, will love find a way? Who do you turn to when the person who was your rock can’t accept you? Through trauma, war, disapproval, Flying by the Daisy tells the story of resilience and courage.
Part One.
Chapter One.
Violet
“I’m okay,” I told myself as I looked in the mirror, my long black hair framing my face. “You need to do this. You need to get some help, and this isn’t accepting defeat–this is accepting a fight. You are strong, and you survived a war. You can survive group therapy.”
I took a deep breath, grabbed my keys, and went out of my small house and to my car. The key went into the ignition, and the car started.
“Good morning, Seattle!” my car radio screamed.
I turned down the volume quickly, plugged my phone into the aux cord, and put on my confidence-boosting playlist. Then, I went to my GPS and put in the location, and I was on my way.
Therapy was a new idea to me, as I’d never been to a session. Since returning from Germany, the memories have plagued my mind, and I can’t even get out of bed without wanting to cry or scream.I needed help.
My dad saw the change in my demeanor ever since I got back. His words echoed in my mind.
“You are different.”
“You have changed.”
It had gotten so bad that he told me to go to group therapy after sending me a link. Now, here I am, driving to my first therapy appointment and hopefully my last. My dad said to just try it and then make my decision, but I am not completely sure about this.
Ring. Ring.
I looked down at my phone, which was charging and sitting on the passenger seat, and saw Luna’s profile photo. I answered immediately while putting on speakerphone.
“Hey, could I call you later? I’m on the way to therapy,” I said to my best friend.
“Finally!” There was a moment of silence, then her voice turned serious. “You’ve been depressed ever since you got back. I’m happy for you. Please, just try. I know you’re scared to face your emotions, but youneedto do this. Okay?”
“Okay.” I smiled simply.
“You better call me right after and tell me all about it,” Luna insisted.
“Okay.” I laughed. “You’re starting to sound like your mother.”
“How dare you,” she joked. “Love you. Later, loser.”
She ended the call, and the music continued. The volume was loud enough to drown out my emotions and worries. The music’s numbing effect allowed me to relax.
After about half an hour of stressful traffic, I made it to the place. I took a deep breath.
“You got this,” I said, looking at myself through the rearview mirror.
I shut off the car, grabbed my purse along with my keys, and went inside. The place was gloomy. It felt like a hospital, with pale blue walls and uncomfortable-looking chairs scattered all over the waiting room.
