Walking through a Fog - that's the way she saw herself. Never really sure of where she was, or what she was doing, only certain that the feeling deep within would not go away. It all started when he passed away. At least she thought that was when it started - she couldn't really remember the day. Come to think of it, she couldn't really remember him either; there were days she wasn't sure if he - or she - had ever existed at all. But she knew the Fog was real. It was surrounding her, suffocating her. And every time she thought she had found the exit, some force seemed to hold her in, pushing her back into the Fog's vortex. Maybe there really was no exit; maybe she was destined to remain encapsulated forever. Yet she knew a better thing existed outside the Fog. There had to be something else, for everyone around her seemed oblivious to the Fog. So she continued to struggle what seemed an unending battle. Then again, maybe everyone else was trapped in his or her own Fog, showing a brave face but inwardly as clouded and confused as her. Maybe she was not the only one, like she so often thought. She could not be sure. Then again, she was no longer sure of anything.
Fog is funny, especially the Fog she was trapped in. She could see the sun, and knew it was out there, but could never really feel it. She couldn't see the Fog, but knew it was there; she could feel it. Things that were, weren't. Things that weren't, were. Just like the mirages one sees in the desert as they begin to fade away. Was it the happiness outside or the misery within that was the mirage? Which was real - the sun or the Fog?
She had goals. She knew what she wanted, what she thought would be strong enough to counter the Fog's grip on her. She knew what it would take to again make her happy. Then again, maybe they were only dreams. Goals are achievable desires; dreams are created fantasies. The lines were beginning to fade; she was no longer sure which was which.
It was lonely in the Fog. Every time she tried to reach out, the power of the Fog pulled her back. Although she yearned for companionship, although she yearned to tell the stories which came from within, the Fog seemed to have taken her voice. When she spoke, it was not her speaking, but the Fog. She said only what the Fog wanted the outside world to know. She was no longer in control.
She could not remember the last time she laughed, and actually felt happy. She could not remember the last time she smiled without actually making an effort to do so. She did them, but only to fool others. Only because she preferred that her Fog remained invisible. Or maybe only because the Fog preferred to exist that way. She could, however, remember the last time she cried; she was crying now. She did that all the time, if not tears on the outside, then tears within. Fog requires a damp environment to thrive. It therefore needed her tears. It needed her tears on the outside to surround her. It needed her tears on the inside to engulf her. She cried because she was unhappy living in the Fog. But her tears only made the Fog grow stronger, and made her feel more trapped.
There had been a time when she had thought the Fog would not last forever. She had denied its existence, chose to ignore its hold. But in doing so now she realized she had only allowed it to grow stronger. She was not sure if there was a way to escape the Fog, but she knew she would keep trying. At one time she had thought that the Fog's power might be lifted if she were no longer. She had thought about ceasing sooner, in an act of defiance, to prove to the Fog that she still had some control. But now she realized that the Fog, too, was controlling that. She felt too powerless, too afraid, to even control the beating of her own heart. So in a reluctant acceptance, she would continue to face what appeared to be the exit. And perhaps someday she would reach the elusive exit to the Fog - the exit to the world she still believed existed outside. The world she saw, but could not touch. And if she could not find the exit, she knew she would then die trying. Someday she would become tired of fighting, let the Fog engulf her completely, and she would simply fade away. Perhaps the Fog would see that as a victory, for it would have finally taken everything that was once her. But she knew that it would be a victory for herself too. That was the only thing she knew for certain. When the Fog lifted, and she was no more, she would finally once again be free.
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