Stuck in Subpar

Surround yourself with who you want to be. Isn't that what they all say? Strive to be your best, improve upon yourself, keep reaching for the stars.

Problem is, I'm short on both height and supply of stilts.

(Heads up, this is a narcissistic rant.) 

Lately (more like the past 7-8 years) I've felt that I've always been average at everything. Piano? I pick songs up unnaturally quickly, but get those drunk-on-Red-Bull butterflies whenever I perform. The result: I contract my whole body in nervous anticipation at recitals, completely screw up because my hands are cold, stiff, and shaking , then spend the next few minutes listening to perfect performances. Art? I can draw better than most people, yes, but everything I create is just, for lack of another fitting word, average. There's no realism, dimension, or meaning in whatever I draw. Originality eludes me; the paper remains flat, the perspective and colors are ordinary. Subjects are shallow, and if they aren't, it's probably already been done before.

Shall I continue?

I started riding horses when I was three, took a long break, and have now been riding for nearly six years. But only recently have I made any breakthrough progress, and that's only managing to keep my seat stable during my horse's Pepe le Pew canter. The only blue ribbon I've gotten in a competition had only one other entry, and I've entered roughly 4 competitions. What else could I say is a "talent?" My more-extensive-than-most knowledge of nature has gaping holes in it. I may know some stuff, but nowhere near enough to be a real aficionado. I'm an average student, with average scores - literally. I only have 2 GPAs throughout my entire high school career: just above Honor Roll and 4.00.

The point of all this self-pity and ranting is that I have absolutely no idea what I'm going to do when I grow up, or in the short term, which subject I want to major in. What does a person who isn't special in anything do? My parents try to subtly push me towards art, but screw that. I have a cousin who's an art major, and she's had too much trouble in the job department for me to want to go there too. I used to want to major in English, back when I wrote short stories about fairies (only later did I call then faeries) who were discovered in watermelon leaves and small elf-men who just wanted to be understood, but now I've discovered that the only lucrative and stable English major jobs don't exist, and I tend to shy away from instability.

A.k.a., what am I going to do in college? What do I want to be?

I know that very few people have their lives together at a young age, and that all the people who survived that phase smile nostalgically and say that "not knowing is half the fun" - ha. That's ridiculous. It's awful not knowing whether or not I've got a plan that will keep me in the comfort I've grown accustomed to. I used to have mild insomnia when I was a little kid; I find the bouts returning to me as I stay up every night, torturing myself with fantasies of everything that could go wrong - no college will accept me, or the only one that wants me is the worst college no one has heard of, or I'll earn a degree in a field no job wants, or I'll get stuck in a job I hate... All my friends are applying to prestigious colleges with the certainty of getting in. I'm applying to prestigious colleges and safety nets and praying I get into at least one.

I'm sorry, those of you who are thinking that this rant went too far and personal. But I did say this was my online diary. I'm exhausted trying to be polite and happy-go-lucky all the time. I feel guilty complaining about the littlest thing in real life. Everyone needs to vent at one point - maybe multiple times. I'm sorry that you think I'm just a little girl in the First World, complaining about how she's not going to get in anywhere, when she has the chance at education. But each society is as different as, say, a golden poppy and a jasmine vine. The sun-loving poppy, being drought-tolerant, still requires water, but in a range much smaller than the shady jasmine. Each has a class of too little, just right, and too much water - otherwise translated to lower, middle, and high society. If I were simply grateful for where I am now, I wouldn't go much farther in life if I choose to continue living here - which I do. I'm sorry that you think I'm overreacting, that I'm complaining, hoping for some attention - that's the last thing I want. I don't want anyone to notice me, I don't want to stand out with everyone's eyes bringing the blood to my cheeks. That's why I'm saying it here. I'm sorry, I'm sorry, I'm sorry. Such are the words from the people who solve their arguments by bowing their heads and quietly dissolving.

I wish 2013 would end. I don't want to worry anymore, I want the apps to be done with, I want to know that whatever happens, I have no more control over it. I want to stop feeling that my failure of an exciting life is transparently clinging to every word in every supplement, essay, and personal statement. Fine, I'm average. Moving on.

So my ending question: what is depression like?

It's like drowning, only you can see everyone around you still breathing.