Walking Pneumonia

When I was in Junior High I came down with pnuemonia. I was completely exhausted, had a fever and DID NOT want to go to school. Because I was an epic liar back then and didn't finish my homework packet my desperate pleas to stay home from school fell on deaf ears. My mom made me finish my hw packet, took me to school to turn it in and when she realized my flushed cheeks were NOT from me sneaking makeup--it was a fever--she took me straight to the doctor. I got diagnosed with pneumonia, and my mom felt terrible. She explained to the doctor that she had pneumonia before, and she was laid out flat. And I went to track practice and a birthday party last night! The doc explained that i had what they call "walking pneumonia"---it was still pneumonia and it was still really bad, but I was still able to walk around and do things even though I was falling apart.

I'm telling this story because the other day I realized I have "walking depression" or "functioning clinical depression". On the outside I seem like I'm doing fine but in reality I want to sleep until I'm 100 years old. 6 weeks ago I was pregnant with a little girl--I was really sick and made it to 18 weeks in my pregnancy when my OB couldn't find a heartbeat. So 6 weeks ago Cam and I walked into labor and delivery and I delivered my little girl. A few hours later we walked out of the hospital empty handed. 

And I just haven't seemed to recover from that.

A week after it happened I noticed a lot of people asking if I'm "okay?" or "doing okay?" These questions were usually asked by men with a hope and expectation that I would say I'm fine. Women, who tend to be more intuitive, ask if I'm physically recovered: I guess a lot of them understand this isn't a situation you "get over" quickly. But now that it's been 6 weeks, it seems like there is an expectation, no matter the gender, that I get on with things. Am I still looking for a house? Why haven't I walked through any houses the past 3 weeks? Why aren't you traveling this summer? Why don't you want to host people at your house right now? They're family right? Why did you cut all your hair off?!

I don't know how to tell the asker that each of these questions feels like a physical assault. I'm so exhausted I don't want to answer. But here's my best effort: yes we are still looking for a house. It is a depressing and degrading thing to try and buy a house in this market and to make it worse we're dealing with a big loss. I cry after every house hunt because even I'm not sure what i'm looking for anymore: a 4 bedroom feels too big but a 3 bedroom is admitting there is no room for the baby we lost. And trying to deal with emotional trauma on top of house hunting ON TOP OF my kiddos birthdays was just too much. So we took a break. Also, everything on the market is shit. 

We're not traveling this summer because...we're looking for a house! and we're moving end of July...so when exactly do we have time to travel?! And no! I don't want to host people in my home, even family, because 1. people suck at talking about loss and grief and I literally can't or 2. I don't have it in me for the emotional burden of family processing their grief AT me. 

And for real, DO NOT get defensive with me right now. (That's the other weird thing, when people say 'I don't know what to say' to me, I usually tell them to just say they're so sorry and leave it at that. No testimony, no stories about friends who have gone through something similar. Just 'I'm sorry'. You would not believe the push back I get on that. I'M SORRY?! WERENT YOU JUST ASKING ME WHAT TO SAY?!)

Oh and my hair. Put two and two together: I had a major loss in my life and then 2 weeks later I cut off 18 inches of my hair. Gimme your best guess. And here's a hint: no. Cutting all my hair off will not make me feel better. 

...

18 months ago when I lost my brother I was consumed with grief and rage. I was so sad, and so sick of feeling sad that I welcomed the rage. I felt like I had a high simmer of hot lava anger inside of me at all times. So when we lost the baby I kept waiting for the rage--but all I've felt is sad. Surprisingly almost as sad as when my brother died. This whole thing has just cut me off at the knees, but all I feel is sad. Like something has grabbed me by the ankle and dragged me deep under dark water. Or that I'm walking around in my regular life but with 200 lbs strapped on my back. Thats where I am. So no, I don't want to look at houses now. But after writing all this I think I can see the rage peeking through.