159 7 1

Journal Entry: 231

Time: 1.42 am

Date: 4th March, 2018


I'm having a bit of an identity crisis. My mental health and home life have been crazy bad this year and I haven't had a decent story since November. I needed that time to get all the chaos out the way, but nothing seems to help.

The problem is that any time I share a potential story with Waylan, I get the crickets chirping. I can write about injustice, sport or entertainment, crime, politics or even animals and nothing seems to get any traction. Yet, minutes later, someone else can offer up a fluff story and they get the go ahead right away.

I don't believe it's my content, because I'm writing good pieces, with a lot of research and detail, sometimes even pieces that are similar to the other writers. Nothing. The most I get from Waylan is a raised eyebrow or a quirk of a smile. Then it's back to my desk to work on something new.

He doesn't even give it back; he keeps all my work in the top drawer of his desk. That's purgatory for stories and I can't understand it.

I feel like I'm doing something seriously wrong, but I can't figure out what it is. Right now, it feels like I'm the problem.

I need to figure this out. There's no point putting more of my work out there, if Waylan thinks no one is willing to read it. My work is drifting into oblivion, despite positive feedback from other writers, and I feel like I've put them there.

I don't get involved in office drama, I do my best to stay active on our social media profiles and within the journalist community. I donate to everything and I maintain a strong 'reader' presence in social media groups for the company. If I post as a reader, I get traction, but as a writer, I'm dead.

Am I forgettable or just invisible?

It drives me insane when I vocalise my issues in the office or at dinner and all I get is false sympathy. I don't want or need it. And I don't need their concern. Reminding me to take care of my shit, as I take a break, is a shitty way to offer support. They make it sound like I'm a useless idiot, who doesn't know the first thing about taking care of my end. That's exactly what I don't need right now.

Bets that I could keep this journal alive on my website profile and it would be ignored? Likely. And that damned notion of telling me who has seen it. How does that help? To tell me it's been seen by eight people, six of whom clearly won't give a crap? Thanks for that. That's exactly what I need.

And there would be your proof, if ever you needed it. One ambulance chaser, who has to get their oar in and pretend they're this perfect, caring creature, at every opportunity. And one insincere, negative Nancy. Yup...there's your answer.


By Appointment Only - Book 1: GraceWhere stories live. Discover now