Fighting Failure





Rings out in my mind,

Poisoning me

From the inside out;

Infecting the positivity,

Any belief in me,

In my abilities.

Never an ‘A’

But an ‘F’

Plus, lack of support,

Loss of motivation,

Confusion of my mission.


Leading onto uselessness,

Like what I’m doing is pointless,

Meaning nothing,

Making no impact,

Slowly chugging on,

But moving nowhere,

Despite my best efforts;

I wonder why I try and try,

Feeling like I’m dying inside.

Stresses and hurt killing me,

Melancholy weighs down on me,

Don’t know why I’m sad,

My head’s empty,

But heart’s heavy,

Longing for it all stop

Effective immediately;

Wishing I had no purpose,

No calling,

Would make it simpler

When working,

Feeling I need to head in one direction,

Is causing me affliction.

“Make it stop,” I beg,

But life still carries on,

My emotions persist,

Dragging me along,

Knocking my head

At every turn,

Making death feel closer,

For which I sometimes yearn,

But then remembering,

I’ve got more to give yet,

Still things to do,

My story needs an end.


I don’t know what is going on with doctors these days, and when I say doctors I mean your local GP doctor.  I’d love to know where they find some of these doctors from and why in the world they’ve been granted a PhD, because they are absolutely ridiculous and quite frankly useless.

I haven’t always received the most thorough diagnoses from the doctors at my local GP – especially in more recent years – but today was truly something else.  I left the doctor’s surgery feeling unimpressed, annoyed and slightly confused.

First and foremost, I was not impressed about having to practically run after the doctor in order to catch up with him and enter the correct office.

But while explaining my worries and symptoms, how an earth can the doctor turn around and say: “What would do you think is wrong with you?”, before asking: “What would you like me to do then?”.

I’m sorry, but am I a doctor?  I didn’t spend years studying for a PhD; you [supposedly] did.  If I could diagnose myself and figure out how to solve the problem, why would I have wasted my time and come to the surgery?  We’re not friends, so there would be no need for nice little chat.

And why was it necessary for him to raise his voice like he was telling me off, because he was trying to give me a command when he had just asked me a question?  I actually had no clue about what I was supposed to do, which is why I cannot fathom his impatience.

This brings me to another point.  I’m not saying that doctors should spend forever and a day with their patients, because they obviously do not have the time, but there is no need for the ultra speed.

They rush through their appointments and try to get you out the door as quickly as possible, so that they can be on to the next one.  It’s not entirely helpful, especially when you lose your train of thought and are not able to voice some of your concerns.  It’s like you are unimportant.

Dealing with the majority of the doctors at my local GP is beyond a joke, which is why I avoid calling them and would prefer to leave things undiagnosed.  The appointments are rushed, abrupt and now becoming slightly ridiculous; I’m also tired of walking out with a blood test appointment because they really do terrify me.  I’m just so over these doctors now.