In less than 12 months I'm going to be legally an adult. My brain is accusing me of being a fuckup, a failure. I am not as succesful as I was supposed to be at this age. I was supposed to finish my first novel when I was 9. I'm running out of time. I was supposed to be a fucking child genius. I remember when I was 12 and saw the movie Amadeus. It hit home hard. I immediately went to my room and didn't stop playing the piano for 5 hours. I wept and wept and my wrists hurt like hell. Because I couldn't fucking play like Mozart played.
I was Salieri every time someone else got the solo right from under me. I didn't even know why I felt so bad. I didn't even have the courage to sing in front of people, let alone let people hear me singing my own pathetic little songs. I didn't have the guts to let people or even myself know how much I wanted it. I wanted it so bad it hurt. How can he/she, who thinks it's a nice hobby to sing be BETTER than me, who would die if I didn't have music. It just wasn't fair. It isn't fair. It never will be.
I doesn't matter. It means nothing that I have written over a hundred songs over the years. I had composed a musical and enough material for several records by the time I was fourteen. But it doesn't matter at all if I'm never going to be heard. I draw and write and I frantically fill a notebook after a notebook with drawings and words. But it's never good enough. At one point it destroyed me. I couldn't create anything at all, from the fear it wouldn't be good enough (which it wouldn't have been). Over the last two years I have written 5 songs. 5 pathetic songs. And hours and hours worth of random pieces from here and there, that I didn't have the guts to work into a full lenght song.
I feel the pressure taking over me. It's so dark in my mind that I become scared of myself. I fall asleep on the floor where I'm crying and desperately trying to write or play the guitar. And in the morning the sunlight slowly fills my room and I finally calm down. Heart full of light again.
