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Whatsapp : The New-Age Demon

When I resigned from my previous post, I was blessed with several residual gifts: 1. The fear of Whatsapp 2. The fear of immediate bosses Combined, they turn me into mush. New texts coming in? Freak. New texts from bosses coming in? Double freak. After one year, I realise how crippling these gifts are. They make me panic. No matter whether the message is good or bad - it makes me anxious. Apparently this was similar to how one feels when they get out of a traumatic and toxic environment, be it professional or personal. I can see that. I feel traumatized, a lot. Half of my personality is encapsulated within my almost perfectionist tendencies. It has to be good, I have to perform, I have to be good enough-- oh my god, I screwed up here again. Shit, I screwed up there! Damn, why is this thing not cooperating with me??!! -- and another half of me is defined by my innate needs to please. I just want to be good, once. I just want to not fail, once. I just want to be told that I a
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To My Boss : An Open Letter

Sir, I previously worked as part of your organisation since December 2017 until May 2018. We've only met and talked twice. Below are some of the constructive criticisms and heartfelt opinions I would like to express honestly for future reference. During the short period of time I spent working with your organisation, I was a frequent visitor to your Emergency Department (ED), be it for bronchial asthma, or dyspepsia -- you called it "gastritis". It was a fortnightly affair, if I remembered it right. Just the visits, not the pain. The pains are much more frequent. However, it's unfortunate that my ED visits, coupled with working and adjustment difficulties have earned me the title "Staff In Crisis" and consultations with the Psychiatry Department (PD). True, my symptoms are the most generic of the generic. Bloating, minimal vomiting, epigastric pain, fever, the occasional lung infection; I can understand the distrust my superiors harbour towards me aft
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Liar, liar, pants on fire

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So, was my title obvious enough? Or does one needs to have the IQ only befitting for Holmes to be able to read past the lines? Har hardy har. I'm back at the bloody airport, bloody looping the same bloody song, bloody berating myself for being a useless sack of shit. As always. It's amazing how much I can screw up before I hit the proverbial shitty ending, and then scramble around trying to fix things that I deliberately screw around with. Yep, you got that right. Do a shitty job on purpose and then go mad trying to make things right at the eleventh hour. Stupid right? Well. Humankind needs stupidity. They don't learn otherwise. I see faces that bear resemblance to no one, tamp out the noises that doesn't register, and ignore the ricocheting scraping of the whirling fan. It's bloody annoying. I'm bloody annoyed at everything. I'm at a place I have learnt to hate, doing something that does wonders to my self esteem, self worth, and keep on list
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