I don’t need your trophies or your gold, I just want to tell you all

Its been a few tough weeks at work and it doesn’t feel like its going to get easier any time soon. I’m desperately trying to sort out my job so I can get paid in the same bracket as others who are doing less then me, struggling to keep up with a never ending flow of work, all the while dealing with petty arguments/complaints aimed at me and anxiety attacks that are getting harder to control.

Half of me wants to jack this job in and go and stack shelves in the supermarket. That half of me keeps telling me that I’d be a lot happier. I wouldn’t have to fight to fit in at work and prove my worth. I could go in do the job and then go home. That part of me says, “We’d be so much calmer and get a lot more done” 

The other side of me is slightly stronger and tells me every day “Why are you letting these bastards win?” and I’m listening to it a bit more. Why should I walk away from a job, that despite its horrific flaws I really like. A job I’ve worked hard on for two years. A job where despite being the most uneducated person in the office I could wipe half of them under the carpet with the knowledge in my brain. I may not know how to perform a medical exam, but by fuck I can make a bloody good conference and give a good lab tour. 

In order to counteract these shitty feelings and to stem the tears I’ve wanted to cry recently I’ve covered my desk with postcards which state things like “I don’t give a flying F”, “This is your arse, this is your elbow” and my favourite Living In La La Land print and Mama Tina Fey quote “Bitches get stuff done”. And its true we do. 

So I’ll control my tears, put my anxiety back in its little box and get it done. I deserve to be here, I deserve more.

So this one is for you, all you dickheads in my office waving your willies around. This bitch isn’t going anywhere.

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