The Fog

Many years ago, probably more than ten, I played golf at the Crooked Tree Golf Club in Petoskey, Michigan. For those who don't know where Petoskey is located, it's on Lake Michigan at the very top of the lower peninsula of the state. It was the last day of my summer vacation, and it was a bright sunny day which seemed perfect for 18 holes. While I was making my way from the clubhouse to the first tee, a thick layer of fog rolled in off the lake and made it virtually impossible to play. The fog was as thick as I had ever encountered and I could maybe see only 20 yards ahead. Of course I gave it a go playing the first three or so holes in the fog, losing quite a few balls and racking up a big score. Eventually, the breeze blew the fog away and the day was very pleasant.

As someone afflicted with depression, I will at times (now included) suffer from a condition I call "the fog." Very much like Crooked Tree, I never know when it's going to roll in. Any number of things can trigger it, with no rhyme or reason. At one time extreme stress will trigger it, other times stress does not. I've found things like frustration, confusion and disappointment can initiate an episode. Holiday's usually don't have any affect on me, although I will concede that my birthday this year likely contributed to my current condition.

While it's difficult to explain "the fog" I'll give it a try. My mind goes what I'll term numb, except for the dull, ever present headache. It's hard to concentrate on any task, no matter how routine. Indecision reigns, making it tough to figure out what to do next or how to do it. I'll often walk into a room, forgetting why I went in there. Even though the brain goes numb, the nerve endings seem to ignite. The senses become heightened, making such things as bright light and loud music not just annoying but actually painful. "The fog" also enhances many of the common characteristics associated with depression including low self esteem and worthlessness, helplessness, isolation, feeling overwhelmed, thoughts of suicide, etc.

Much like the atmospheric condition, "the fog" is possible for me to muddle through. Just like you can drive in fog, I can operate at a much reduced field of vision and speed. It's murky and dark, but slowly and methodically I can inch along. Also similar to the real thing, "the fog" burns off slowly and eventually yields a clear mind and outlook. How long it takes to clear varies with each episode. Much like the randomness that sets off an event, there is nothing that I or anyone else can do to help. I have to ride out the storm and hope it doesn't linger an extended period.

As you can gather from the length of this post my current "fog" is starting to lift, allowing me to slowly return to my semi-normal self. It also explains the last two days of blog posts, an outward expression of the pain and inner turmoil that "the fog" brings. I'll be ok, but it's going to take a while... until the weather changes and the clouds return anew.