The fog is dense. I can only see enough to put one foot in front of the other. I can feel its thickness as I move through it. Although it’s beautiful outside, the sun shines through cracks in the clouds, but my head is heavy.
Sometimes I can see light, a dim light pushing its way through the haze. It seems so far away, but it’s there. The sign of hope, when I can see nothing else.
I shake my head, rub my eyes, trying not to smear the makeup that lines them. I can’t find a clear thought as I work through the day. Just haze, just fog – just clouds that make it difficult to breathe.
This fog is my reality. Sometimes it’s lighter. Sometimes more sun pushes its way through – more hope resides.
Other times…it’s really dark.
Because I can’t see, I find myself at the edge. The edge of a bridge, or a dock or a beach. I can almost feel the water touch my toes. I close my eyes to try to visualize the sensation. I fall. Falling into the water…I feel my body break the water’s surface.
Rewind…I gasp. I’m still standing on that edge. I try to slow my breathing, the fog begins to clear a bit – the light…the light is there again. Hope…is here again.
Pretty or Not 