I don’t get it. Denial. I really don’t understand it. There are some people close to me who say I was in denial at one point. But I was never in denial. I just didn’t know what to do about my problem. But make no mistake, I knew I had a problem. There was no denial.
I have, however, lived my whole life surrounded by people in denial. My mother has lived this way her whole life. She can deny the very nose on her face. She can look in the mirror and turn around and tell you there is no nose on her face. A number of years ago she had a blood clot that burst in her lung. She landed in the hospital and asked to see me. We are estranged and I guess a near-death experience is the only thing that could possibly draw us together. I went to see her and I was a kind and dutiful daughter, if somewhat reserved. Our estrangement is due entirely to her denial and ultimate betrayal of me. She did what she does best; she talked about herself. She told me how she had ignored the symptoms she was having and how, at one point, she had walked straight into a sliding glass door. “You know your mother,” she laughed. ” She doesn’t see what’s right in front of her face!”

No, I don’t get denial. How can you not see what’s right in front of you?