Morning Meltdown

Dear Readers:
I assure you, I have no mental illness. This (hopefully) temporary condition I've been describing over the past weeks HAS to be a result of the joys of pregnancy. If any professional psychologists are reading this, please message me privately with your additional theories concerning my condition. Thank you.

Without further ado, here is the story of how I woke up on Thursday.

I opened my eyes after a good night's sleep, of course, having to go to the bathroom. I get up, feeling a bit light headed, but I make it to my destination without issue. After taking care of morning business, I approach the sink, suddenly very angry. I feel queasy. Washing my hands shouldn't cause me to feel queasy. This is not fair. I've only been standing for thirty seconds, and it's started already. I JUST WANT TO FEEL GOOD. UGH.

I stalk weakly back to bed and bury myself in our fluffy white comforter. I start to huff and puff in shallow breaths, and my eyebrows to furrow unpleasantly. Frank's mama-bear-attack-sensors begin to alarm loudly in his head as he asks me what's wrong.

I can't answer him. I can only make puppy noises and hide my face further in the covers. Frank motions outside. "It's a beautiful day, how about we take a walk."

I make a sound of agreeance, but it's laced with "if only I could".

"Okay honey, I think it's time to get out of bed, come on."

This idea overwhelms me, and I inexplicably begin--not crying, but mindlessly SOBBING. Not the bury-your-head-in-your-pillow-for five-minutes kind--the mourning and wailing kind--the kind where it all comes out with guttural sounds and lots of snot.

The first words out of my mouth are about my sister, who has recently had another in a string of sports injuries. This makes pretty good sense to me--I am very concerned for her health, and also for the fact that it's very difficult to be a dedicated athlete on the DL. "It's not fair" I cry.
And cry.
And cry.

I finally start to calm down a little, Frank is now next to me, assuring me that she will be okay, it's okay, everything's okay.

Then I really lose it.

I am HOWWWWLING in bed. My inner monologue goes like this:

I am not even upset about anything else right now. I was really crying about Dani, but I know things will sort themselves out. This is insane, I'm not even crying for a real reason. Why am I crying? Let me try to tell Frank so he doesn't worry.

Outer dialogue goes like this:
"I D-DONEVENNNNOO WHYYAIMCRYYINGG EHHHHH HE-HEEEEHHH"
"Honey, it's okay, you just cry."

So I do. I continue to cry with a clear and conflict-empty mind, until I make what sounds like a truly sad and likely conclusion out loud:

"III'M CRAAA-ZEEEE HE-HE-HEEEEEEEEEEEEEH"
"You're not crazy, you're just...you should probably eat something. Do you want some toast?"

Since I am, despite appearances, not upset, and I am now able to be calm as I think about the question. Talking becomes the issue. I am now cry-talking.

"CAN YOU MAKE ME A KEE-WEEEEEEEEE? HEH-HEH-HEEEEEHHH.
"Sure I'll get you a kiwi. One for you and one for me? or do you want to be queen of the kiwis? (meaning, "or would you like them all for yourself?")

I AM NOT SAD ABOUT ANYTHING. I AM MAKING A JOKE NOW.

"EMPERORRUF THE KEE--WEEEES (blub blub blub)..." ("yes, I want all the kiwis. there are only like five foods I can eat without gagging. don't touch my kiwis.")

And I cry another few minutes, and Frank re-appears with a freshly cut kiwi for me.

End scene. We go for a walk, and I have a normal day. I WASN'T UPSET.

...and I'm not crazy. (HEH-HEH-HEEEEEEEEEEHHH)

Here's a video of someone on my level: