Edge of sleep.

Something came to me right on the edge of sleep. This happens often. I try to tease it out into a complete idea. Then I’m asleep and it’s gone.

I’m sure it was inspired by an afternoon spent with a pal from my teenage life. Our teenage life. There we were walking in our old neighborhood. Both of us in our sensible shoes. We hooked arms and walked past Rockefeller Chapel like an old familiar couple.

She was there the night that I was abducted. We were walking home from a concert at Mandel Hall. In those days the likes of BB King and Paul Butterfield played there. We used to sneak into shows. Maybe we sometimes bought tickets? I have no idea? Tickets were not very expensive. The memory of most of that night is lost.

I do remember desperately wanting to meet up with my friends. Everyone was going and my mother said that I could not go out. She was going out and I was to stay home. As soon as she left, I split.

It was afterwards. We were all walking home. In the end it was just me going the last block to our apartment. That’s when they got me. Right inside the vestibule.

My mother came home and found me gone. She called my friend and they drove around the neighborhood looking for me. I only relearned about this part years later. It was on another visit from her that she told me her memories of that night. When they couldn’t find me my mother called the police.

So we were here in the present day walking those same streets. I feel such a strong affection for this friend. On the edge of sleep that same night I rewound our conversation. That’s when I put into thought words the conditions that led / lead to the problems of so many of us.

We don’t always know what trauma or discomfort, what disconnect leads one to feel complete release from care or worry at the first sip of an intoxicating substance. Maybe everyone feels that? I just couldn’t get enough. More was all I could think of. Life seems perfect at the first blush of self medication. Not that we had that phrase then. The idea of “self medication” wasn’t brought to my attention until twenty three or four years later. Even then I didn’t fully grasp. Then at some mysterious point in time a line is crossed and you can’t get back no matter what. Not without help. Most of the time anyway.

Anyway, the “thoughts” on the edge of sleep are mostly diluted now.

I am here. I feel safe. Just incredibly grateful to be alive and sober.