I keep hearing this pulsating bass sound every now and then. Always when I'm alone, and often when I have headphones on. Once it was when my mom was talking to me. It's kind of scary. I can hear things in my head, but that's because I want to. Not this creepy, weird thing I can't get rid of.
I'm afraid to ask people "Do you hear that?" because I feel crazy.
Now I feel empty again. Why? Why am I like this? I keep trying to find myself and nail down once and for all exactly who I am, but I keep coming up with nothing. I am defined by what I do, what I'm good at, what I love, but it's more than that. I'm more than just a fangirl. I'm more than just a nerd. I'm more than just a homeschooler, a pianist, a nationwide champion. There's more to be than those shallow things. But I don't know what.
I keep freaking out that I won't be ready to live life. That when I "grow up," I won't be able to support myself. I don't want to become homeless like my brother. I don't want to cause a family scandal like my sister. I want to be self-sufficient and do life right, but I'm afraid that I'll screw it up. People will be pressuring me to get a job and a driver's license, and I'm not ready. I'm still a kid, and will always be at least in part.
It's amazing how much I have that desire to prove myself. I used to think it was just in movies.
I was always told when I was a little kid that I could never bike down our 800-foot gravel hill. My siblings always could because they were way older, but not me. I had to content myself by riding around in circles at the top of the hill.
When I was twelve years old, I finally had enough. We had some friends (acquaintances) over and we were riding bikes together, and naturally they wanted to go down the hill. It had been hammered into me that "no, you can't." But I decided that I didn't care. I was tired of being the little kid. I was tired of being left out. So I went down the hill.
And it was amazing. The wind in my face, the speed, the rush of it all--it was great. I wanted to go again.
My sister was being especially rude and bossy that day, but I just ignored her and went again.
The third time, I was so thrilled with it all that I ignored all reason. I started pedaling downhill to go faster. Then I realized with horror that pushing the brakes even a little bad was making me skid. I realized that I had only two options: continue gaining speed and swerve out of control, or push the brakes and swerve out of control. I didn't know what to do.
I pushed the brakes.
I don't really remember much, but I remember lying there on the ground feeling like a failure. Like I'd had one chance to prove myself and I ruined it.
My sister didn't help any. She was telling me that yeah, she saw how fast I was going and was thinking I would crash. Yeah sure she did.
My brother for once was not a jerk though. He took me inside and tried to help me out a little.
Of course my mom freaked out. In my understanding, my brother had gone inside and asked if it was okay for me to go down the hill and I thought she said yes, but apparently that was not the case.
I still have scars all over my hands from that incident. It was pretty unforgettable. March 15, 2015.