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  • Writer's pictureArmelle

Dyslexia & Me, part 3: Flippant Questioning

My manager – Voldemort was rarely addressed by his chosen name – had taken me into a string of ‘confidential’ meetings concerning my recent ‘unprofessionalism’ in meetings and in my written work.

As it turns out, he wasn’t referring to actual manners within my total control.


“We’ve got that meeting tomorrow with such-and-such. Just making sure you’re all set?”

My manager was flippant about it considering that the previous day he’s been riddled with anxiety over my confession.

Jolting up behind his monitor to alert me that it was he who had spoken, like it could be anyone else wanting to know, he awaited my response while indicating he was trying to convey something else.

The real question was only visible in his lingering, dismantled eyes boring down at me. He had stood up expressly.

‘I hope you’re not going to mess this up with your terrible attitude’, is what he implied with his wonderfully cold, heartless poise.


Over time, I grew into my dyslexia. But this narrative isn’t at this point, I still had much to learn at this point in the game.

At this point in my story, I was still suffering from a now immeasurable level of anxiety – it wasn’t because my fears finally confronted me, more so the annoying reality that there wasn’t much I could do to ease it.

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