The Fog Between My Fingertips


Hollowness, loneliness

Black hole

No light at the top


No one saving me


No future

Just black dreams


Feels like a prison cell


Black fog

Feeling the fog between my fingertips



No treatments working?

No doctors helping?


What kind of life is this

Black death sentence

Written & copyright by Deb McCarthy


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I am a Mental Health Advocate for mental illness Stigma. In 2007, I created the "Living in Stigma" blog, with the purpose and anticipation of educating people about mental illness. Depression is part of this illness, which intertwines with those struggling with PTSD, chronic pain, and other invisible illnesses. I am a chronic migraine sufferer myself, and a sexual and emotional abuse survivor. My passions are writing, poetry, and art. All abuse Survivors are also Warriors.

16 thoughts on “The Fog Between My Fingertips”

    1. Thanks for your kind words. I actually wrote that poem referring to years ago when I was in a depressive ‘mess’. Didn’t know if I would ever recover or improve, and the docs didn’t have a solution either. Frankly, they scratched their heads often doling out ‘this and that’ med hoping they would strike it lucky. They were bozos, I was ill for 9 years! You wonder?


      1. Good grief! You know, when even people whom we put our hope in, like Doctors, fail us, the depression gets worse and we often feel as if we’ll NEVER recover!

        Wow, for 9 years….that’s so horrible. Depression swallows you up doesn’t it? Like you’ve fallen down a black well and cannot see anything, and feel totally locked in. It’s so tough. I hope you’re through the worst of it now…it’s a horrible condition! xx

        Liked by 1 person

        1. Yes, it’s a relief to be on the other side of darkness and relieved when another pdoc stepped into ‘save’ me from the idiot who was doing nothing but sending me for ECTs. Thanks for commenting. 🙂

          Liked by 1 person

          1. I love what you write. And I had the misfortune of being sent to a NEW psychiatrist the other day. OMG…he actually said to me ‘so what do you hope to gain by this meeting?’ Seriously??? So I answered in a sarcastic way, coz I was so peeved and alarmed, ‘Oh, how about fixing my fuking broken brain!’ Then a pack of fags fell out of his pocket, and so I then said ‘and how can I help YOU give up smoking?’…useless twit!

            Liked by 1 person

            1. Love it! The first psychiatrist I had was about 70, smoked his brains out (had smokes in suit pocket) and coughed his brains out at every visit.
              Anyways, he actually asked me, “So do think you have depression?” (between coughs including phlegm). Geeez, you tell me, goofball. Your new pdoc sounds promising! 😦


              1. hahaha! OMG that’s funny. I’m a bit behind on answering and writing of late, coz my daughter had a baby! Can’t believe I’m a granny! God, don’t feel old enough LOL…on the Psychiatrists, the useless twit with the greasy hair that I saw, finally called me and left a message to ‘discuss my assessment’. Oh for f…..sakes! ‘Discuss my assessment???? seriously???? are we now RE assessing my broken brain?? oh piss off to him. They’ll just hand out more stuff to shut me up. LOL. x x


                  1. Aaw thanks my love! She’s so freaken cute! Think I’ll post a pic on a blog that I took. It’s like the pic of the year. LOL. x x x


    1. Thanks so much, your words feel so comforting. I wrote that poem referring back to the ’90s when I was in horrible shape dealing with depression, not improving, spending long periods in the hospital instead of home, and trusting that the meds/recommended ECTs would be the remedy (they weren’t). Fortunately, I recovered from those dark, dark days, yet still require therapy to deal with PTSD and struggle with chronic migraines which occur daily, causing depression at times. Chronic pain leads to guilt, lonely days, and isolation. Hugs to you also. Deb 🙂


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