On playing notes and thinking

Some notes get me really well sometimes and I can sit and play them in different orders all day. I'm not a musician, these notes are simple. The caress of the fingers of one hand bring them out. I'm always trying to showcase something, sometime secretly, almost shamefully, desperately shamefully. I'm always searching for the authenticity to put on display, the raw shit, but everything turns to shit if I try too hard; if I press too hard, diamonds aren't made, I just crumble. And maybe that's why bruises from good things, "healthy" things seem to soothe me, it's breaking for the right things, constructive destruction. Rather than the other kind that beats you to a pulp, sometimes I'm afraid that if I think about the bad stuff too much, they will happen for real. Is that because I think I'm at fault for the bad that has already happened? Some notes say all of this with one sound, sometimes they say together in a particular order, they put it eloquently. Sometimes she can be really mean, doesn't care for the notes, doesn't care for the words, just wants to beat me to a pulp.