Therapy

Catharsis, it is said, can be gained from the writing of letters to allow the safe expression of emotions that are causing the writer to suffer. Now I have indeed been trying, with variable success, to deal with the way that my life was fucked up by the assortment of weasels that inhabit the Really Scary Circus. So here goes the first epistle of Dark Adapted Eye to the Performers. Dictation please Mister Squeaky!

Oh ye of little faith, did you not think when you cast me out that I will return triumphant. (No I do not think that something briefer along the lines of Arnie in the Terminator would be better just pay attention for once will you full stop new sentence.) But justice will be done - Christopher Cockroach, I note that you have not appeared on the register of qualified social workers, I wonder why that might be, do you think it might be something to do with all those marginal results in your exams and your resits for law? That would certainly suggest some kind of irregularity to me - or might it just be that your piss-poor communication skills have finally revealed themselves and you are now following your true vocation in life - although stacking supermarket shelves might just be a bit beyond your exceedingly limited intellectual capabilities. Okay Squeakers Old chap we can knock off for a small glass of Turnip Brandy. Burp. No you can't have any more Bombay mix because you've eaten it all you terrible creature. Back to work.
Felix the Otter, please tell me how on earth they allowed you to become a registered manager of anything, let alone a care home, you have no management skills, come to think of it you don't have many care skills either - how on earth could you claim to be the advocate for a man who was floridly psychotic for over five years, disturbed enough that his paranoia was seriously affecting the quality of life of others and do absolutely nothing to get this man the treatment he needed. And as for your espoused Christian values where was the help and support I needed from a colleague when my father was admitted to hospital with a stroke and I needed a few hours off to support my family? Not there. May you burn in the hell you believe in as you most certainly deserve it.

Ahhh! That feels better.