Hello and welcome to An Altitude Problem, where when the sun shines, all is well. I think that we won't remember a lot of this winter in the future. It goes that way with the bad times- our minds block them. When people remind me of details of my life, the things I don't remember, trips I can barely remember taking, things I can barely remember doing, those are the things that happened while I was sad or grieving or overwhelmed. I think this winter may be one of those times.

Maybe it's SAD (Seasonal Affective Disorder). That's when the weather actually affects your mental balance. There have been so many sloppy, gray, cold, windy days this winter that the few nice ones stand out. They stand out as the ones I didn't cry. Like three days ago, when the thermometer showed 70 degrees and the wind was not howling, and I went outside and the world felt good. I don't know. It has been one unsettling thing after another this winter for us- the big job change, the move to Kansas, the uncertainty of not knowing where we would live and then finding someplace that had weird emotions attached to it, being close to my family again, which is a good thing, but brings more knowledge of the stuff they are dealing with. The stress of bills coming due without income to cover them, since it has been such a wet winter, the stress of B being home, listless and antsy to work, the stress of wanting to try to get pregnant, but switching over insurance and not knowing what we would need to pay if it happened too soon, the stress of still paying off the bill from the last miscarriage, the brief moment of elation tinged with worry when I got pregnant again. The almost instantaneous mental imbalance and physical tiredness and dizziness caused by raging hormones, during which I wondered who had crawled inside my skin and replaced me, since I was simultaneously a more gentle and more irritable person, which threw B for a loop and made him unpredictable when I needed him to be dependable. The same hormones that, when introduced to the natural feelings of grief and loss- anger, betrayal and self-pity, magnified every emotion to the boiling point. In the middle of it all, there have been long hours in waiting rooms for surgeries- reconstructive for my mom, and what turned out to be a triple bypass and a valve repair for my grandpa. I am aware of how blessed I am that those who are important to me woke up from surgeries and are on the mend. Those have been their battles to fight, and they make mine seem insignificant, but at this point it seems less about the size of the battle and more about my inability to move on.

Now that the hormones are finally beginning to stabilize a bit, I am left with a bit of a void, listless and unsure of myself and I am still sad. Especially on the cloudy, windy days when the cold cuts through coats and pants and makes me shiver and shivering rattles me apart and makes all the bad stuff come crashing back. I won't lie and say I came through this last miscarriage with anything like grace. There has been a lot of sadness, sadness that I am not sure is entirely in proportion with losing a pregnancy. A lot of it has to do with the fear that this time confirms that it will be a long, difficult road for us. A lot of it has to do with losing hope that my future will be like I had thought it would be. Some of it is the dread of what we will have to go through to have a successful pregnancy. Some of it is the feeling of being so alone, even in a crowd, because everyone else seems to have lives that are moving forward and mine feels so stagnant right now. Yes, a little of it is resentment that B wants so badly to have his own biological child, which means we cannot move forward and start the adoption process, as I have wanted to do for years. (We have been dialoging about this and searching for compromise. He knows how I feel, and he knows this is not personal resentment, since I am also committed to bringing a biological child into the world, and I know how he feels. It's a difficult situation to be in, when ideals clash with instinct and my body makes a simple solution impossible. Both instinct and ideals are important and both affect us in irreversible ways.)

In a way, this miscarriage has prepared him for fatherhood. The next time it happens, his first response won't be negative, off the cuff, like last time. He doesn't deal well with surprises, even good ones, but he understands very well the concept of working toward something. If this next one costs him time and money and doctor's appointments and the loss of his privacy, it will be a good thing when it happens. He finally admits how excited he grew over the last one the longer it held on, and how angry he was at himself for becoming that excited when we lost it.

I know this is normal. But I admit to crashing pretty hard this winter. There seems to be very little to be excited about. We are unable to move onto the farm until spring, which is gnawing at us because I have no projects to do in a house we will be leaving soon, on a yard I have no future in, with no resources to work with. With resources I could do other projects, like finally learn another language or get an online degree in my stagnant time, but that's not an option right now. If we were already at the farm I could start projects and distract myself, but the current tenants need more time to find another place, so B continues to drive there every morning and work from the shop and think about how wonderful it would be if we could live on-site, but in the meantime, we are unable to move forward. I feel guilty wishing the tenants would move out, since it is a good fit for them and it is more than we deserve to be able to live there. So every day I go do something that does not contribute to my future, it's just busyness, or I sit in this house reading or watching a fluffy movie (because documentaries and shows and movies about current issues tends to make me want to direct energy into changing the world, which as I realize isn't an option, leads to more feelings of uselessness). I look outside at tossing, waving tree branches, and this house, all but the living room, is perpetually cold, so even going into the kitchen to cook has me shivering. And we know how I feel about shivering. I try to articulate how I feel to a few good friends in the hopes that getting the words right will illuminate the way to fix me, and they understand, or try to, but hearing myself say it makes the guilt mount that I have a good life, so why am I sad?

And then the sun shines and the wind stops and for that one day, I feel like myself. I feel happy. Life doesn't seem so tragic. I become ashamed of myself for being so down. I get out my bike and I ride it and the wind isn't cutting through my clothes and I'm okay. Which makes me wonder if all I am feeling is the weather.

I am sorry this post isn't more encouraging or entertaining. It is honest. I have watched others deal with debilitating depression before and I know the signs. I also know that I am displaying the signs. If I saw a friend in my situation, I would be worried. But I am not yet ready to say that the signs are anything but circumstantial, and that changing my circumstances won't make them go away. I just have to find a way to fight it until my circumstances change- until someone can tell me what is wrong with my body, why it won't allow a baby to stay in there, whether or not it will ever be able to keep one in there, until the days warm up and I can be outside, planting a garden, working in the healing dirt and the loving sun, until I can get over myself enough that I can be around babies and pregnant women and not feel like I am crumbling inside of myself, until I can work toward something, anything. Until I can start a project or two, and they can make me feel enthusiasm again. Until I can stop leaning on poor B to make me feel better, and start giving back to him again.

I don't say that as a big revelation or a cry for help, but just as a fact that i can be honest about, and as such, begin to try to rise above it- I am not okay right now. I haven't been okay for several months. I may not be okay for several more. But it will happen. I have faith in myself enough to know that it will. I will be okay at some point in the future. In the meantime, I have to be happy and thankful for the few times in the middle of this crash that the spikes happen, the sun shines, and I forget to be sad.

I write this because I want everyone reading it who has dealt with depression and sadness and negative emotions to know what I know- it's not a shameful thing to admit it. Mature friends won't freak out and will know when they need to step in. It's ebb and flow, up and down- a life is. It is okay to admit when you are down and that you fear when the other shoe is going to drop. The only requirement one should follow after such an admission is the promise that everyone will also know when it is better. And the understanding that better isn't always pefect, it's just better. We take what we can get.

I am employing a trick I learned about at a personal level five years ago during a crash like this brought on by our marriage falling apart and us discovering that we needed to rebuild it, a process that we saw could take years before we were back to our easy level of trust and hope. It's a little bit obvious, but only those who have lived it know how useful it really is. It's called "one day at a time". It's the knowledge that I'm not required to prepare myself for future hard times, I just have to get through this one. And I am not required to see this one through to the end, I am only required to get through the next 24 hours. Removing the pressure of needing to be okay long term lifts a burden from me and suddenly I am able to think about the future, a future that only extends 24 hours ahead of me, with happiness. By removing the need to think about the future, I am forced to live in the present, and I do not see any other shoes dropping in the next 24 hours. That is freeing. That is a joyful thought. There will be no more miscarriages in the next 24 hours. I can stay here and just exist and not need to be working toward something for the next 24 hours. I can avoid (or even be exposed to and be mature about and happy for) all the people involved with babies and pregnancies for the next 24 hours. I can shove the anger and betrayal, and the guilt of feeling anger and betrayal, away for the next 24 hours. And for the next 24 hours, I can be okay.

So, faithful few who are concerned after this post in which I admit that I am not really okay right now, you don't need to worry about me for the next 24 hours. Or the 24 after that. Or the 24 after that, although we are not breaking the rules and making any agenda for future 24 hour periods of time.

So here's to the next 24. They're gonna be good.