Polina A. (ILI)

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.

All people are the same; there is something white and something black in everyone. There are no clearly defined villains or angels. Sometimes I have a "black humor" attitude toward people. A friend of mine loves being late, and I tell her: "One day I’ll kill you, and I’ll be acquitted."

<...> To me, the actions of those around me sometimes seem senseless. For example, someone might just be rude to another person for no reason—laugh at them or mock them. Not even out of revenge; if it were revenge, there would be some meaning, but they do it for nothing. And that person might carry that hurt for the rest of their life.

I don’t know how to hold a grudge at all. Again, I don’t understand people who, for no reason, say: "I’m not talking to you." There are no reasons; it's strange. I’ve met such people; I looked at them, but I didn't hold a grudge against anyone. There are just people like that: they just stop talking. At first, it bothers me, then I realize the person does this all the time—it’s just a quirk they have.

<...> A child like this needs to be explained that there are no "only bad" or "only good" people; everyone has everything, and all of life has pros and cons. But to make life easier, you need to look for the pros, not the cons. If you fixate on the negatives, things will be bad, but if you look for the positives, things will be good.

When parents discuss acquaintances in a negative light, it becomes unpleasant. People come over and smile, but then it turns out to be hypocrisy. When people leave and others start saying nasty things about them, it’s unpleasant for me. You shouldn't harshly judge people in front of a child; you need to soften it a bit—don't say bad things. You can say something neutral. It’s better not to destroy relationships with people. It is very important for adults to tell a child that the people around them are good. You need to maintain that direction.

Actually, what I love most is reading books. I learned to read at four, and I’ve been with a book ever since. Books vary; some aren’t very interesting, while others make me dissolve into them—I live in those books and feel everything. Books allow you to learn about life without leaving home. The most important thing for me in books is if the relationship arc is well-constructed. If a book is just action—say, some sci-fi—it’s boring to me. But if there is a development of various relationships—not necessarily romantic, maybe friendships or even hatred—that is more interesting to me.

There were many wealthy kids in my class: cell phones, being picked up in cars—I felt neutral about it. I don’t care if someone is rich or poor, as long as they are a good person and find me interesting, and I find them interesting.

<...> I don’t understand people’s views on life sometimes; many need money, material values, or some kind of prestige. I find that hard to understand. I’m more interested in a person's spiritual side. I would lean a person toward a spiritual life.

Sometimes I get the feeling I’m not very interesting to the person, so I try to distance myself and act as if I am detached from them.

I would like to socialise with interesting people; if I don't like someone, I won't talk to them. I don't have that thing where I decide at first sight that a person is terrible and I won't talk to them. First, you have to get to know the person, and then I’ll see if they are interesting or not. I'm interested in people you can talk to about various topics without necessarily getting personal. I have acquaintances who only talk about themselves, and others who talk about school, people, friends, world events, or politics. I find it more interesting to talk to the latter; I learn more information.

A child like this needs to be told that people are different from birth. It is very important for them to know their innate characteristics. Otherwise, the child will notice that others behave differently and think something is wrong with them; they will start trying to "rebuild" themselves and live in a space that isn't theirs: "I'll go there; he's 'correct' there." Ultimately, they will end up in the wrong place.

Before, I used to want to socialize a lot, I wanted to be an extrovert, but now I realize that’s not for me. I don’t have that kind of energy; if I have to force something out of myself, life will be hard. You have to tell a child about the strengths and weaknesses of their psyche.

In people, I notice flaws first, but I don't like to point them out; I might not even have the courage to hint at them. I try to soften my own impression and find more positive things in the person. But if it’s difficult, it affects my mood; sometimes it’s irritating, I don’t want to talk to that person, and I start answering sharply or demonstrating indifference.

I don’t like it when people only talk about themselves. When they are too "star-struck" with themselves, it’s irritating, and I try not to associate with them. I'm also not interested in those who have nothing but money on their minds; I walk away from them too. I avoid petty tyrants who constantly talk nonsense, say stupid things, or might insult and be rude to someone without even noticing it. I don’t like hypocritical people who say one thing and do another, who can mislead you, or who promise and don't deliver. I don't like people who talk trash behind your back—I always find out somehow anyway. I try to find the "pluses" in such a person, but I won't socialize with them.

With loved ones and friends, I look for sincerity and goodwill. I don’t like it when people ignore my words or pay no attention when I address them. I "fade out," withdraw, and don't push further. However, I don’t get offended by them. They simply become indifferent to me.

<...> Mutual understanding is important to me. That is, when you understand and trust a person, you can tell them your secrets. The main thing is trust. Parents should teach a child how to communicate with and understand people because people are different, and it’s hard to understand certain actions. You can even teach them not necessarily to understand, but to accept these quirks in people to make communication easier.

<...> My friends are people who are interested in my opinion and my views, and who can listen to me. I can share something intimate if I see the person is genuinely interested and not just listening out of a sense of duty. Around them, I don't overthink what I’m saying; I know they will understand and accept me. It’s easy with such a person, and I’ll be drawn to them. It’s better when a person has an engaged tone rather than a detached one. But I don’t have any close friends like that. There is no one to whom I would tell everything about myself.

Helping people is actually very pleasant for me; it gives me energy, and I want to keep doing things for them—it feels really good.

For a child like this, activities like drawing or chess are easier than dancing. In chess, it’s interesting to calculate moves and various options. I’ve always loved checkers.

I try to avoid quarrels and conflicts. Sometimes, if I am pushed too far, I withdraw into myself—a reflex. I am absent from this world; I am in my memories. I don’t sense my body during this time; it’s like a forgotten object. In that moment, nothing hurts, and I don’t feel hungry. I try to pull myself out of it, but if I don't, I remain in that state for a long time.

I had problems with the dentist. I didn’t go for many years because I was afraid it would hurt. I used to be deathly afraid of breaking an arm or a leg; people said it was unpleasant and bad. That fear of breaking bones is gone. I have a fear of snakes—that they’ll bite and I’ll die. I’ve been afraid as long as I can remember; maybe I read too much about it. I’m afraid of getting sick at the wrong time.

Food must be familiar. It’s better not to give a child anything new or "supernatural"; suspicion arises that it might not taste good. I won’t even try it. I won't even look at "strange" dishes, like salted cottage cheese. I don't like egg yolks, I don't eat beets, and I've never even tasted mayonnaise. I can't eat in the morning; my stomach is still asleep. I’ll come home from school at 1:00 or 1:30 PM; I can eat, but I'm not hungry. Until I pay attention to my stomach, I won't want food. If something smells delicious, I might feel hunger.

<...> When a child like this feels unwell, you shouldn't instill in them the idea that they are "sick." You just need to take care of them, show attention, and encourage them: "You are healthy." If a child doesn't want to eat something, don't "shove" it into them. It will just cause a spasm in the throat.