I'm not even going to try and address the fact that it's 12:23 am on Valentine's Day... I can't go there.
Diazepam is a strange thing. I've recently begun therapy and at the suggestion of my therapist and doctor, I've started taking Diazepam on an "as needed" basis. This is for my anxiety and insomnia. It's helping, to my pleasure and satisfaction. I looked the drug info up online and learned that it is a Valium substitute. Powerful stuff, yeah? Valium, isn't that the drug rock stars over-dose on? Whatever.
I lied to the doctor and said 2/3 of my anxiety comes form school work. This is not the case and the reality is that 20% of my stress and anxiety comes form school work. The other 80% comes from feeling displaced, and feeling like if I try hard enough to feel connected I'll be okay. False. I'm not okay. My anxiety comes from wondering, comes from questions I have, comes from the emptiness of not understanding this whole situation I'm in. I mean, I understand what adoption is, I understand what it means to be gay, too. I don't understand why though. And my anxiety comes from not knowing and wanting to know so badly.
I'm having a hard time seeing into my future, and every attempt to make future plans ends up feeling useless. Instead I am looking a lot to my childhood for solid ground. I am so fond of my childhood in retrospect. It was filled with fun activities, music, love, laugher, necessary tears, and smiles. I look to my when my mom would help us dye Easter eggs (although we are Jewish); I look to my sister and me dressed in matching shirts; I look to our family vacations on The Cape, our family photos by the lifeguard stand, trips to the penny candy store, collecting hermit crabs; I look to the nights when my dad sang James Taylor to me until I fell asleep. Those are things that I have; they are mine. I can feel those memories with a certainty the future does not have. I hold onto those things because they are what give me hope.
Sometimes my anxiety induces periods of little sleep where my mind races and I ponder and ponder. I don't like those times, but they happen because my mind needs to stretch its legs. I think about adoption, about being gay, about my civil rights, about movies, about stories and poems I have in me, about family. I ponder, I wonder what my family will be like when I am older. I once told a friend, Kim, that I don't think I could ever know how to raise a biological child, that I would be good at raising an adopted child. I hope my children do not suffer the way I am, although I know I cannot protect them from feeling down (or Diazepam). In the moments when I wonder about the maybe-family I might have, I question whether or not in taking Diazepam, I'm limiting my thoughts.
When I say Diazepam is a funny thing, I mean it's funny that it can make this boy's tired and racing mind quiet down and rest.