It was a mist that started as an irritant and grew into a fog that shrouded everything. You were invisible to me, unable to help as I hid what I thought was reality for fear of where it would lead me. I slogged onward but the fear grew with the depth of surrounding fog. the fog in front, the fear dogging my steps replacing my shadow at every turn.
At first I thought that the mist was a friend. A way to gently conceal the ugly and protect the self from deeper pain. But then it took over and became the fog that bore down so heavy onto me that I stagger as I walked. It was no longer of my creation, it was now more of my living nightmare.
It was all invisible to you but I knew it was there. I created much of it or did I simply borrow the shroud from the words of others accepting them as my new truth. I am so confused please don’t leave me here alone.