People tell me all the time, how lucky I am. I guess it’s true, although, deep down, under the glamour and ease of my days I wonder, am I really?

Lucky.

Ever since I was a child, things, people came easy to me. I never struggled for anything. If I needed it, it was provided for me, almost without want. grades, friends, work, and love. everyone loves me. I don’t even try, and still, it comes to me in abundance.

I met my spouse years ago, while I was on a vacation, a contest I'd won to the southern tips of Florida. She was the bartender at the bar we spent most of our days at. Before I knew it, we were spending all of our evenings together. My buddies gave me a terrible time about hanging out with a local, but there was something particularly intriguing about her. With her, there was a challenge, not everything came as easy, she made me work for it, if you will.

But after a few years of back and forth, I convinced her to give up her life there, and join me in mine. NYC, the mecca of the good life. Well, at least mine was. on occasion I would throw some money at the homeless problem, it made my bride proud to be a part of something that aided her fellow man. Homeless not helpless was her slogan. She ran a food kitchen out a small van I bought her. aided the single moms educating their children. really trying to make a difference. I was only glad she was happy, made my life easier when she was.

Life took on a whole new perspective with her in my life. I began to need her around me all the time. I had never felt more for anyone ever in my life, and I was willing to do whatever it took to keep her. anything.

"Mike, Mike, hey buddy, are you still with us?" I felt a tug on my arm, waking me from a deep sleep.

"There he is, okay, hey buddy, can you take a sip of water for me? Come on Mike, are you with me?" I squinted and wiped my eyes, trying to get a bearing on what was happening.

"What is going on?" I asked, my throat burned like it was on fire as the words made their way out. "Where am I?" I began frantically looking around and noticed that I was surrounded by dozens of police cars. worried that something bad had happened to my wife I asked, "Where is Cali?"

As they lifted me to my feet, I could see her. She looked as if she had been through the ringer and the fear on her face as our eyes met, wounded me. "Cali," I cried out, "baby don't worry, everything will be ok." I made that promise having no idea what was happening.

Next thing I know the police are cuffing me while reading me my Miranda rights.

Three days later, I was admitted into the psych ward to have them evaluate my sleeping disorder and use of Ambien.

It's been a year since the events that took place that night. I have come to realize that the entire thing was a dream. An adverse reaction to the drug, Ambien. I had unknowingly kidnapped this young girl that I called Cali, she ran the food truck for the homeless, and convinced myself into believing that she was my wife. None of my story is factual.

My takeaway; don't buy your sleep aids from the guy on the corner.