It’s graduation day, the graduation I was supposed to be at, the graduation I would be allowed to celebrate if I weren’t such a failure. I was supposed to graduate with my friends. I was supposed to celebrate with them and smile in pictures with them. Now, I don’t appear in any photos, just someone for them to forget in so many years. I’ve done nothing but hide these past six weeks and they left me behind. I’ve done nothing but feel the distance growing and I let it just as much as they did.
The worst part about this all is that I didn’t get better at all. I’ve spent my time sick with pneumonia or literally psychotic. I don’t feel any more ready to take on the rest of my coursework, but I have to at least try. I need to get this over with. All of the plans I’ve made have crumbled around me all because of my inability. My love says it’s not my fault; I can’t stop the storms that overtake me, but that feels almost worse. I tried and fought with everything in me, and I still came up so short. If it’s not my fault, then were all my efforts in vain? Should I not even try because a storm could uproot everything regardless of how deep I build the foundation?
What is the point if it’s all down to luck? I’ve known the world ultimately came down to luck, but it stings to be slapped with the label “unlucky.” Why try when I am just to be unlucky? Is it worth it to try to conjure some control when any attempts at such are less successful that scooping sand with a sieve? They say successful people make their own luck, but I think that is just people trying to convince themselves that anyone has any sort of control in this world. Of course, this just places the blame on the unlucky.