Author R.A. Gasparac

I can’t lie, emotionally it feels like everything I have worked so hard for is fracturing underneath me and any second my foundation will collapse.

Up until now I have kept a secret. In August my husband was electrocuted by a machine at work. He recived no medical attention and was told to get back to work. Suffice it to say, I forced him to go to the ER. However, it was too late to do anything- and any danger signs were gone. We were warned that one of the dangers were seizures. A week later I discovered the horror of watching someone I love whom is near 280 lbs of muscle begin to seize and flail while I held him the best I could to avoid him hitting his head on the concrete. Then I used my fists pressing down on either side of his jaw to prevent him from fully severing his tongue from his body.

Afterwards begun the downward spiral of workers comp (and the owner of my husbands company giving us lip service to avoid getting sued himself made arrangement with workers comp to stall help) trying everything they could to prevent my husband from seeing a neurologist (which the ER doctor said was required as she was not qualified to say the seizure was related to the electrocution.)

Fast forward six months and my credit cards are maxed out- our car is about to be repossessed, and phones shut off. Thankfully we found a lawyer who was horrified at what was happening, stepped in, took on the financial burden of getting him to a neurologist- and got a hearing approved to take down the corporations that were predatory, and pay for everything beyond pain and suffering.

So here I am, some hope for a better future, but I am still paralyzed. I have been carrying the burden of everything as my husband is unable to work and suffering from clinical depression mixed with serious back pain and withdrawals from being unable to take his depression medication. I am tired.

I want to write, but I’m sitting watching Netflix. Emotional exhaustion has left me unable to care about anything.

I want to live in my stories but I am left fighting to do what makes me happy. This post is proof that sometimes emotional healing is more important than word count and added pages.

So this is my workspace- putting loose notes into designated folders.