Satan's Personal Posts- 3: Why am I Terrible at the Things I Want to be Good at?

This is what I think is my biggest flaw other than procrastination, lack of motivation, pessimism is: I am terrible at everything I try to do.


Singing after over ten years of lessons: v. bad, wouldn't recommend, I will hurt your eyes.
Acting after twelve fucking years: v. bad, wouldn't recommend, it's like watching Kristen Stewart in the Twilight series, only faster.
Art after doing it for a GCSE (two years): I traced photos for a year and a half so....
Piano after six/seven years: v. bad, wouldn't recommend, nearly failed my last exam (grade three).
Writing: If half of my stories were still on Wattpad I'd post a link, but here's an extract (three hundred and ninety-one words) of something I wrote for Nanowrimo last year (that I didn't finish, it's like two thousand words long, so over forty-seven thousand words short):

***

In the adolescent ward of the largest gene modification centre in Europe, there was one teenage girl sleeping soundly in a recently made hospital bed. Her breathing was quiet and shallow, but it filled the silent ward. The girl’s dark hair was cropped; each clump unevenly cut like it had been hacked off with a blunt knife. Her pale ochre skin looked sickly in the light from the few overhead lamps dotted across the ceiling.
Double doors slid open to reveal a doctor pushing a cart filled with medical supplies. The doctor pushed the cart into the room, the wheels squeaking loudly as they rolled along the metallic black floor. The cart stopped by the sleeping girl’s bed and the squeaking stopped. The doctor sighed. She knelt by the top of the bed where the girl’s head rested and placed a slender hand on her head.

“What am I to do with you?” she whispered, stroking the hair off the girl’s forehead. The girl did not wake. “My dear little robin.” The doctor sighed again. She pushed herself off the ground (as elegantly as one could in a knee length pencil skirt) and walked to the cart, the thin tips of her heeled shoes clicking on the tiles. Out of the cart she took a syringe and a small pot of a clear liquid that appeared to be almost visually identical to water. She stuck the needle into the pot and extracted some of its contents into the syringe, tapping it to remove any air bubbles that would cause the sleeping girl harm. The doctor returned to the sleeping girl with the syringe and an antibacterial wipe. She dabbed part of the girl’s upper arm with the wipe, then injected the liquid into the sleeping girl. The sleeping girl whimpered as the liquid spread swam around her blood stream.
“I'm sorry, my little robin,” said the doctor, who once again began stroking the sleeping girl's head, “but it has to be done. If you would only do as they asked, then I wouldn't have to do this.” The sleeping girl whimpered again. “My little robin.”
The Doctor's C.O.M earpiece beeped to signify an incoming call; she tapped the earpiece once to accept it.
After a few moments, the doctor replied to the caller with little emotion in her voice, “yes, ma'am.”

***
See? Terrible. 

I know practice makes perfect and all that nonsense, but twelve years of acting and I'm still bad. TWELVE years. And due to my lack of motivation, I don't often practice other things suck as writing and art (unless we count GCSE art, but I won't to forget that horrific experience). And I recently haven't played piano much because I wore false nails during the GCSE exam season to stop me picking my real ones to bits. Which worked, btw.
But it's disconcerting to see that when you redo a piece of art you did three-four years ago, you haven't really improved. Or when you art teacher tells you that work they know is traced is better than work you did free-hand, because fun fact of the day: that's not really a compliment, it literally the opposite. Even then, my traced artwork often went wrong; so we turned it into memes. This made me feel better and worse at the same time. 

It doesn't help that school often gets in the way of things, I either have too much work to do or I'm dead inside from grueling lessons because science is awful. And the GCSE's I did basically ruined the subjects for me. English completely destroyed creative writing for me- there was legit a task where you had to force yourself to describe something for 500-800 words, never has there been so much purple prose which is boring and difficult. Even if I did get full marks on it. 

But the point to this never ending post is that I have low self esteem am not v. talented and it's v. annoying for me as someone who wants to create content and to share that content because I'm v. vain and want attention it's something that's very popular at the moment and seems a fun and rewarding experience.