I'm Finished, So Why....?

As you all saw in my previous post, I'm finished. My book is done. There is really nothing I want to fix. I drew my map, I finished the cover completely, my family is raving about how awesome it all looks....
So why do I feel down?
I made my account on CreateSpace today. Yes I'm self-publishing. I don't have the kind of money or patience for huge companies to try a traditional publishing effort right now. And when I saw the account earnings as being $0.00 in American, European, and other kinds of currency, it all came crashing down on me.
My hopes went crashing.
Splat.
I know this is probably stupid thinking, thinking that I've failed before I even started, but I feel so hopeless. There are so many people out there who publish a book and VOILA! A buzillion readers. Now I'm being told that it's going to take even longer than I thought to just get this stupid thing onto the Kindle and AUUUUUUUUUUGGHHHHH!
Though I don't like screaming like that because you do it for so long and it begins to hurt your throat and then you are a poster boy for laryngitis.
Part of me wonders why I ever thought I could write a book. That part of me is curling into a corner and hoping that it all goes away if I ignore it for long enough (okay let's be honest? How often has that actually worked?) the other half is kicking me and snapping "hello? YOU WROTE A FREAKING BOOK! WHY ARE YOU BEING A STUPID SAPPY IDIOT RIGHT NOW?"
I'm not sure which side is more dominant.
I want to cry, stomp my feet, but I am no longer a child. Those behaviors will only be seen as immature and pathetic. I've received a lot of kicks since I began writing this book. Right now it seems like I am getting slammed into on every side.
Help me!!!
On top of that I keep dreaming that I have a horse of my own (except on one night that switched and I was a Nazgul on a fell beast and I crashed it into a wall. Oops.) and it makes me sad because the way things are going it's never going to happen.
Then again I never stayed down when I was kicked hard enough to fall. So far nothing has been so terrible I haven't been able to find my feet. Why should this be any different? It's new. I can't see the future. Who knows what could happen? Ten years ago I never saw myself at this point. Ten years from now I may look back at this post and laugh at myself (if I do, I give all of you permission to laugh at me (politely! =D)
I heard a poem at girl's camp since then it's popped into my mind on occasion. This is one of them. It is not my poem in any way, it's copied off of this website, http://holyjoe.org/poetry/anon3.htm. All rights go to the respective owner, who I thank for writing this.

The Race

attributed to Dr. D.H. "Dee" Groberg

Whenever I start to hang my head in front of failure’s face,
    my downward fall is broken by the memory of a race.
A children’s race, young boys, young men; how I remember well,
    excitement sure, but also fear, it wasn’t hard to tell.
They all lined up so full of hope, each thought to win that race
    or tie for first, or if not that, at least take second place.
Their parents watched from off the side, each cheering for their son,
    and each boy hoped to show his folks that he would be the one. The whistle blew and off they flew, like chariots of fire,
    to win, to be the hero there, was each young boy’s desire.
One boy in particular, whose dad was in the crowd,
    was running in the lead and thought “My dad will be so proud.”
But as he speeded down the field and crossed a shallow dip,
    the little boy who thought he’d win, lost his step and slipped.
Trying hard to catch himself, his arms flew everyplace,
    and midst the laughter of the crowd he fell flat on his face.
As he fell, his hope fell too; he couldn’t win it now.
    Humiliated, he just wished to disappear somehow. But as he fell his dad stood up and showed his anxious face,
    which to the boy so clearly said, “Get up and win that race!”
He quickly rose, no damage done, behind a bit that’s all,
    and ran with all his mind and might to make up for his fall.
So anxious to restore himself, to catch up and to win,
    his mind went faster than his legs. He slipped and fell again.
He wished that he had quit before with only one disgrace.
    “I’m hopeless as a runner now, I shouldn’t try to race.” But through the laughing crowd he searched and found his father’s face
    with a steady look that said again, “Get up and win that race!”
So he jumped up to try again, ten yards behind the last.
    “If I’m to gain those yards,” he thought, “I’ve got to run real fast!”
Exceeding everything he had, he regained eight, then ten...
    but trying hard to catch the lead, he slipped and fell again.
Defeat! He lay there silently. A tear dropped from his eye.
    “There’s no sense running anymore! Three strikes I’m out! Why try?
I’ve lost, so what’s the use?” he thought. “I’ll live with my disgrace.”
    But then he thought about his dad, who soon he’d have to face. “Get up,” an echo sounded low, “you haven’t lost at all,
    for all you have to do to win is rise each time you fall.
Get up!” the echo urged him on, “Get up and take your place!
    You were not meant for failure here! Get up and win that race!”
So, up he rose to run once more, refusing to forfeit,
    and he resolved that win or lose, at least he wouldn’t quit.
So far behind the others now, the most he’d ever been,
    still he gave it all he had and ran like he could win.
Three times he’d fallen stumbling, three times he rose again.
    Too far behind to hope to win, he still ran to the end. They cheered another boy who crossed the line and won first place,
    head high and proud and happy -- no falling, no disgrace.
But, when the fallen youngster crossed the line, in last place,
    the crowd gave him a greater cheer for finishing the race.
And even though he came in last with head bowed low, unproud,
    you would have thought he’d won the race, to listen to the crowd.
And to his dad he sadly said, “I didn’t do so well.”
    “To me, you won,” his father said. “You rose each time you fell.” And now when things seem dark and bleak and difficult to face,
    the memory of that little boy helps me in my own race.
For all of life is like that race, with ups and downs and all.
    And all you have to do to win is rise each time you fall.
And when depression and despair shout loudly in my face,
    another voice within me says, “Get up and win that race!”
End quote

And just so you can see,
Here's the entire cover, all of it drawn by me. It's a screen shot because the program I was using wouldn't save it. This is front, side, and back covers.
I hope and pray for the moment I will be able to hold a physical copy of it in my hands. I no longer care about giving signed copies (as my young mind once imagined doing) if it sells, I want my readers to sign my book. Nothing would give me more joy than seeing the names of people who have read my book inside my personal copy.
It's all I can hope for now.
My journey has brought me to a dock with only a raft and a paddle moored in place.
I won't go back to where I started.
I can't avoid it forever.
The only thing I can do now is get on the raft and paddle.