I was nothing but a vulnerable, scared wimp trying to evade an uncomfortable, and humiliating situation. On the other side of the net, I saw an angry machine that had only one goal: destroying me.

The wishful thinking of the night before the game proved to have no effect on the way events were flowing that tragic morning. The night before, I had thought about all the success in my tennis career as a junior, and thought that maybe, maybe it would influence what was going to happen in my second round match. In past years, success had been my only loyal partner. Sadly and suddenly, this innate and true companion was replaced by fear, a self-destructing, time-ticking bomb that would lead me to collapse.

As the game went on, everything was going smoothly, for him. His determination and confidence, mixed with my fear and mental lockdown were the perfect cocktail for his success. I looked up at my opponent, and I saw determination to kill. The panic had reached such a point inside me that I couldn’t seem to hit a forehand. All my knowledge of tennis vanished. I had forgotten how to serve. I had forgotten how to move my feet. I had forgotten what needed to be done to win. I had forgotten to have fun. I had forgotten that I needed to fight for what I want.

As the points went by, I lost all or most of them. And each point destroyed me a bit more. The anger I felt for not fighting back, for not doing anything at all for that matter, was unfathomable. I felt that I was pulling the boat down, so it would sink even faster. I had never felt more vulnerable and empty in my life. I was encouraging myself to lose.

The technique that I needed in order to play completely escaped my mind. Consequently, I was slicing all my shots. My rival’s technique, flawless. The terror of losing devoured my game, devoured my talent, and devoured me. I felt so embarrassed. Sweat dripped down my face, but only because of the extreme heat; I was barely even playing. I looked over the net to glimpse at him, not a drop. Tears running down my face only made things worse. It was the first time I cried in a game. I cried because I was angry. I was tremendously disappointed with myself. I felt humiliated with what I was doing and not doing. I hated myself for allowing this guy to think he was better than me. I despised myself because my opponent was running all over me, and I didn’t even put on a fight. I felt I was nothing but a bitter disappointment, a failure, a nothing.

The end of the match didn’t seem to come soon enough. My opponent managed to hand me one game out of the whole match, and I never even fought for it. Once I set foot off the court, I wanted to be invisible. After the match, I cried like I had never done before. I was the only one to blame. The fear of failure stood in my way to success, and I had allowed it to stand. I had been blessed with a talent which I could not learn how to manage. And I never really learned to love it, appreciate it, and learn from it, until I had completely lost touch with it.