Semester Three, Week Two

My worst nursing school fears realized: I couldn't do the math.

It was about 3:00 in the afternoon. I received my re-do exam, only having to complete two problems.

Two.

First one, easy.

Second one. I couldn't get it.

My heart, already racing, raced more. My fingertips became numb. My thoughts scattered. My hands began to shake. My thoughts were irrational, all over the place, nonsensical. I do know, repeatedly, I heard the words "This is it. You're done. You're not progressing."

My hands shaking so badly, I couldn't compute with the calculator. Finally, I arrived at an answer. I submitted my test. My instructor marked it wrong. I back-peddled, tried to explain myself. She re-wrote the problem, re-wording it. My hands continued to shake. My mind blanked.

I couldn't get it.

She tried again. Told me to breathe. Nothing.

Over, and over, extending patience.

I can't describe the anxiety; feeling, knowing this was my last call. There were no second chances. My instructor guided me. And then, after too much fumbling, I got the answer. I feel like a screw up. She passed me, telling me I have to get tutoring.

I know this. I know math. I worked too hard for this. How can it be? How can this be? What the heck happened? Hours after the catastrophe, I figured out the problem. It was ridiculously simple. I had just psyched myself out, acting out on what I've been afraid of for years.

Mental health is making me mental.

There's a project for advanced pharmacology (I like saying advanced; I sound like a genius, ha!) that a partner and I have to work on. It is going to be killer. This assignment is the worst one to date thus far. Hideous. Abysmal.

I've been taking some time to reflect upon my life in the last two weeks of this semester. Introspection is valuable, and as much as I don't want to make this blog about my personal life, I think this is worth writing.

I saw a picture this week of 15 people. I knew everyone in the photo, some better than others. Of the 15 people, I counted: I've burned bridges with 7 of them.  Seven. 

I've had a lot of personal growth in the last three years, but I hate looking back and seeing who I was. It doesn't matter how much I've changed, repented, turned away from the old me. The damage is done, and that's what eats away at me, daily.

Anyway, I'm in a situation currently that is begging me to burn some bridges, and it's eating away at me. I'm trying to remind myself that who I was is not who I am today. I don't need to burn bridges, even if it seems most logical. Even if I have to fight myself.

That's all. I had to get it off my chest. Now resumes Sarah, nursing student, whose main goal in life is not to fail nursing school.

Til next week. There's another psych exam.