Life and everyday stress, dealing with the fallout of two ruptured brain aneurysms, estrangement of my son, death of my son-in-law, a stress cardiomyopathy, also know as Broken Heart Syndrome, and dealing with the repercussions of a car accident 14 months ago have beaten me down. In the culmination of all these incidents, I've discovered, I am a worn out book of matches.
Having your brain blow up is something I never want to deal with again. It took five years for a semblance of normality to reenter my life. And it left permanent damage. I have always been an optimist and tend to find the positive in most situations. I have to, or my brain would compress into a tiny ball of depression and darkness, put me in a hole so deep, I could never climb out. Just before the brain surgery, the nurse was explaining what the procedure was like, and how the neurosurgeon had to be specific. I'm thinking, huh, I wonder if he downed a red bull or twenty because he was on a thirty-six hour shift, got into a fight with his wife that morning, and lost his wallet. Just how steady were his hands?
I cannot recall why the surgery went over time. I do know they had three surgical teams, two on standby in case I went to visit the spirit in the sky—at least I hope that is the correct direction. If I find out, I will let you know. The best was the aphasia, which I still have to this day. I had a lot of fun with it, because I am the weird kid who writes horror. It was something I took great pleasure in because I never knew what would fall out of my mouth, so it's new to me too.
When the nurse said they were talking a camera and inserting it into my leg, travelling through my arteries until it hit my brain, I burst out laughing. In my mind's eye I was picturing the surgeon stabbing my leg until he found the right artery. The nurse's jaw dropped. At this point I had come in for a routine appointment for 12:30, and did not leave the hospital for five days. I was exhausted, my husband was a train wreck on the inside. I recognized the signs, but he was calm and asking the right questions. He gave me that look. You know the one. All people with ADHD recognize the LOOK—the glare over the glasses and frowning. I get that look a lot from a lot of different people. Meh. #addisagift.
I went in for an hour surgery, and came out five hours later. No one had updated my husband in the meantime, and I am sure he was thinking I died and they were trying to resurrect my desiccated corpse on the table. People all atwitter in the OR, machines making sounds, doctors blaring out orders, someone sitting on my chest doing compressions while looking like a succubus.
One day, a new security policy alert went out and I remember talking to my Sgt, explaining the new procedure for security with computers. Everyone had been assigned a profile tied to a specific computer, and he asked me what do we do when a person leaves the unit. I said we would disembowel them, thinking of the word disengaging, for the computer. The look on his face was priceless. But then, he knew I was a horror writer. And I was the weird kid with a dark sense of humour.
I enter my office and walk to my desk. People are asking questions or needing something. I haven't even had a chance to put my briefcase down or taken off my coat. A daily occurrence. I start to show up two hours earlier. And then, so did my employees. I thought I caught a win. But no. They defeated me again. Another two matches burn out. I open my e-mail and another match burns out. Twelve matches left. I scan the emails, triage them into order of importance, deal with the urgent ones and shut it down. I won't look at it again at the end of the day. Fridays, I decide, I am not looking at them at all, because, someone will email with a crisis 3:00 PM on a Friday of a long weekend, because they 'forgot'.
In the hallway someone says they need equipment by tomorrow, even though the policy is clear and states we need two weeks notice because the tech team may be on the road. I smile and it is on the list. I look at the staggering pile of work on my desk. Goodbye, three matches. Nine matches left.
My boss tells me he needs a financial report by this afternoon, and proceeds to stand over me, eating his lunch while I try to focus on the report. I am now down to five matches, and it isn't even lunch yet.
The afternoon is filled with meetings which should have been emails, employee struggles, checking the status of projects, and going into my overwhelming emails which pile up faster than a snowbank in a snowstorm. Two lonely matches left.
I get in my car and drive to pick up errands or drop something off. Down another two matches. Now, I am at zero. But there are still kids, supper, laundry, you know, the regular life obligations.
I have to eat dinner: down minus 1 match. On super stressed days, I am too tired to chew. I need to change the sheets and I need a shower. That brings me to minus four matches. I am exhausted, and ticked off I only have fifteen matches while others had a full book. I lose matches dealing with people. I am an introvert with ADHD.
Extroverts start with twenty-five matches and gain more when they are surrounded by people. By the end of a good day, they will have fifty matches, while the introverts are so exhausted, they just want to sleep.
The next day, I start with eleven matches and the extroverts start with fifty matches. Let me tell you, working in a cube farm, while interesting and saves costs, impacts people, productivity and accuracy for the negative. Hey, but we can fit y'all in the egg carton. Phones, people chatting, people needing answers of things they could have found themselves had they looked, and the endless traffic is exasperating. By the weekend, I am a worn out like a sack of wet mice. I want to stay up and watch a movie, have a glass of wine, red please, and relax with my husband.
Everything changed with the car accident. My perfect, sweet baby, a 2019 Camaro, was demolished beyond repair. The airbags exploded into my face and legs. Time stood still and there was no sound at all. Nothing. The black particles of chemicals hung in the air and I felt I was in a gothic version of a snow globe. Seconds, minutes, hours, days went by. Time did not mean anything to me. Nothing hurt. But then, I was in severe shock, had a bad concussion and whiplash, which I would discover three weeks later.
I opened the car door and looked at the destruction. Pieces of my vehicle were hanging on by a thread and the leaking transmission fluid looked like a blood-bath on the street, after the Sons of Anarchy visited The Mayans MC.
An ambulance and police arrived, and I told them I was fine because nothing hurt. That was the shock numbing everything until four days later. The paramedics asked if I wanted to go to a hospital. I said no. In hindsight, they should have taken me, without asking. I don't know why they ask. I was in traumatic distress, I did not have the executive function to make decisions. My car littered two lanes. The front end was obliterated. The inside of my car was demolished and the engine pushed against the cockpit into my legs. Parts of my engine was on the road.
I was an emotional wreck. I could not get enough air and I was sobbing and unconsolable. I called my husband and he took me home. I went to bed.
The pain was intense. The pain scale peaked at nine. I could not sit, lie down, stand or walk without my body screaming at me. I could not speak because of the intensity, and I had to remember to breathe. I held my breath for months. I have nerve damage in my ankles, shins, hips, lower back, spine, neck and shoulders that still linger fourteen months later. I need a cane to walk if it is a very short distance, less than 50 feet, and I need a walker to go any further. I have severe vertigo, and fall a few times a month. Severe headaches, and the pain is constant. I know, this is not sounding good at all. BUT there was an enormous positive that outweighed all the negative. Because I could not work, I immersed myself into writing. This did not occur right away. It wasn't until January 2026, I could concentrate enough to get the work done, shot bursts at a time. I have a three hour window. Anything that needs to get done, is in those three hours, then mentally and physically exhausted I need to sleep.
I now write every single day. I am working on my first novel and have another four lined up. The first draft should be done by September, 2026. And revised by end of October.
My house is silent. This is such a blessing. So is the writing. Every day is a gift despite the pain, the insomnia, the nightmares and nerve and spinal damage. No more telephones, notifications, alarms, or slamming doors. No more chit chat in front of the water cooler. No more sports talk. No more constant interruptions in a job which held huge responsibilities and accountabilities, and with a team of nine people I was responsible for mentoring, coaching and training, and having to accomplish that surrounded by people.
People are exhausting. Crows are not. So, be a crow. Drop in, say high, go find a shiny thing to bring back. Then you will have my attention.
©MLRoos2026
