I Failed My Driving Test
It’s been a while since I wrote. I didn’t post anything for the past three weeks, and the reason is that I was sad and on the brink of slipping into one of my terrible depressive phases. The thing is, I had managed to complete my driving lessons to the satisfaction of my instructor, and my road test was booked. Unfortunately, I failed my road test. Some of you might be wondering why I’m being so dramatic about a road test. Well, you can read about my driving non-skills here.
At the end of January, when my driving instructor said I wasn’t perfect but could go for the road test, I felt elated. I was finally going to get my driver’s licence. It was something I never imagined would happen to me, yet I kept wishing for it. The embarrassment of being unable to drive and the dream of owning a car that could take me wherever I wanted were both reaching a culmination.
When I see people driving out of the city to beautiful remote locations, planning their travels to off-the-beaten-path destinations (accessible only by car), and filling their car trunks with bags from Costco, I also wish I could do all those things. However, I have a fear of driving, and I am battling that fear. It seemed I was making progress when I was told that I was somewhat ready for the road test.
But you know what? I was soon reminded that I could not dream. I have been denied some of my biggest dreams in the past. And grudgingly so, I had come to accept the decisions. This time I felt I was fighting all odds. A class a month was not helpful, but I kept my patience and improved with each class. I was getting closer to my dream that translated to “freedom.” It also meant soon I wouldn’t be the odd one out who couldn’t drive. While some sneered at the fact that I don’t drive, others judged me for not having a car. Both hurt, and it was soon going to be the end of this hurt.
On the road test day, I was getting test day anxiety, but I was also positively pumped. My instructor said the examiners would cut me some slack as long as I was an observant driver. I am very observant when I drive, so I was optimistic.
When the test started, the examiner, a very serious-looking lady who didn’t seem to know how to smile, was watching me. I told myself that maybe all the examiners are purposefully serious and prepared myself for the test. We left the driving centre, and after the first right turn, things began to fall apart.
“Go right,” she said. I looked around, and before I could make the turn, someone swooped in. The examiner became angry with me. Finally, I managed to take my right turn.
“Change lanes”… “Change lanes again”… “Turn left”… “Park here”… I did everything she asked me to do. After every manoeuvre, there was a deep sigh. And with each sigh, a part of me was dying. I knew where the test was going. I had given up halfway through the test, and I wasn’t surprised when she said I did not meet the criteria for a driving licence.
I blame no one but myself for this. When I got back home, I cried. I told Mr. O I was sorry that he was with me rather than with someone who could drive him to the vet. He didn’t seem to care. After a while, I threw myself on the bed and dozed off in sadness.
Do you know how it feels when you start looking down on yourself? For the past three weeks, I have been feeling this way. It still feels painful to make peace with the fact that I have deprived myself of basic life skills. I have been trying to tell myself it is okay and have been trying to justify a life without owning a car or driving. But, I have not been able to justify it yet.
I could retake the test. But every time I think about it, I feel anxious. I’m not sure if I can pass the test the next time. I’m not even sure I can schedule a test within a week. As I consider giving up entirely on driving, I feel depressed. I don’t know which is easier to fight – anxiety or depression.