Anxiety, mental health, Uncategorized

The mornings are the worst.

Well, when I say mornings, I mean whenever I wake up. Because I have a non-existent sleeping pattern at the moment.

When I come too, after my not so refreshing 2-4 hours, it’s there within 1 second. The churning and dropping of my stomach.

The palpitations. The butterflies throughout my body. Sometimes tears, salty, salty tears.

How do I get up? Why should I get up? I don’t want to be awake with this pain all day.

Anxiety: “I’m just going to keep your heart pounding like this and stomach churning all day incase we have to run quickly okay?”

Depression: “Nothing is gonna make me go away, I’m like a thick black sludge. Life’s really always gonna be shit, so why don’t you just stay in bed and torture yourself with questions?”

Me: “But Anxiety, how can I run quickly, and feel so on edge when Depression is telling me to stay in bed all day, how am I hyped up but also drained and lethargic?”

The internal fight between the two kicks off big time when I wake up. It has done more so for around 8 months now. I stay in bed, with no energy letting the depression win, but then anxiety chips in and chastises me for being in bed all day, calling me lazy, and avoidant. Telling me that If I get up now, everyone will judge you anyway. So I may as well stay in bed with the butterflies flying round, preparing for the worst, rocking yourself back and forth.

Then the nurse in me actually has a small worry about getting a pressure sore and I give my self some pressure relief. I know I’m low but the last thing I want is a gaping grade 3 on my arse that needs packing with durafibre!

Especially with my current situation (we’ll get to that later.) Mornings, well my version of mornings, are when the ‘why and how time’ starts;

⁃ why did he lie?

⁃ Why did I tell him how bad it was?

⁃ Why are all my emotions towards him having a jousting tournament in my mind?

⁃ How could he really stoop so low?

⁃ How can he tell me he needs space, that we’re still together and still loves me, but he’s actually on tinder talking to girls with the shittest game ever?! (Honestly “can I tell you you have a lovely smile?!” Vom, what are you? a desperate old man in weatherspoons?

⁃ How can he make everything about himself?

But shouldn’t I be making it about myself now?! At least I don’t have to sit at home whilst he prances off on his boat missing him. Of course I miss him now, god knows why, the guy used to pick his nose and eat it! That’s not what anyone needs in their life whilst their eating snacks watching Netflix.

Ive been screwed over, when my brain is already on its arse. And there will come a time when I can open up to how this even occurred.

Apparently, the term for mornings being worse than the afternoons and evenings with depression is called ‘diurnal variation of mood’. A hallmark of clinical depression. Wooo! And whilst looking for some research on this, I found a study into the effects of diurnal variation of mood, anaesthetic and interocular pressure (the pressure in your eyeballs) in Syrian hamsters-the world is a very very strange place. Leave the hamsters be. PLEASE.

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