Tears. Tears are the only thing that have been flowing from my face since November 7th, 2016. A day before the most pivotal election of possibly my lifetime, I could not get the tears to stop. "Don't cry, you'll be seen as weak," is what I've been told my entire life. Not only myself, but every woman knows those words to be true."Don't cry, but also don't be a brick wall," the double standard that reverberates through every woman's brain, never being able to be good enough on either side.

I woke up on Monday and cried. This woman, Hillary Rodham Clinton, had been working her entire life for these next two days. She had been FLOTUS, Senator from New York, and Secretary of State – she is a mother, a grandmother, a fighter, a lawyer, a teacher and a champion. She had been all of this before she even announced her candidacy for President – but now it was all exemplified.

I went to bed on Monday and cried. We had 12 hours before we opened the polls in our country for democracy. We had 12 hours before we put the choice of our next President in the hands of a predominately heterosexual white male America. The polls were not only open to blacks, latinos, women, gays and Muslims – they were open to white males. Throughout Clinton's entire campaign I put my rose colored glasses on and chose to only see the good. I chose to only see the fathers coming forward and saying they could not stomach a Trump presidency. I chose to only see the brothers of little girls saying they never wanted a man like Trump representing their sisters. I chose to only see the good, the bright, the hopeful.

But on Monday night I cried. Continually seeing the world through rose colored glasses was only doing a disservice to myself. In 12 hours straight white men were going to go to the polls and vote for Donald J. Trump and Mike Pence. Straight white males were going to go to the polls to hold onto their strings of white patriarchy they so desperately kept everyone else down to hold onto. I cried because I knew privilege was going to fill the polls, and I could only hope we had inspired enough millennials, enough females, enough minorities to outweigh these white males.

I woke up on election day and shed a tear. I got to go vote for the first female president that day and only happy tears filled my face. I put on my Hillary Clinton t-shirt and headed to my polling place before 8 a.m. to ensure I voted bright and early. Here's when I lost it: I bubbled in Hillary Rodham Clinton and Timothy Michael Kaine and the tears could not be stopped. This woman had worked so hard her ENTIRE life for this moment, to be on a ballot, to have a shot to be President. I got my "I Voted" sticker and went to work a 12 hour day for our last day of GOTV. I walked door to door, made sure people know where their polling place was, harassed my friends to go vote, handed out Hillary stickers, made sure people stayed in line no matter how long the line was and made sure everyone knew Hillary was the only logical choice. Leaving my last dorm building at 7:30 p.m. having walked 11 miles that day and ensuring I spoke to every freshman in every dorm, I walked back to be with my team. 8 p.m. hit, the polls closed, and I cried again. It was over, there was no more work to be done, voters to be convinced or fight to fight. The votes were in, the people spoke, and now it was a waiting game, and the tears came.

State after state came in, heavily republican at first, then democratic again. The polls didn't look good at first, but the polls are always heavily republican at first because the southern polls close before the northern. On edge, I waited for the votes of my home state of Florida to be counted. State after state went red.

Florida went red.

Ohio went red.

Michigan went red.

Pennsylvania went red.

Wisconsin went red.

The tears started coming again, Trump was at 244 electoral votes and only needed to get to 270 to be elected president. Pennsylvania's votes came in, then Nevada's and then I could not watch any longer. My visions for a fair America, a safe America, a unified America and a loving America were being stomped on by every male in a "Make America Great Again" hat.

The tears didn't stop as Trump came on stage and accepted his Presidency. They didn't stop when I looked into the crowd to see no one of color. The tears didn't stop as one of my good friends, a gay male, sitting next to me in denial said, "I'll never be able to get married." They didn't stop as my Hispanic friend said he doesn't want to raise children with his last name. They didn't stop as my 13-year-old sister texted me she was scared for her safety. They didn't stop as I realized the white male population put a sexual assailant into office. They didn't stop as I realized Hillary Clinton, who has worked her entire life for this was undermined by a man who picked up politics as a hobby.

The next morning was the worst, the tears didn't stop. They flowed through every "Make America Great Again" hat I saw on my way to class. They didn't stop as I watched her concession speech. They flowed, continued and drowned me as she told little girls to keep fighting, as she said someone will shatter that glass ceiling one day, even if it isn't her.

For me, a Donald Trump presidency is a slap in the face. It's a slap in the face to every single person who has fought so hard for progress, acceptance and love. It's a slap in the face to fathers with daughters. To mothers with sons. To gays. To blacks. To Latinos. To Muslims. To grandmothers. To mothers. To women. To black women. To Hispanic women. To everyone. White males have proven, we still live in a divided America.

I'm still crying, and I'll cry for the next four years. It doesn't make me weak, or any less than a Trump supporter – it makes me wise. I know what we have done to America, and it's the wrong choice.