Fog

For weeks, I felt like I was alone in a small dark room with a broken flashlight. It was a familiar room, but lonely. I could hear the voices of the people I care about, but I couldn't see them. I couldn't find a window or a door to open to let the light in, afraid to move lest I stumble and fall over something unseen in the dark. Then a door was opened slightly for me, and I could see a little glimmer of soft light shining through the crack. In that light, I could begin distinguishing the features of the room I've trapped myself in. Surrounded by my past mistakes and fears and unsure of what lies ahead for me, I tried to slowly make my way toward the door, cautious not to stumble over some unseen fear or disguised mistake left undiscovered in this dim little room.

Since that door was opened, I have been wandering around in a fog. I'm here, but not quite all there, if you get what I mean. I go to work, but I don't really feel like I'm there. I get the work done, but it feels like someone else is doing it. I just seem to be going through the motions of my life. I'm neither happy, nor sad...I just exist. It's a strange place to be in, but I've been here before as well. I'm glad for the reprieve from the sadness that has clouded most of the winter for me, for the light that has pierced the darkness of my room ever so slightly, but I still feel lost and confused. Although I am exhausted all the time and dizzy some of the time, I am hopeful that the medication I've started on will help open the door to my little room wider and flood it with the warmth and sunlight that seemed like a distant memory not too long ago. Maybe someday soon I will find the peace I seek.