A small group of people, few, little to none, have heard my music. Music is the way I, and most people, express emotions. Music is all I live for, music is my heart, brain, soul, and runs through my blood. Music is what I’m made of, apart from flesh and bones.
It’s hard for someone to understand the emotional connection between someone’s soul and lyrics written out on a crappy, tear-stained piece of paper. I get that it’s hard to understand, because I didn’t understand. Music is not everybody’s cup of tea; it’s an acquired taste of expression, and before I understood myself, my “form of expression” was “expressed”… not at all. My emotions, feelings, and I, really only existed in this horror-like place called my mind. And before I knew the concept of music, that was where I spent all of my time.
The idea of being somebody famous, well known, seems like a fever dream. A good and strange and fuzzy feeling that I’m not sure I want to experience. My music, form of expression, and the idea of other people hearing it, has all been based purely on my curiosity. Who else feels this way? Who will enjoy this? Who will come to this as a source of therapy, as I did? This makes me dizzy. This makes my knees buckle and my head pound. This idea of fame and presenting myself to the world in front of this big shiny metaphorical stage makes my stomach sink to the floor, and my heart beat and beat and beat into my ears. Hot, flashy lights against my skin as the silence slowly eats away my ego, and everything I’ve ever worked on is practically one, if not my worst, possible nightmare.
“You have the talent!” They say. But not the odds. They repeat. Those words ringing in my ears until my head sinks into my salty pillow, and I swallow my pride, and my childhood dreams altogether. After I reflect, take all of this into consideration, this form of stage fright I have is not stage fright in the slightest. It’s the fright and scary possibility that nobody will get me, I won’t defeat the odds, I won‘t achieve everything I dreamed of since the age of six.
I don’t dream now, only guess. I can guess that it’s unrealistic, I can guess it’s not going to happen. Am I going to stop my passion? No. Am I going to show the world this passion? I don’t know. I don’t know if I’m ready for these consequences, if I’m even recognized. For now, music is for me. And for now, I think I’d like to keep it that way. Until I overcome this quote and quote—drowning stage. Who am I without music?
