What follows is an extremely personal entry. I'm not looking for sympathy, or compassion, or any sort of "you're okay with me," statement. If you have a similar experience in life, or know someone who has, please feel free to respond. Thank you.
I woke this morning, troubled again... and no, my beard is not the issue. Actually, I'm still getting used to my strange, round face, but I like the short goatee. Yes, I like it very much.
Leafing through old files last night, in search of an old lds church document, I found some papers that I had written for past literature classes. I couldn't believe the growth in my writing from one year to the next... and I'm embarrassed at what I have lost.
I'm not sure whether drinking, which had effected my short-term memory, has caused any other sort of cerebral damage. Or, perhaps I have only lost the passion to take writing seriously (and have fun with it). I'm not sure... I know that, at the time I was writing the papers which impressed me most (last night), I was the happiest that I had/have ever been.
One paper I had written was an autobiographical story about the psychological role adoption has played in my life. There was a time, when I was a young child, that I would sleep-walk to my parents bed and stand there as they slept. My mother was disturbed by this behavior, and eventually did some research on sleep-walking children. She came to find that many adopted children displayed this behavior. Psychologists theorized that the sub-conscious child was keeping watch on his/her parents, making sure they did not abandon him/her in the dark of the night.
I am still terrorized by that paranoia: that people will leave me... that I am to be left. It's something that I do not think about often, because it so ingrained in my being. I know that I am going to be abandoned. I am used to living with that fear.
I am used to not feeling worthy of anyone, other than myself. It's something that I wish to overcome, but from what I have read... adoptees live with these sorts of issues their entire lives, regardless of their ability to understand what has, or is happening to them. It is not unreasonable for the first traumatic event of a child's life; birth followed immediately by an abandonment, to have such a huge effect on an individual's life. A backbone of fear... something to always fall back to.
Despite this, I still hold hope that someday that fear will fade out. I do not think it as intense as it was in my youth. As an adolescent I had a terrible time feeling loved, or appreciated. I felt as if always on the outside, looking in at a beautiful world... one in which people loved each other and I was exempt from that community. I no longer feel so alone. I have a small community of people with whom I share a love that is not questioned.
and yet, that shared love always seems so fragile...