Polina A. (ILI) - On Emotions

I am afraid of loud emotions and sounds. Unexpected noises throw me off balance; everything inside me tightens, and I get scared—even if I just drop something metallic on the floor. If music is turned on suddenly, it’s terrifying. My body flinches for a moment, and only then do I calm down.

I cannot stand shouting. Here is a vivid example: in fifth and sixth grade, I had a math teacher who explained everything calmly and organized it all perfectly. No one liked her except me. I understood everything well and loved math. When algebra started, that teacher left and another one came who explained things by yelling. As a result, I don’t know algebra; to this day, I can’t solve any problems or anything complex. While she was explaining, I perceived her screaming more than the information, and the data just got blocked out. I felt a genuine dread of going to class: "Anything but algebra!" I realized that now. That’s why so much of the subject remains misunderstood.

When there are strong emotions around me, everything inside just shrinks. I want to hide, run away, or sink through the ground just so it isn't directed at me. You experience a kind of physical discomfort when these emotions are aimed at you; if they are direct, it’s hard. When they are nearby but not directed at me, it’s somewhat easier.

If it’s a positive emotion, it’s easier to handle, but I still can’t seem to respond to it—it causes irritation. I can’t squeeze an emotional response out of myself. I try my best, of course, but I can’t open up to that extent. I usually retreat into a corner and try to remain unnoticed so that I don’t irritate people with my indifference and so they don't bother me much.

I don’t know how to recite poems with expression. Performing on stage was difficult, though you get used to it gradually. I had an experience where I studied guitar in a studio; there were concerts, and I felt self-conscious. You stare at one point, afraid. But then I learned to take it calmly. We sang there—original songs. Of course, it’s better when several people sing; performing solo is still hard, as is playing the guitar alone. When we stand together, as a duo, I realize that not all eyes are on me; I feel easier in a team. In general, if you’re enrolling a child in something, it’s better if there are familiar faces because it’s hard to adapt right away. It’s better when there are friends or a group.

In childhood, I did dance, but I quit quickly. You have to keep a smile on your face constantly there, and for me, that is strenuous work.

<...> In childhood, adults seemed equal to me; they just had more responsibility. I liked smiling, friendly people. If someone didn’t smile, it made me cringe—it felt like something bad had happened. It’s hard for me to reach out to friends or be the first to speak. In kindergarten, I’d socialize with one group one day and another the next. In school, I liked it when a teacher explained things calmly and patiently, talking to us as equals without snapping.

<...> When I talk to someone, I don’t monitor my intonation or manner of speaking. I might remember it later, look back, and realize. If a person withdraws or stops communicating, I realize I’ve messed up.