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I have my Master degree. 

I have my Master degree.

I don't really realize. It's weird. I have been "working" to get it for two years, and I finally made it. Those two years of hoping I'd survive, that I wouldn't have a nervous break down, of dragging myself out of bed every morning, feeling empty and feeling like an impostor, wondering why I still bothered. My job wasn't exactly fun, but my colleagues made it more bearable, but the classes were really a pain. Seating in a room for hours, waiting for time to pass. Things we were taught were so obvious, it broke my heart. I was wasting my time, which takes quite a new meaning when you know don't have so much of it. I could have been anywhere else, learning useful things, but I was stuck there and felt utterly alone despite being in a room full of people.

But I made it. 

I got my Master degree, with good marks and a distinction. I held on and it paid. It was not all for nothing. I have a degree, "in case of". I hope, just another one in the long list of degree I wish to get. But the first master degree.
It's such a relieve, to know that it's finally done and over. I won't have to think about it anymore.
And it feels like a revenge: I made it with good marks, while not even trying to work on it. I know how some of my classmate had a hard time to make it through the classes. They worked for the finals, and worked for assignments, and weirdly enough they also made fun of me being always doing something else, studying things they saw as useless, you know, like literature and History... For once, you know what? I'm proud of being a small genius. I got my Master degree and didn't even need to use my brain, and also got some pretty awesome diplomas with my online classes.