A Journey Through the Fog

Every day was a battle, a test of strength against this invisible enemy that lived within her own body. Some days, the fog was thin enough to see through, allowing her to navigate life with some sort of normalcy. Other days, it was a thick, and suffocating. It made the simplest tasks seem almost impossible. But no matter the day, she faced the fog head-on, determined not to let it define her.

There were days when the fog was thick, clouding her mind and stealing away her thoughts, leaving her lost in a haze. This wasn’t just any fog—it was the kind that thickened with the pain of fibromyalgia, turning her brain to mush and making even the simplest task feel like climbing a mountain. On those mornings, getting out of bed was an achievement—the smell of coffee in the air bought her to life. She dragged myself upright, shuffling to the kitchen.

"Good morning, old friend," she mumbled to the French Coffee Press, giving it an affectionate pat. "You’re the only one who understands me."

The truth was, her relationship with pain and the fog had outlasted most of her friendships. They were constant companions, hiding behind every movement, every thought. But she didn’t want them to take the spotlight, they didn’t deserve it. She had a life to live.

On particularly bad days, when the fog in her mind was thickest, she found herself whispering to the pain and the fog that was always there, as if they were unwelcome roommates, unpleasant ones. "Well, Fog," she would say as she  tried to remember where she’d put the car keys, "you’re really being a jerk today. Could you maybe take a vacation? I heard the Bahamas are lovely this time of year."

The fog, like the pain, never responded. It preferred to communicate by stealing her words mid-sentence, leaving her grasping at empty air. She imagined it would have a very dry sense of humor if it could talk, just like her. But, since it couldn’t, she filled in the blanks herself.

One day, after managing to walk to her favorite park bench, she sat down and weakly sighed. The bench overlooked a small pond where ducks paddled, utterly carefree. She watched them and was envious for a moment, wishing she could float through life with such grace. Fibromyalgia was a weight holding her down. She felt as if she had weights all over her body holding her down while grasping for air.

A young girl passed by, skipping so happily while she tightly  held her teddy bear.

"Hi," the girl said smiling at her. The girl asked, "What’s your bear’s name?"

The woman stuttered for a moment caught off guard. "Oh, I, uh… don’t have a bear."

The little girl frowned and wondered why she said no. "That’s okay. You can borrow mine. His name is Furry" She put the bear into the woman’s hands because she saw the woman was not feeling well, fibromyalgia struck again". The little girl said,” hold him, he helps when you’re having a bad day."

The woman smiled, touched by the kindness of the child’s intentions. "Thank you, Furry," she said gently, giving the bear a gentle squeeze, "You seem very nice”.

The girl giggled, then ran away, leaving the woman alone with bear. For a moment, she sat there, holding the stuffed bear, feeling a like a child. But then, she thought, why not? If this little girl could find comfort in something so small, maybe she could too…to be continued.

The beginning of a short story that will be posted in pieces