Kafka's little bed bug

 Life started to seem like an effort, it was heavy and burdening me. I was like Kafka's little bug in the bed. I was never good enough so I cut all the ties lost in the endlessly deep sea. My mother, father, and my sister searched for me everywhere in the dark ocean, in the black hole I was lost in even when they found me I resisted myself to stay, to be here stuck in misery because I thought maybe that was it that I deserved?

 I thought that if I wanted to be the best in what I did, I needed to be dark, vicious, bold, and even heartless. So I became all of it just to be like her. But then my existence was tied with endless screams, the sorrow that gradually engulfed me. "Heartless" as they told me to be gave me nothing but utter inertly. I think I started to be like her when she called me out in the meeting and told me I was "the best writer in GT" I giggled and worked twice but in return actually what exactly? A petty praise from my editor-in-chief who daily made me insecure? The same person who insulted me in front of 30 people? The same person who considered me nothing much more than a substitute worker in her newspaper? Yes, for these reasons I was on top of the world.

 But in return, it gave me nothing but loss of friendships, self-dignity, and degraded physical and mental health. I wouldn't exaggerate when I say I tried to punish myself from a protractor when she told me I wasn't good enough. My biggest problem was that I depended on this newspaper. My happiness, my sadness, or any other emotion was directly inverse with 'the global times'. 

I believe the only difference between me and Kafka was that he was forcefully working at a law firm and I was deliberately. 

I got addicted from working in a newspaper, or maybe just working on anything that'd block my thoughts. That's how my story in global times was. Depressing, tiring, and at the end of the day never worthwhile, on top of that high censorship and booze of homophobia are not my cup of tea, at least not anymore.