The Fog

I’m sorry.

To those who knew me before my mental illness and are wondering who the person that inhabits my body is now, I’m sorry.

You see, mental illness has been a slow-growing fog in my life, creeping up from the edges and slowly covering all memories of who I was before it arrived. So, when I look back at my life, I see snatches of golden memories or tiny bits of conversations, but they’re all covered with a thin veneer of fog.

It’s like I’m in a clearing, standing on a damp patch of ground, squinting into the swirling fog that surrounds me, trying to see who I was when I knew you. But I can’t. All I can see is who I am right now.

And it’s not that I don’t remember YOU. It’s that I don’t remember ME when I was with you. It’s a lingering feeling of guilt, that if I were to try to be the person you knew back then, I would feel as if I was putting on an ill-fitting sweater and getting my head stuck in the too-small head hole. And I know how disappointing that is to you.

I’ve grown out of that sweater; I’ve been dragged, kicking and screaming through the mud and blood; and when I emerged, I found myself stronger, sadder, more broken, yet more mended than I was before. So do you see why I can no longer fit in that old sweater? I’m something new, and that sweater has no room for the wings I’ve grown.

So to those of you who were accidentally hit or kicked in the midst of my flailing, and found that you needed to take a step back from the mess that I am--I’m sorry I hurt you. To those of you who see the person that you knew and find that person to be someone you don’t really like-- I’m sorry I can’t be who you want me to be. I don’t blame you at all for feeling hurt, betrayed, and confused.

But the truth is…the person you knew no longer exists. It sucks to say. But someone else is here in her place, and she’d love a chance to get to know you, if you can make room on the seat next to you for her wings.