Today I experienced a familiar feeling and from that I learned a new thing about something that has always been me. I saw my head doctor back in January on the twenty-eighth. In the end she and my mother spoke of potential and eventually it was decided that I should try to get out more. Despite my always leery feelings about the matter, I decided to appease them as usual. Most of me knows that if it does have a negative effect, the matter will be put away for a long while.  Then, there is the vague positive, perhaps hopeful side – despite it is mainly run by logic as well – that maybe something positive will come of it. It was the former as usual.
The feeling I experienced was of being in school again. The thing I learned was that I am emotionally sensitive to words and actions of others as I am physically sensitive to various stimuli. I am mentally, physically and emotionally intense. It doesn’t matter the age or gender. It doesn’t matter if I can rationalize the situation, tell myself the likely true scenario… the emotions are there and despite my great efforts, they cannot be ignored.
I almost cried in class. I wanted to get up and leave. I didn’t though. I did that back in school, but that was after going through this process over and over again to the point of a break. By habit I kept myself strong. I would carry out what I came to do. I would not cry, I would not run, I would finish the class and then I would go home. I fulfilled that.
It reminded me of my youth though. In the past I would have been irritable and possibly lash out. Back then I didn’t know how to cry. Well, I know how to now. I kept my tears back, though. Thinking on that, I am sure that is how it all started… my inability to cry back then. I had to be strong. I had to be able to handle what was going around me like everyone else. In the end, I broke substantially.
This is why I avoid such situations… I am sure I will always wind up in the same situation in the end. Why? Because it is how I am wired. I will always be sensitive. In order to not make a fuss, a ruckus, a scene… I keep it all in. I try to act normal. In the end though, the very things I want to do at the time do come out, but by then they are like the genie in the bottle. They come out in an overflowing burst. They are like an erupting volcano and very bad things happen.
Today I saw the beginning of that small build up. It was over a little thing. I could see it was a little thing. For my mind and my heart however, the pain, humiliation, indignation, frustration and anger could not be soothed by rational thoughts, logic and explanations.
When working against something that is difficult, I tend to berate myself and the work. It is a habit I’ve possessed since little and still possess now. I suppose in my case it is a sort of reverse psychology. If I say such things, I won’t truly be disappointed if it doesn’t work out as hoped. Then there is the concept of how drill sergeants yell and berate their cadets.
The teacher didn’t know me and thus wouldn’t understand me. I know that. I’d only see her for one day. I know that. This wasn’t a class that was being graded. I know that. I just work my own way.
She teased me about expecting to suddenly be a master artist from that simple beginner’s class. That affronted me greatly. I never expected such a thing. She made a comment about my having to yet learn that valuable lesson more or less. This being said to the other four women taking the class her were pretty much as old as the teacher or older. They had kids and possible even grandkids.
That angered, hurt and humiliated me. I wanted to know what gave her the right to judge me so. Yes, I was well younger than half their age, but that didn’t mean I was so naïve, so ignorant, so immature…
Then after something regarding my comments over my progress she teased again and told me to “dwell on it” as though I were a troublesome child who had a valuable lesson to learn about art.
Perhaps one would say I am naïve, ignorant or immature. I likely am that quite a bit. However, I think she could have had the decency not to insult me to offhandedly. I would have appreciated it greatly if she didn’t make it a lighthearted joke that amused the others.
By the end of that, my emotions were in turmoil. Tears prickled in my eyes and truthfully I fought over just standing and leaving right there without a word to get a hold of myself. One might say I was being immature right then. Well, whatever…
I stayed though. The class cost a decent amount of my monthly paycheck, my mom bought the supplies for me and I was going to finish what I started. So, after working and getting a handle on myself, I reduced myself to the occasionally sniffles and just focused on getting the assignments over with. I wondered if any of them noticed a change in mood about the air that surrounded me. I doubted it with how they acted.
Before that I made comments, rambled things… but by then… I figured, “Why bother?” I wasn’t an equal in their eyes. I was only going to see them that one class. Thus, I was silent, no nonsense and merely did things rather mechanically by then.
I eased up near the end of the class. I would try again, but on a more distant level. I made vague conversation with one lady. I found she was a fellow “hermit”. She didn’t seem to care for the watercolor medium either. Small chat was fine.
After that I asked the teacher to do a repeat example on the lesson I was muttering the most about as it was difficult or very displeasing to me. Then I stayed to hear the women talk for a while before departing. I felt I did enough for the rest of the session despite the poor results of the middle part. I decided I had no intentions to ever do another painting class under her again, however.
In all of that, I learned… It doesn’t matter who the person is. The age, the gender, the ethnicity, whatever… it doesn’t matter. I’ll always be sensitive. I am sure there are ways of therapy for coping… but I do my own coping. Coping only eases. It doesn’t get rid of.
I have another class in March. My mother says I don’t have to go. I’m sure I could get my money back too if I were to withdraw. I’ll go though. It was decided. I’ll stick to it. It is a different class and will have a different teacher. I doubt I’ll be working with any one near my age, though. I’ll see how I do. Perhaps I’ll enjoy it to some extent. If it turns out like today’s… well, I’ll survive it and know I tried. I always try and will continue to even if there is pain… because pain is always inevitable… just as happiness is.