The Fog I Brought with Me (The Lewy Body Dementia experience)

A family road trip to Wisconsin offered cooler air and scenic beauty, but my mental state tagged along for the ride. Between rising anxiety, fading appetite, and the echo of a dog that wasn’t there, I’m learning how to sit in the fog without letting it consume me. This isn’t a cry for help—it’s just the weather report from inside my head.

This week has taken me on a journey to Wisconsin for Elise's family reunion, and what a journey it has been. The landscapes of Wisconsin continue to captivate with their beauty, and the cooler air is a refreshing contrast to Oklahoma's heat. However, spending hours in a truck, surrounded by family nearly every moment of the day, has been a mixed blessing. While it has been tiring, honing my focus on the present has proven beneficial for my mental well-being.

Prior to this trip, I found myself caught in a depressive phase, but the constant activity and distraction have eased some of those darker feelings. Yet, a lingering sense of apathy clings to me like a shadow, even towards activities I typically enjoy, such as comic books and running. Recently, my indifference has extended to food. Although hunger arrives as usual, my appetite for anything but smoothies, overnight oats, or yogurt has vanished—especially when it comes to meat, which has become particularly unappealing. This has made navigating family meals rather awkward, but I've done my best to maintain a semblance of normalcy.

Anxiety has also intensified, creating a new level of challenge. It greets me each morning, lurks throughout the day, and settles in with me at night. I plan to address this during my next doctor's visit, but for now, I’m putting on a brave face.

For a few days, headaches have crept in, consistent but not sharp—a persistent fog refusing to lift. My body feels off, as always, with temperatures oscillating between too hot and just missing the mark, disrupting my sleep and mood. That nagging discomfort lingers like a constant hum—if you know, you know. Then this morning, I could have sworn I heard Oreo scratching at his pad. I glanced over, but saw nothing—empty space filled my gaze. I sat in that silence, not frightened or surprised, just emptiness washing over me, as if my mind played a trick without clearing the remnants.

This isn't a plea for help; rather, it serves as a snapshot of my current state, a means of acknowledging the struggle so it doesn’t thrive in silence. I’ve become familiar with this place. I hope this isn’t a permanent residence.

If any of this resonates with you, take a moment to pause. Breathe deeply. Nourish yourself with something simple. Hydrate. Step outside, even if just to bask in the sun, feel the rain, or embrace the stillness. We don’t always have to be strong; sometimes, simply making it through the day is the true victory.