I pride myself on how well I can take rejection–what makes people immediately sink to the floor, think about everything wrong with them, and everything bad that’s ever happened to them, find someone to blame, and then harbor anger and insecurity for months, just makes me shrug, and listen to “Super Trooper” on replay. I actually kinda like it.
I’m serious. I like being rejected! Not only is it an excuse to indulge in the healing powers of ABBA, but its also building me a really thick skin. I feel tough. I feel empowered! I feel STRONG AND COURAGEOUS AND then yesterday I was rejected by a certain collegiate institution for the THIRD TIME IN A ROW (once for a high school summer program, once for actual college, and this time for a study abroad program.)
And I cried.
I really, truly cried.
The girl who made a scrapbook out of all her college rejection letters, who gives her number out to cute boys on the subway, CRIED.
“WHAT IS WRONG WITH ME? AM I SO UNTALENTED and UNINTERESTING that THEY DIDNT WANT ME THRICE?!” I vented to my poor roommate.
But, self-pity, ego, and vanity tho. That’s all this is.
I haven’t yet figured out how to deal with it yet. I thought I did! I really thought I had rejection down to a ‘T’… Guess not.
So I’m still learning, still growing, and I’m not perfect. Okay. Okay, fine. I have to go watch Mama Mia now.