Picking at the scab

I had a bad afternoon at work.

A customer service encounter that started off well and soon turned sour.

I could feel the tension building. I became stressed and unable to communicate or think.

It went wrong.

I had to pass it over to my colleague, then there was a stream of customers and I broke under the things in life.

I stared into space and prayed no more customers would come my way.

I then went into a meeting about the application I had made for the job I failed to be shortlisted for. A job that had no front line customer service. A job that could have saved me from my daily anxiety. I had to hear exactly how I had failed to save myself from my misery.

I just want to sit in a box in a room and not talk to strangers ever again.

I go over the exchanges in my mind. Some people pick, pick, pick at a scab until it bleeds. I go over every bad moment and bad encounter and even blow the not so bad ones out of proportion until I come to the inevitable conclusion that I suck at everything and can’t even handle the simplest of interactions with people.

My ambition in life is to be left alone, yet I crave love and adoration.

Today I had a beautiful day in hell.

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