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kyrasantae
My sister came back hyper after her first driving lesson. That may or may not be a good sign; I don't know yet.
My neighbour just had to bring up the point that my former piano teacher has been really wondering about why I left with nothing but a note and haven't talked to him since. Now you know it's been a couple of years, and since then I've been avoiding classical music stuff so that I don't end up having to explain things to people if I run into them. The truth is that I'm not really at a stage yet (if ever I will [be]) when I could be able to sufficiently explain everything without hurting anyone. And there were so many factors involved too -- time, not wanting to disappoint people, growing up, depression, the idea that everything has its time and place.
[ ]
I think not being and feeling capable of meeting his expectations was a contributing factor in the early stages of my illness even before the triggering event [in 2000] that set it off (what did I formerly call it; the Cataclysm? the Sundering? I don't remember). I had reached the peak of my talent in grade 6 and the combined new environment of high school and pressure during music classes (this includes the stuff with Mr. Kadz and the rest of the trio) just cracked my will. It's like one day I was on top of the world and suddenly the next day they want even more from you so you fall, because [you] just can't produce what they want.
[ ]
It's why I retreated into fantasies and figments of heroism. For while people expected more from me the more I thought I was special and superhuman. Then when you find yourself unable to satisfy their or your own inflated expectations, the world falls apart around you because it turns out you're not as superhuman as you believed yourself to be, and others look down on you because you failed to produce what they wanted of you. It's a long process before you realize that inability [and want to deal with it]. For a time I knew that I couldn't do it but I kept on pretending to and faking it as much as I could so I wouldn't be ostracized or looked down on as inferior. This made me extremely sensitive to criticism, which is still with me today.
Yet in my fantasies I could never be wrong. I was always the hero. I could play God if I wanted to. So when that outlet was taken away in the Cataclysm I was left with nowhere to hide from reality and turned to madness. But the music lessons persisted; I kept on trying to fake it, and even if I genuinely liked a piece and wanted to learn it, it always felt so beyond my capacity [and a chore] I couldn't make myself work on it and I lost faith in myself. I also lost my first (philosophically) close friend whom I could really talk about myself with in the Cataclysm. I emailed his old address the other day; maybe he's still there. He was a person who understood me for who I was, even if I only really hung out with him for two weeks of school, and the rest was mostly confined to telephone conversations. But losing him meant losing the only person I could confide in and a really kind friend, contributing even more to my helplessness. At first I dropped my extra [enrichment] music classes, then music altogether, thinking that maybe without that pressure from the (very) tight-knit music community I could thrive again, but without a direction to thrive in, that didn't work too well.
Anyway, that's partly the reason why I can't face the music community and my teacher anymore, because tracing it back, they were part of the cause of my problem, which I tried to remedy by separating myself from the cause. I don't know if I can ever really totally completely forgive them. But it's also kind of difficult to explain it to them because of that, most of which I didn't think of until just now. Such is reflection; it never really comes up with an answer to why I am how I am today but always manages to answer a different question.
My neighbour just had to bring up the point that my former piano teacher has been really wondering about why I left with nothing but a note and haven't talked to him since. Now you know it's been a couple of years, and since then I've been avoiding classical music stuff so that I don't end up having to explain things to people if I run into them. The truth is that I'm not really at a stage yet (if ever I will [be]) when I could be able to sufficiently explain everything without hurting anyone. And there were so many factors involved too -- time, not wanting to disappoint people, growing up, depression, the idea that everything has its time and place.
[ ]
I think not being and feeling capable of meeting his expectations was a contributing factor in the early stages of my illness even before the triggering event [in 2000] that set it off (what did I formerly call it; the Cataclysm? the Sundering? I don't remember). I had reached the peak of my talent in grade 6 and the combined new environment of high school and pressure during music classes (this includes the stuff with Mr. Kadz and the rest of the trio) just cracked my will. It's like one day I was on top of the world and suddenly the next day they want even more from you so you fall, because [you] just can't produce what they want.
[ ]
It's why I retreated into fantasies and figments of heroism. For while people expected more from me the more I thought I was special and superhuman. Then when you find yourself unable to satisfy their or your own inflated expectations, the world falls apart around you because it turns out you're not as superhuman as you believed yourself to be, and others look down on you because you failed to produce what they wanted of you. It's a long process before you realize that inability [and want to deal with it]. For a time I knew that I couldn't do it but I kept on pretending to and faking it as much as I could so I wouldn't be ostracized or looked down on as inferior. This made me extremely sensitive to criticism, which is still with me today.
Yet in my fantasies I could never be wrong. I was always the hero. I could play God if I wanted to. So when that outlet was taken away in the Cataclysm I was left with nowhere to hide from reality and turned to madness. But the music lessons persisted; I kept on trying to fake it, and even if I genuinely liked a piece and wanted to learn it, it always felt so beyond my capacity [and a chore] I couldn't make myself work on it and I lost faith in myself. I also lost my first (philosophically) close friend whom I could really talk about myself with in the Cataclysm. I emailed his old address the other day; maybe he's still there. He was a person who understood me for who I was, even if I only really hung out with him for two weeks of school, and the rest was mostly confined to telephone conversations. But losing him meant losing the only person I could confide in and a really kind friend, contributing even more to my helplessness. At first I dropped my extra [enrichment] music classes, then music altogether, thinking that maybe without that pressure from the (very) tight-knit music community I could thrive again, but without a direction to thrive in, that didn't work too well.
Anyway, that's partly the reason why I can't face the music community and my teacher anymore, because tracing it back, they were part of the cause of my problem, which I tried to remedy by separating myself from the cause. I don't know if I can ever really totally completely forgive them. But it's also kind of difficult to explain it to them because of that, most of which I didn't think of until just now. Such is reflection; it never really comes up with an answer to why I am how I am today but always manages to answer a different question.
Appendix A: 16. August 2002 journal entry
I need to make another mail run on Monday -- am sending off a Hong Kong magazine in exchange for a Swedish one (something not Dutch, for a change!) and not an Ikea catalogue. But also I won't want to miss mail deliveries all next week -- great stuff is coming! I got the book from Australia today -- looks like she did address it to the right name.
The guy from the natural gas company came at eight o'clock this morning to read the meter; I had just brought the newspaper in and no one else was awake yet. Sometime you've got to thank people that wake up and get dressed early, like me, during holidays.
I went shopping for a card to send my piano teacher to bid my leave; it was really a hard decision but I had to make it -- and I've chosen to leave it behind...The card has a flower and a heart on it, depicted in a fancy, almost profound style. I think it suits the mood.
I ended last year's lessons on a happy note -- and he wanted me to take the diploma level exam in January. Even at that time I know I wouldn't be able to learn everything in time. So over the entire summer I was left to ponder my two choices -- do what I've wanted to do for so long, drop my lessons, but be forever regretful of how close I had come to finishing, or to continue on, living a lie I've told myself far too long, that I could do it, when clearly I knew it wasn't possible and that trying to practically learn two years' worth of work (essentially what I have, as I haven't actually learned any of the pieces in depth for the last two years) in three months, would further destroy this last bit of sanity I still have, and in the end, disappoint all parties when I fail to reach the futile goal. Besides, I know that there's no way I can keep up the good mood I had set in June for my teacher. And knowing all the thoughts and nights he's spent thinking and worrying about me (I was more or less his pet [student]), I didn't want to let him down again. Call me a coward, but I'm doing this for his peace of mind.
I've chosen the first choice; let me live with regret for the rest of my day, but know that for once I have not made a selfish decision. My nights may be tormented with this forever, but it is a better fate than to be stuck trying to meet expectations that can't be reached, then wallowing in the inevitable failure that would lie ahead. I shall retreat in honour, not cowardice!
