The Fog

The fog is closing in.

I can sense it.
Feel it closing around me, stealing all joy.

Nothing is wrong.
But things don't seem right, either.

I have everything I could want or need.
I feel guilty for not being content.

Nothing satisfies.
Nothing seems worthwhile.

The mess bothers me but the energy required to fix it is too much.
There is so much to do.

Physical fog has a sense of mystery and adventure.  There is great beauty in it and the way it transforms the landscape.

This is not beautiful.
There is no adventure and the only mystery is why.

Why does this happen to me?
Why can't I be satisfied with my wonderful life?
Why does it come once or twice a year and engulf me, paralyse me?

I can't be a good mother or wife like this.
I can't provide what they need from me.

The fog seeps through my skin, dulling the nerves.  It tries to claw its way further in, to take everything from me.  I fight but I'm losing grip on my weapons.

How can I turn the tide?
Where is the sun to burn the fog away?

I can't see the light that I know is there.
I struggle on, knowing that in the past it has eventually moved on and I have emerged from the other side.
Is the other side just around the corner, or have I only begun the journey?