There’s a lot of responsibility that comes with voting. This wasn’t lost on me as I walked into the voting center of my precinct for the first time.

     The day was finally here, the day that would decide what the next four years might look like. I’d done everything I could do to prepare and I felt confident about my decision. The choice was very obvious in my mind.

     I got there early in order to get it over with before school. As I got closer to the room where I’d be casting my ballot, I decided to block everything out. I needed to get rid of the anxiousness. I walked up to one of the judges to check in, and I knew him. It was my friend Eric. He wished me luck and sent me on my way. It was helpful to see a familiar face.

    I had a moment of panic as I walked up to the nearest voting booth. I realized I didn’t have a pen. Then I remembered there was one provided, and breathed a sigh of relief. It was just me and the pen.  Any nervous energy that I’d had was gone, and I filled in my desired bubbles with confidence. I walked over and inserted my ballot into the machine. I grabbed a sticker and stuck it on my shirt proudly.

     As I walked out of the school, I had a huge sense of pride. I couldn’t help but smile knowing that I was participating in what would definitely be known as one of the most historic elections in the history of the United States.

As the night went on, my family and I started checking the polls online. We clung to each other for support as the results started coming in. My sense of pride was quickly vanishing — my smile was gone.

I stayed up until three o’clock in the morning, when the results of the election were made official. I’m not ashamed to admit I cried myself to sleep, and cried when I woke up. Now looking back a couple weeks later, I find some solace in the fact that I did everything that I could. The election didn’t go the way I wanted it to, but I’m still proud that I voted.

I participated, and now I have the right to complain.