On the term “brain fog”
I use the term “brain fog” a lot to describe some of my cognitive symptoms. This is not a particularly well defined term, and it’s also used sometimes for covid minimization because it makes some cognitive problems sound less severe than they are. It is nonetheless a pretty good description of part of my experience.
By far the most severe of my cognitive symptoms and symptoms in general is memory loss. While I can remember things that happened a long time ago, on my worst days new memory formation is essentially nonexistent without medication. I can’t read because I can’t remember the last paragraph. I can’t make food because I forget about the stove and burn it. I can’t work because I can’t remember what I have to do, or why I opened this file on my computer. With medication1 my memory is still not what it once was, but it’s enough that I can get through daily life with the help of lists and reminders, and I can enjoy reading too. This memory loss is not well described as “brain fog.”
However, there’s a second thing going on that’s difficult to describe. I’ve talked about it variously as loss of focus or difficulty concentrating, but that’s not quite it. The best I can come up with that might resonate with other people who haven’t experienced it is: imagine a really awful headache2 where you can’t do anything or think because all there is is the headache. You feel like if you could just push this headache out of the way, you could think and get on with life. It’s like this, but without the headache. No pain, no tension, no throbbing, just the feeling of “if I could only push this out of the way, it’d be ok.”
But then you swat it away proverbially, and it just swirls around and comes in from a different direction, keeping that veil over everything. Like a fog.
