Failing.

I can't say it enough times. "It's okay, you got an F."
But really, it's not one bit okay.

I'm now sitting here contemplating the decisions I made this past year.
Am I really cut out for this.
I know I'll look back later and it'll be a completely different statement because down inside me I really want to do this. It's all I've wanted to do for the past eight years of my life.

I realize I'm whining, but I have no one to tell where I'm at currently. Mother would either be really mad, or just cry. And Dad would just be disappointed. I won't tell them until later. Much much later.

The question that this has jammed into my face is something I already said, "Am I cut out for this?" I honestly want to be able to say yes. But in the past hour that I've been dealing with this I've really come almost full circle. I've slowly realized that yes, I should have studied more and that I can't fully blame something on a professor, although she (and her 18% pass rate) can take some.

I hit angry (even though I told myself I wouldn't) about ten minutes after putting the phone down with Emily.
About a half hour after that, I really wanted to just go crawl under a rock.
And now, as I'm here typing, I'm really just torn up. And just almost to the point of giving up.
I need to reach the stage of being okay with it all but I just can't reach out and grasp it.