Blah. That’s how I’ve felt all day today, probably because I partied hard last night. And whereas pizza and beer make you feel good in the moment, they apparently don’t make you feel good the next day. Since I woke up this morning, all I’ve wanted to do is lie around. So other than leaving my bedroom for two meals, that’s pretty much what I’ve done–stayed in bed to sleep in, stayed in bed to read a book, stayed in bed to take a nap (until our dog, Ella, barked her ever-loving butt off at whatever the hell was so important outside and woke me up).

Blah.

What sucks about feeling blah is that all your blah thoughts get together and put on a parade in your head. One by one they march across the theater of your mind as they kick up their heels and wave around their pom-poms of negativity. Your life sucks! Everything is falling apart! Gooooooo team! That’s about what things have sounded like in my head today. Real hopeful, I know.

This evening after taking Tom Collins (my car) to the car wash to clean him up for Mother’s Day tomorrow, I went for a run, three miles, I think. That helped a little, smelling the honeysuckle, burning up my frustrations under a blanket of stars. I’m really not a natural runner, but I love the way my feet strike the pavement. Starting off they’re heavy and awkward, then later they’re like a metronome, slow and steady. I guess there’s something about finding my rhythm on the road that makes me think one day I’ll find my rhythm in life as well.

Since getting home, I’ve been obsessed with my histamine levels. I spent a while rubbing some sore muscles, and my skin has been red and inflamed from the friction for over an hour. That’s not normal, I’ve been thinking, and I haven’t been able to stay off Google. I keep telling myself that I have doctors to figure this stuff out, but there’s such a large part of me that feels like I’ve got to do it on my own. I feel that way a lot, like I’m solely responsible for making my dreams come true, providing for myself, and even healing. As if I’m not part of a family, a community, or a universe.

As if I’m an island.

This “I’ll take care of it myself, damn it” attitude started when I was a child, I’m sure. Mom was sick and Dad was often absent, so my sister and I essentially raised ourselves. Personally, I see a lot of good that’s come out of this situation. For example, I’m highly independent and can think on my feet. I don’t mind going to the movies or eating out alone. Hell, I actually enjoy it. But the downside to doing everything by yourself for so long is that it not only makes it tough to trust other people, but also makes it tough (really tough) to ask for help. Isn’t that funny? There’s not a thing in this universe that doesn’t depend on something else for its existence, and yet admitting you’re not self-sustaining always feels so–so–embarrassing.

Or is that just me?

I guess we all want to be like the honeysuckle–wild, free, and never embarrassed. Likewise, we all want to feel connected, not just know it in our heads. Personally, I know logically that I’m not alone out here. I have a lot of support–my family, my friends, my therapist. And yet on blah days I have a hard time remembering that I’m connected, supported, and cared for. When you’ve raised yourself, it’s easy to forget that you’re part of something bigger. And yet surely every lone star belongs to a larger constellation, and surely we all shine brighter together.