Driving Test Proctor Reflection

I parallel parked nearly perfectly between the two sickeningly yellow poles. He opened the door, thrust it closed, clicked a cheap mechanical pencil, and scribbled something on his clipboard, letting out a nod and grunt of approval.
“Now pull out, turn right, and go up to that intersection.”
I did. He told me to turn left. When the light turned green, I scooched forward.
“Stop!”
My eyes froze open and my ears turned cold. I didn’t see the white SUV coming towards me. I forgot to give the right of way. I could have caused an accident that would have seriously injured both me and the test proctor. Throughout the rest of the driving test I clutched the steering wheel, my body numb. The results of the test had already been determined. The second time I made the trek out to the DMV I made another mistake. It wasn’t as serious as the last time, but it was enough to fail me again. I pulled up to the penultimate intersection to turn left just before I realized how far to the right I was in a street with no lanes. I thought the test proctor wouldn’t notice, until a huge black truck tried to pull into the street at an excruciatingly slow pace just to get by me.
The proctor sighed, clicked her pencil, and scribbled something on the clipboard. Out of all the tests I could have failed, the one I
I didn’t have a lot of experience making these kinds of huge blunders, so I took it hard. Most of my friends already had their licenses. I was rather late in the game, therefore missing out on the teenagerhood defined by spontaneous shopping trips after school or impromptu late-night tacos, not to mention the before and after school activities I couldn’t participate in. Until I passed this driving test, I was constrained by the bus schedule or my parent's’ ability to give me a ride there or back. This perceived shortcoming, combined with the repeated failure and my deep-seated perfectionism and anxiety, caused me to plunge into a deep sense of inadequacy and