I Am NOT A Morning Person

Every morning, my fiance wakes up at 6:00 AM, I turn over and watch him get out of bed and fall back asleep. Just a few more minutes. Please?
By 6:15, he comes back in the room and sits at the end of the bed. He gently rubs my legs to wake me, and with my eyes barely open I spin around and lay my head in his lap and wait for it.
It always waits a few minutes. I can feel myself teetering on the peak of a mountain, ready to fall at the slightest change of wind.
A small spark ignites in my chest, I cringe and pull myself into his belly. The spark billows into thick smoke, pushing against my lungs and my ribs to the point I wonder if my chest will explode from the pressure. I wonder how many heart beats I am allowed this life time, and if my anxiety is running the numbers down as it races throughout my body.
It spreads to my bones, my blood, my muscles. I tense, relax, tense, relax. I feel like I’m falling but sideways and not too fast, just fast enough to be uncomfortable. I do anything to shake this feeling.
Most mornings, I just cry. I cry as my fiancé runs his hands over my hair and holds me close, because he’s waiting too. Waiting for it to be over. Waiting for me to pop up and smile and say everything is okay.
But it never is.
Eventually the anxiety of being late to work motivates me to sit up. My fiancé has already gathered clothes by now and hung them for me to wear. He takes the dog out as I brush my teeth through sobs.
Some days we stop at the gas station for just one more hug before work. Because his touch truly eases my pain. I would be nothing without him.
And then I go into work, my face still puffy from all the tears.
Luckily, as I walk the building and everyone asks me what’s wrong, I can just explain that I am not a morning person.
And everyone just smiles and laughs, because I am just so adorable…

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