Sometimes I know I'm not going to make it

I'm feeling melancholic. The world is shifting and turning and twisting so fast, and there are so many talented and not so talented people out there. There are people who are doing exactly the same things that I do, living the life I want to live. I have an unhealthy obsession. I have always lived on the edge. I have to be the best. Nothing else will do. I will work until I collapse, I will play until my fingertips bleed. And still I haven't done enough. I am jealous and bitter. I am tired, I'm exhausted.
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.