Well, we've all felt it right? That bitter, cold, demeaning feeling that you've failed. You lost. Whatever you did, it doesn't mean shit.

Be it GCSE results or a poxy little writing competition, either way you've failed. They said sorry, you're not good enough and slammed a door in your face. And there's no key, so you can't get through it, get past it.

First, it's shock. It slaps you in the face so hard you don't believe it actually hit you. It kicks you in the gut so hard you have to sit down. Before you know it, your head's in your hands and you're onto Stage Two.

Stage Two is, of course, the worst one. Crying. You sit there and you're choking. Your throat closes and the other hand covers your mouth, to fill the empty hole that is now no use as you're too worried and shocked and upset and everything else to care about talking. To begin with, they're those little sobs that shake your entire body. The sort where, if you see someone do it, you can't tell whether they're about to explode with laughter or break down in tears. Little squeaking sounds and gulps of breath follow when you remember to breathe. The pain-it's more than any physical pain that could ever be caused because this was your fault. You, yes you, did this. You failed. And you can't handle that. Your heart went into it and now your heart weeps. Then just when you think you're completed cried out, a fresh wave drowns you as if it only just happened. Fifteen, sixteen, seventeen tissues to staunch the flow of snot. You flop back onto the bed, trace pictures onto the ceiling that you'll never reach because it's so far, yet so close.

The thunder clouds have me surrounded. Usually, I'm terrified, but today, I'm not afraid. I just don't care. What I wanted, all I wanted was gone. Just that little bit of acknowledgement and appreciation. I won't cry anymore because I don't need to. Now all I am is pissed off. Let the rain cry for me. Oh look I've hit Part C.

Part C is anger. You're so furious that, yes you have my permission before you ask, you pick up something and throw it. Usually, it's whatever it was that told you that you failed. And you want to kill. You want to punch. You want to know that someone else is feeling you're pain because, you're only ever human and you need to share everything with someone.

Do not fear reader, give it your average HNF (hug need factor) and you'll be downstairs buried in to Mummy's chest or Daddy's shirt, that still smells of the spray Mummy puts on when she ironed his shirt this morning. Mummy and Daddy will make it better. They always do. Just make sure you're ready for the 'This teaches us that...doesn't it?' lecture that always follows.

In the end, it's part of a cycle. Disappointment is part of failure and failure is part of victory. So in the end, we all win.