Today I don’t feel well. I’m exhausted, nauseated, and cranky. (Leave me alone.) I have a headache. I can’t tell you how much I want to feel like myself again. I’m fed up with being sick, with whatever this is. As Chris Rock says, “I’m tired of this shit–tired, tired, tired.” I give up. I cry uncle.

Also, I don’t know what to write about.

Earlier today I read about coping mechanisms–perfectionism, staying busy, drinking yourself under the table every night of the week and twice on Fridays–things like that. One coping mechanism that caught my attention, probably because it was used as an example, was denial. You know denial. It sounds like, I don’t have a problem, It won’t happen to me, and No, my son’s not gay, he just tweezes his eyebrows every morning and spends his afternoons shopping for Judy Garland memorabilia on eBay. (Don’t all boys?) Anyway, the book said that coping mechanisms like denial aren’t all-bad. Like, if you’re in miserable job or horrible marriage, don’t ignore the facts forever. But if you’re simply not ready to turn your life upside down this red-hot minute, grab a tub of ice cream and watch Sleepless in Seattle. In other words, denial won’t get you through the rest of your life, but it will get you through the night.

And don’t worry–your problems will still be there in the morning.

This is what I’m finding. No problem goes away until it’s fully acknowledged and dealt with. Honestly, I think that’s part of the reason I’ve been so worn out these last few months and why this blog has been so emotionally draining since its inception. It takes a lot to be vulnerable every day, to sit with all your good and bad memories, to really get honest about the deep waters stirring in your internal well. Seriously, I don’t recommend it, since most days you feel like crying, but you’re also afraid to because–What if I never stop? You think, I’m not sure this well has a bottom.

Personally, that’s what I’m not sure about. I believe I heal a little bit every day–at least on the inside–but we’re talking about over thirty years of memories and emotions here, and everything all jumbled altogether. Some days it’s like a tornado whirling inside, and you never know what’s going to be spun out. But I’m trying to trust that what needs to come up will come up when it needs to. This, of course, requires patience, and if I haven’t said it before–I hate that.

In addition to trying to be patient with my emotional body, I’m also trying to be patient with my physical body. I’m still waiting on the immunologist to call, and I go back to my internist in two weeks. Today I’ve been worried about my lethargy and malaise. I guess at some point I’ll need to do something about it. Like, I might have to take shots, change my diet, or put something on my skin. Even though I don’t have an official diagnosis or prescription yet, I’m sure there are some things I could be doing now. Like everyone else in America, I could always eat better. But tonight I had tacos and denial for dinner. I told myself, I’m fine–I’ll deal with whatever it is later.

Honestly, that’s all I can give myself at the moment–a break. A break from trying to figure everything out. A break from having to try so hard in the first place. A break from needing to be perfect. A break, I’m learning, is no small thing to give yourself. After all, you can’t spend every moment of every day in your deep waters. You have to come up for air occasionally.