Walking in the Darkness

The darkness descends now and again for a host of reason. This darkness isn’t just an absence of light though. It is sticky and clings to me and wraps me up in its suffocating warmth.  It is a familiar place that is awful and comfortable and can sing me into devastation like the sirens in Homer’s Iliad.  The darkness is not a joke, it is not to played with nor is it to be underestimated.  It can swallow the bravest of hearts whole.  It has swallowed me whole in the past.

Loads of therapy has taught me a few things about my darkness (because everyone’s darkness is specialized and seems to change over time). First, my darkness is not always a choice. Secondly, there are things that I can do to shorten the darkness or at least make it not as dark for as long as it lingers. Lastly, my darkness always passes… eventually.  Because of these facts there are things I do when I feel it begin to descend- that I MUST do if I don’t want to sink into it.  I know that, in the beginning, it is a wonderful thing to sink into the maddening darkness.  I have to resist that wonderful feeling or I am fucked.

When the darkness begins I must do what I call “rally the wagons”.  This means any person, thing or task that depletes me of emotional energy is cut off. Some of my relationships must suffer in order for the relationship with myself to stay in tact.  This can be painful for my friends or acquaintances but for me it is absolutely necessary.  I keep the friends who fill me up spiritually, I keep the relationship that allow me to be myself and not have to give of myself and I ignore the relationships that don’t. Some people in my life shift in and out of these rolls. Some stay in them. I am not always aware of how or when this action takes place. It is a survival skill and it happens swiftly and quickly.

When the darkness has completely set in I begin to light my “candles”.  Candles are anything that create light in the darkness and make me get out of bed.  This can include therapy, exercise, recovery and work.  Therapy is a MUST. Exercise is a must and usually has to include some kind of monthly contract at a gym or I don’t go. Recovery means at least 3 meetings a week and if it is dark enough then I hit one just about every day. I must make myself go to work every day, be on time and take shower to do so. When I do all these things I have a chance of not succumbing to the darkness. 

These candles don’t mean that the depression isn’t there. They simply mean that it’s not as bad as could be.  It means that I’m still functioning, not using and maybe I’m even giving back to my community to do it.  Telling people that I’m depressed, communicating my feelings and allowing myself to feel those feelings is like lighting a campfire.  It not only provides light it provides a real sense of warmth and community. It means that I no longer feel a lone, that others are invited to partake in the conversation. Lighting a campfire is scary because it can mean rejection in the midst of my vulnerability. Usually, I find it a necessary part of my process. 

In spite of candles and campfires I usually find that the sticky darkness can linger.  It is annoying and frustrating and it usually represented by a consistent sadness. It means that every time I get out of bed there is a bit of a struggle and that every time my yoga instructor tells me to breathe the response in my head is “Why don’t you go breathe you asshole?!” and it means I cry for no reason and sometimes cry for a reason and sometimes I just cry. It means that I am resistant and even panic when someone needs me in any emotional way. It means that I just will be in the darkness for a bit longer than I’d like. But I remember, all my darknesses up to this point have passed.

In the mean time, I light a few more candles, begin the campfire and allow myself to love me. Eventually the sun will rise and I’ll feel better and I know that candles and campfire will have helped in the process.

What It's Like to Lose

I wrote this well over a week ago now. I couldn't post it then- I suppose it was still too much and I've thought about not posting it now for a host of reasons. But I think it's important for people to know because a lot of people didn't and it's important to share because a lot of people never do. So there it is. I'll post another update in the next few days- where I was last week is not where I am right now.
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I have struggled with writing this. Getting my emotions down has never been a struggle for me, but this time around I’ve had a hard time grasping what it is that I feel.  My heart is numb and my mind seems to fold in on itself. Isolating myself from the world is such an easy way to escape from being honest. As if I’m floating in space and it absorbs my gravity and doesn’t allow my scream to be heard.

In the midst of my second miscarriage I realize now how many other women I know that have suffered through the loss in silence.  Many have never spoken of the loss to their partners let alone put it out in the universe for the world to contemplate.  But here I am with the weight of it and I’ve no idea how else to process it except to do so with the world at large. I can’t be the only one who feels this way and I certainly can’t be the only one who’s able to share it.

I am on my couch snuggling with my dog Todd- who for over a week now will not leave my side when I am home. He is aware of my emotional state more than most of the humans and I am grateful for his consistent warm presence. But while his warmth eases the pain in my heart the pain in my womb remains palpable. The bulk of the contractions and bleeding has eased but my body and mind remain resistant to the idea of trying again- or at least, trying again any time soon. While, what I want more than anything is my own child, the idea of creating another only to lose it breaks my spirit.

While all this has gone on one of my closest friends has given birth, another is five months pregnant and my news feed seems to constantly be filled with other newborn babes. Someone makes a comment about how I should have children and another person unknowingly talks about how great a mom I would be. These are positive things that bring my heart joy and yet I hate them all. They make me angry and it is unfair. I want to be happy for everyone but I fold into self-pity instead, I withdraw and ignore the world and hope they still love me when I come out of my shell. But I swear, if another person tells me “it will happen when it’s meant to” then I will probably kick them in the face.

It is not as though my body has some understanding of cosmic positioning of baby karma and therefore aborts a fetus because it’s not “meant to happen” right now. And if God as you understand him has some hand in the miscarriage of my child while bringing a crack baby into the world at the same time then I’d like to have none of it. No, for me, “meant to” and “god’s plan” just don’t fit into the achingly painful loss of my womb.

So I have no god to blame and the universe isn’t against me and I am left undone. There is no explanation or understanding of it so I am left with the “what ifs” of the future. What if, after this second one I will go through a third? What if my heart can’t take it again? What damage will another do to my relationship with my husband? What if, after months of healing I don’t want to try again because honestly it has crossed my mind? What if... what if he can’t stomach adoption and I can’t stomach the procedures? The fears of uncertainty are overwhelming.

So I take a breath and move forward. I feel the pain and have moments of sobbing and hold onto my husband while trying to let him go so he can breathe for himself. I try to grasp on to what is real, and true and good and lovely.  He is lovely to me. Those who knew of my pregnancy and loss have mostly been lovely. My dog is lovely and my belief that the pain always passes is a relief. It will pass and it will get different. This truth remains blatantly present on the surface of all my emotions- it will change. Nothing remains the same except for that which does. For the moment, my heart aches and so with it I eat cake and tea and wait for it all to pass.