(Poetry Month – Week Two)
The fog is here again.
You never know when it is coming.
You never know how long it will stay,
or how much of it there will be.
Sometimes it is more mist than fog.
Mist you can see through,
but everything is fuzzy around the edges.
Fog stops your vision and
forces you to stay right where you are.
You can not go forward,
you don’t dare go back,
you are paralyzed.
Mist makes your face damp
when you walk in it.
Fog drops heavy drips around and on you.
Mist is cool and smells fresh and clean.
Fog is thick and stuffy and stale.
The fog won’t let you come out.
You must stay inside yourself
until the fog clears.
Please, let there be strong wind and bright sun today
to clear the fog
so the girl can come out and play.
This poem is simply about depression and my perception of one of the many ways it presents. I inherited my depression from my father and I have been medicated since the late 1990’s. I am extremely thankful that I recognize my depression and can actively try to counter the affects. I read something once where a person said everything he didn’t want to do and every event he didn’t want to attend, he made himself go and always ended up having a good time. He met new and interesting people or even just felt better for being out and interacting. I try to follow this practice and it really does make a difference. I am a very social person and staying home alone when I’m depressed is not helpful. Talk to someone, call a therapist, get medicated. It all makes a difference. Depression is a chemical imbalance, you can address that and make it better.
My Patio 