Neighborhood Dreams

I live in a jumping off place. The building allows dogs and crack-heads. It’s a stew of sadness and madness. There are many flowers among the brambles, too. You have to glimpse them in passing. They are camouflaged to blend in with the craziness so as to be invisible to predators. For many residents this is the last roof over their heads that they rent. The next move is to the adjacent park. Some residents though are headed out of here on their way up to somewhere better.

Take Cindy for instance, almost three months now, from the death grip of crack. She passes early in the morning her eager dogs waking the neighbors. Sometimes I call out to her, saying that my pup and I will meet her across the street. The dogs have a place to romp free in the empty industrial lot, at least for now. There are signs that construction will begin soon, though.

Cindy is edgy again, she has trouble from a recent marriage breakdown. She and her “old man” were co-dependent, cross addicted and destined to smash into the wall. We talk in addict code. She claims three or four separately manifesting mental illnesses, justifying her woes. That puts a superior smile on my face, because I am sure that no more than two manifestations inhabit my mind.

Cindy will make it because she wants to. Crack is not invincible and its harm could be mitigated by stepping up recovery support in all phases. Those whose fears cause them to instantly write off someone who is on crack/ junk/ crystal meth and other dangerous drugs, do much harm by vanquishing hope. Given a bit of encouragement the human spirit can triumph over anything.