I am a failure. I have an F and in the handbook it clearly states, F is for failing. According to the dictionary someone who is failing is in fact a failure. I am a failure. I have never been a failure before nor have I ever fathomed it possible. Sure it happens to other people all the time but not me. Never me. I’ve never thought of myself as a failure before. I never had a reason to. But now sitting here, with the bold printed grade of a failure staring me in the face, I have a reason. I don’t know whether it’s the subject itself or possibly the way it’s being taught but either way it reflects on me. And believe me when I say my reflection is not pretty. I’m not sure how to handle this since I’ve never been confronted with a situation like this before. I can’t tell my friends, Honors students and overachievers that they are, I would be too embarrassed. If they can do it why can’t I? Why do I put in the same amount of effort and get back three times lower grades than they do? No, I definitely can’t tell them. Could I tell my teachers? The ones that look at me as their star pupil as if I have the potential they’ve always sought out in their students? No I can’t; I wouldn’t be able to handle the disappointment in their eyes as they realize their star has fallen. And my parents who see me and see all the things they never had? I could never tell them, the shame I feel on my own is enough. All these people looking up to me, counting on me, admiring me. All these people and not a one among them knows... I am a failure.
September 2, 2012