The sad truth is that I am nothing. I am not special or useful. I provide no joy or happiness to this world. No contribution that could help someone else. I am completely useless. Worse, I don't just do nothing, I take things. I am many of the parasitic people around the world who do nothing and take everything. The passive man, as Ayn Rand called it. The downfall of society. And that is the sad, sad truth.
If you've seen this blog before (And by now I'm sure no one looks because it's basically a whiny teenager complaining about how much their life sucks) You know I promised myself no one would ever see me cry again. ever. because showing emotional pain is one of the biggest weaknesses that can be exploited, and it is one of the big risks of being a human. Especially of one living in a first world country, where people already have material possessions, so they can dedicate more time to other things. Hurting people using non-physical violence is one of them. I'm not going to be a hypocrite; I mock people too; but I never directly insult their intelligence or their selves. Especially because all of the people I've insulted are usually smarter or better than me in some way. I'm not trying to bring them down to my level, however- I'm just trying to prove to myself that they have flaws too.
It's different when you're being deliberately told that you are nothing special. And it's especially hard when you have nothing to defend yourself with, because then that proves that you really are nothing. And there is nothing special you have done that would make you better than other people in some way. that is what almost made me break my promise.
I have an all-state audition in mid January. Naturally because last year was my first time, I bombed it and it traumatized me for weeks. I still haven't really got over how I managed to mess up so badly, but at least I can think about it without cringing now.
This year, since I, by some miracle, landed myself a first chair, I'm required to try out again. If given the choice, I'd avoid the thought of have to try out like the plague, bu there's only three weeks left, and I haven't gotten any better since I plateaued out about four weeks ago. To add insult to the injury, my dad has taken it upon himself to lecture me on why I should put more effort into playing.
I suppose I haven't been it explaining it right to my parents. To me, the violin is bit like a pet dog. Someone else's pet dog. I don't particularly like it, but since it's there, I may as well accommodate it. I'll take care of it, And I enjoy it's company when it's not being irritable, but I don't really love it, nor do I feel the need to.
They've described how "real" musicians feel the music for what is, and expression of emotions through sound verses a series of notes. I've begun to look upon that place as a utopia I will never understand or enter.
Really at this point it's too late to quit- they've already forced me to waste almost all of my childhood doing this. It annoys me to think that the only time I could have objected to being subjected this tedious daily activity, I was too young to know how to object.
I've basically wasted any time I had to prepare for what happens after I leave the nest.
And now I have no idea how I'm going to survive.
