Wednesday, March 20, 2013

Nelly Wartman

I have always been a little bit on the nervous side.  Hence the ulcerative colitis.  I’m also not much of a verbal sharer of information.  Hence the reason why I write.  I have a couple of journals with ramblings of a mad woman scattered throughout.  Unfortunately, my amazing husband knows this all too well.  I am fine talking, for a little bit, until I start to get uncomfortable and then I shut down.  I am a phenomenal wall builder.  For some reason I keep people at a steady arms-length distance from me.  Tony is the only person that has been able to break down the walls that I have put up for security, but unfortunately I always have brick and mortar in hand waiting. 

Not only am I a nervous Nelly, I’m also a worry wart.  Hello, nice to meet you, I’m Nelly Wartman.  Actually, I don’t like the way that sounds.  Amber Vasco sounds better.  This is where things get funky - being a nervous Nelly, worry wart that doesn’t like to share information.  It’s almost stuck in my head, deep in my subconscious.  I actually don’t even know that I am stressed out until my body tells me.  And let me tell you, my body is screaming.

When I get stressed out, my stomach acts up and I have issues sleeping.  Sleeping becomes almost a daunting task.  I can go to sleep just fine.  Leave me on the couch under a blanket once it’s dark and I can be asleep in 15 minutes.  The problem is staying asleep.  I will wake up to go to the bathroom, hearing something outside, moving to get in a more comfortable position, being thirsty - the list is long.  I wake up and stay awake. 

The first couple of days it’s fine.  It’s an annoyance, but I can deal with it.  Once it extends past 3-4 days is when it also extends past the annoyance category.  Once I’m awake, I’m not really thinking of anything other than going back to sleep.  Although, my subconscious is like Marianas Trench.  Really fucking deep.  The last couple of weeks have been terrible on my REM cycles.  I don’t think that I’ve had any.  There are no “shiny, happy people holding hands”.  Both my dad and father-in-law have given me some muscle relaxers and those don’t do anything except make my muscles like Jell-O while I am lying in bed trying to force myself to sleep. 

I hope that this journey will allow me to open up more, to not hold shit in.  Also, I hope to retire from my wall building empire and let people in.  Kind of shitty that cancer made me realize this - but at least it’s a start. 

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