Once again, I awoke early.  This time, I’ll give myself a break and attribute it to the loud storm that rolled through.  Regardless of the reason for my early rising, I still have to acknowledge that early mornings are my most stressful times of day.

I’ve always been a morning person.  My brain works faster, sharper.  During good times this has served me well.  During other times, it’s been a struggle.  This is now when I worry.  This is when the anxiety seems crushing.  If I’m going to have a panic attack, chances are it will come sometime between 3 and 4 a.m.  If I’m going to be overly emotional, this will also be when it will happen.  This is when I have regrets, this is when I’m afraid, this is when I feel alone.

And the thing is… I’m not alone.  I’m one of the least alone people I know.  I wonder how much of my feeling alone is because I am an only child ?  As I’ve aged, I’m frequently noticing traits within myself that seem to point back to this phenomenon.  I don’t know how to trust and rely on other people and yet I’m such a perfectionist that I don’t trust myself.  I expect too much from myself.  I’m unforgiving of myself.  I internally beat myself up constantly.  These are things that I vow to someday get over and there are times when I feel good, hopeful, happy.  Just not at 3:00 a.m.

And so here I sit in my running clothes.  A couple of weeks ago, I decided that no matter how I was feeling, I would run.  There’s a huge difference in my emotions before and after a run.  Alas, it is storming with no end in site.  The coffee maker will soon kick on and I will soon have to be making breakfast and getting the boys to school.  No run for me so I feel crushed and burdened.  I hope it lifts as the sun rises.  I hope the storm in my head is as passing as the one outside my window.  I hope there’s some sun on the horizon.


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