Messy-able

I am almost 26 and still confused with my life. I am not really sure what I want. I wake up and put on different facade everyday. I could not possibly decide, which one is closest to my true colour.

I believe most people know my story. I am waiting for my so-called dream job. I got the title but not the job, yet. I  can be so miserable at times.

Ironically, even If I get that job, I am pretty sure I’ll be having same feeling- if not worst. MISERABLE. 

There are so many things in my mind right now.  Some people are lucky if they can share shits with their family, because I can’t. I tried. I just can’t bring myself to say it.

 

But I cannot bear it anymore and that’s the serve the sole purpose of this WordPress- heart pour.

I think I have mild-to-moderate OCD. Obsessive Compulsive Disorder. Like I could not bear seeing a glass at the edge of the table. I would move it to center. Or I would totally forgotten if I already locked my car then I ran back to car park – for reassurance. Or if these traits are not counted as OCD, well maybe this is just HABIT.

I don’t know if you call this HABIT or GIFT or anything that fit the title that- I AM OBSERVANT. I noticed little things. Like tinge of blue lips of a  5 year old girl – she is having Heart Disease, I am guessing Tetralogy of Fallot. Or 18 year old teen male, post operative came for dressing his wound. He told me the reason for his operation due to ” extra bone growing on his thigh”- I said he was having OSTEOSARCOMA- the benign bone tumor. He showed the discharged note- I am right. Left FEMUR OSTEOSARCOMA.

How did I know?

It is not hard. Observe + Knowledge + Probability = Answer.

Probability (?) yes. Medical school shaped my mind into that perspective.

But noticing little things and little changes are not all good per se. I had to bear the consequences. At times, I had to pretend I didn’t notice. or I just didn’t care. or I didn’t give a damn.

But I do.

I had the capability to shut down my emotions. But if I get there, my old self is a history.

And I don’t know if I would ever come back here again. Writing, I mean. Is this place really private?

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