On the outside, I appear to have everything. Certainly much more than enough. To be OK. To be more than OK.

But in this moment, I am not OK.

I’m definitely not OK.

We all go through hard times. Most people hide theirs by posting some funny or happy picture on social media. I write about mine. Somewhat publicly. On here.

I have this ability to capture my hardest times in words. From your emails and posts, I know this helps some of you. So to me, it makes this both an ability and a responsibility. A responsibility to continue to write and post. Even when I am at my worst. Even if I am on the bottom. Even if I can’t get up. If it only helps even just one person, I feel like I have to post this.

So here it goes…

I’m in the middle of it right now. Literally as I type this.

It feels like there is a haze over me. A fog that has set in all around me. So thick that even the day. It feels like the night.

This fog weighs on me. Sits heavily on top of my head. Yet engulfs me at the same time. It’s all around me. In every direction.

It makes it hard for me to see out. In the distance. I can’t see six weeks out. I can’t see my hand in front of my face.

I can’t see things I surround myself with every day. Things that I know are still there. Things I think are still there.

I can’t see much of anything.

Anything except this fog.

I can’t even see the ground underneath my feet. Right where I’m standing. And when I press against it, to check if that’s still there. It feels like the very ground I am standing on might give.

It’s beyond unsettling.

In times of great darkness I always thought that you could run in a million directions. Because anything is better than here. Anywhere away from this darkness is closer to light.

But is it?

When you can’t see, how do you know that you’re running in the right direction? What if it’s the absolute wrong direction? The opposite direction. What if you run right into something? How do I know when the fog clears…if I just stayed here, am I already in the paradise for which I have been searching? How do I know if I should just stay right here…and endure?

Staying is unsettling. Running is unsettling. And though I want to, I can’t even fall to this unsteady floor.

I have choices, but no real options.

No options that I know are going to make this fog go away. No options that I know will bring the sun. To burn this off.

And it’s starting to show. If you spend enough time with me you should see it. You must be able to see it.

It’s like this fog has seeped into my brain. I hesitate in my responses, to almost anything. My 7 breaths aren’t enough anymore. That pause. It’s because my brain is working right now. It’s processing. It’s processing things in far different places from where my body may happen to be. It’s like when your phone tries to process several apps in the background. It just takes longer to deliver a simple response. I’m taking longer.

A question like, “How is your day?” is enough. I don’t want to tell anyone close to me. Let alone some stranger all the things in my head. But I know they can all see right through my lies. ‘My day is good,’ is my response. As I break a bit more inside. As my head spins. As my eyes shift away. And point to the ground.

I get lost in conversations. I lose paragraphs and pages while people are talking to me.

Thinking so hard about everything. And nothing.

This can’t continue. Not like this.

I need my head again. I need my eyes again. I need this fog to lift.

But there is no sign of that.

If you asked me today, right now, I would say that this fog isn’t going anywhere at all…ever.

And I know better. I have been here before. Myself. And a lot of people on this site, have been here before too. And I give them advice on how to deal with it.

If you came to me and described this, as how you are feeling. I would tell you that brighter days are definitely ahead. I would tell you that despite all the evidence to the contrary, this is only temporary. I would tell you that I care about you. That I’m thinking positive thoughts for you. The most positive thoughts. That I’m here for you. Whenever and wherever you need. That if there was anything that I could do to make you feel better, just ask and I would do. I would encourage you to do things you are proud to do. Every day. To just start with one thing that you are proud to do. Every single day. And hang your hat on that one thing. I would tell you that I know that this fog will lift.

If you know me and care about me, I’m sure you would say similar things to me. Maybe just a bit differently. Or a bit better than I wrote them. Or maybe after reading this you would simply say, ‘Me too.’ Like you would say the same exact things to me too.

I don’t need or want to talk about this. I don’t think I could articulate it if I did. You just say, ‘Me too.’ And that would be enough. I will thank you for it. And I will mean it. And I will know that you care. And we can get on with life.

I know that if I just give it time. Fog lifts. If you are feeling this fog in your head too…know that your fog will lift as well.

Despite how dense this is. This is just fog.

We will be OK.