Mornings are hard

Mornings are hard.

Today, I am considering this in light of my ideas about why my mind is the way that it is: under stress, I begin to lose the ability to organize my thoughts and behavior effectively and so I become dysregulated.

What happens when I am dysregulated is everything in my mind is extreme and intense and it’s quite awful.

Lately, there are times when I feel I am making a lot of progress and other times when it feels like the state of my mind is so terrible I don’t see how I can spend a lifetime struggling with it.

This morning was one of those latter times. I tried staying with this idea. So, if my brain is out of control like this because of stress, then I have some choices about what to do. I can avoid the stress, like I come inside when the yard work is going on because the machine noise cause me stress. I can make the stress go away by solving whatever the problem is. (That would be like asking the neighbours to lay off the weed whacking for a while.) Or counteract the stress by doing things that help me feel safer, calmer, or happier.

In other words, it is not really about the crazy shit going through my head. It’s about addressing the cause of my losing my mind in the first place. Which is much easier.

So, what’s the stress?

Mornings are hard. I thought about this for a while. You wake up and the first thought in your unconscious mind is, I think, where is everybody? And I live alone, so there are many “everybodies” that might wander through my mind as people who are not there, which would naturally make things worse, but I think as human beings being alone is, in itself, stressful. I don’t think we are designed to be alone. If I over-react to stress (and I mean this physically and chemically, not that I express my feelings of distress as being greater than they are), which is my hypothesis, then that alone would do it–just it’s morning and the sudden awareness that I am alone, and an instinctive urge to check for people might expect to be there who are not here for various reasons.

There would be layers of mornings when I woke up and cried for someone to be there and bad things ensued: no one came, and the somebodies who were there got angry at me for checking for people.

But I think the flood of cortisol in my brain is enough to do what is happening in my brain. So what can I do?

Make it seem less like morning to myself, which could look like rushing through the morning routines so that it no longer seems like morning.

Do comforting things.

Wait. It’s not morning all day.




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