a weird feeling, this feeling

When I was in 2nd grade, I had to play a Mozart Sonatina for the school talent show. The lights dimmed and the spotlight was literally on me. I, like most little kids (only for me it basically carried on through my entire recital career), tensed up and started way too fast. A couple of measures in, I accidentally switched the song. The transition was similar to another song I was just starting, and all of a sudden, I was playing this other piece with no sheet music in front of me. Right about now I was scared out of my mind, and basically watching my fingers play while my mind went numb. It got sloppier and sloppier as I did not know the piece very well. Finally I came to an egregious, horribly contrived stop, pretended like it was suppose to happen like that, and then switched back to the second segment of the intended sonatina.
By this time my nerves were shot and poor 7 year old David was sweating like he had never sweated before. I finished crappily and grimaced to an end.
People clapped. The next act was announced. No one except the music teacher probably knew what had just happened.
A kid came up to me afterwards and asked if I had just been playing random notes really fast or if that was actually a song.
"Duh it was a song."
The funny thing is he wasn't commenting on how bad I had butchered the song. He really just didn't know the difference between classical music and random fast notes.
I told a couple of my friends how badly I did, and how bad I felt about it. They told me that it didn't really matter, no one even knows. Just pretend you did excellent and get on with life. After all, we had extra recess today and the kickball championships were beginning.
Still, I felt terrible for butchering my first Sonatina piece. Especially since this wasn't "Michael Row Your Boat Ashore" or "Grandfather's Clock" anymore. This was a legit song. And I had screwed it up royally. No one could really tell I was affected at all when I grounded out weakly 2 times before getting a gap double during kickball, and I was glad about that.
I'm fine I told myself. No one even knows except Miss Lippi. And she picks her nose. So psh, she's got nothing on me.
But deep down it still nagged me when I was sitting on the bus home.

That scenario doesn't quite explain my situation right now. Music is not a breathing being, and really it was all my fault that I didn't practice more. The music can't exactly do anything differently. I got over the recital by the end of the week. Because piano performances as a 7 year old don't even come close to making the same emotional impact a lost relationship with no firm closure does.

It's like two cars crashing headfirst repeatedly into each other, but with long intervals between, because it's a long road. One the car of care and love and wanting to keep that connection. One the car of bitter dissapointment and anger.
Let's add some lanes to this road please. I'm tired of the sporadic whiplash.