Art

Art

When I was a kid, you could either find me writing, singing or drawing (never in class in case I got in trouble – I was anxious even back then). At home I was always daydreaming about what I wanted my life to be like – where I would live, what kind of house I would have, what my career would be… and then I would turn it into either a fictional piece of writing or I would draw what I had envisioned for myself. One time I even started a scrapbook with cut-outs from magazines and catalogues whereas nowadays I use Pinterest for that kind of thing. It was my way of coping with being bullied and having either no friends or only one at a time who would soon get bored of me because I didn’t like whatever was “in” at the time. As I got older, my need to be creative got even more intense as did my want to fit in. I joined a children’s circus which I attend up until I left Primary School, I was involved with NYCoS (National Youth Choir of Scotland), was in a choir at both Primary and secondary school, I was a leader at a local kid’s club and I joined a creative writing group. I would still do art work at home and write fictional pieces for myself but I kept that part of my world private. I didn’t want others to know that side of me for fear of being made fun for it, that my fantasies of finding someone who would love me for me and getting married to them were laughable to them because I was constantly told that I was “too fat” for “human things” like pretty dresses (yep; kids and shop assistants can be really cruel) and “too ugly” to even keep a friend never mind a boyfriend. I didn’t even have someone that I could share things like that with because I found out at a very early age that I couldn’t confide in people my age because they would take it and use it to make of me. Even now I don’t share things like that with anyone as I have never learned to trust anyone enough to be that vulnerable around them. I don’t mind people seeing me in my depressed state because I’m not ashamed of it but I will never let them see what makes me the happiest for fear of it being taken away. I have very few good days as it is and I will be damned if someone makes it so that I can’t enjoy even the smallest of things that make me happy.

As time went on and I got to high school, I had completely stopped getting any sort of enjoyment from performing or doing art due to a couple of teachers. This began in my very first week of high school and got really bad during my senior years (4^th, 5^th and 6^th year here). I stopped taking music class and going to choir when I entered 3^rd year (we got to pick most of our classes) because when I was in 1^st year the teacher called me out in front of the whole class for cheating on a test (or “pop quiz” as they’re known in some places). I hadn’t been cheating at all and there was no way for me to do so. I sat at the very back of the class (wasn’t even that far back as there were instruments behind us so I was more in the middle of the room), didn’t have a desk partner that I could’ve been copying off of and my phone was at home. I hadn’t been doing anything that could’ve looked suspicious either; I was just filling in my test form. I could never tell whether or not she was ever being genuinely sincere either as everything that came out of her mouth sounded sarcastic. I had started to physically feel unwell the night before I was due in her class as well (which I would later find out was a symptom of my anxiety) so I started missing school due to being unable to get out of bed for fear of being sick or would go home at lunch feeling unwell before her afternoon class. I would end up with throat infection after throat infection making it difficult for me to sing (late found to be brought on by the stress of being in her class). I spent a lot of time in the nurse’s office over those two years that I had her.
In art class I didn’t get any form of support from my teachers over the last two years that I was doing the course and aside from my anxiety and depression getting really bad, I clashed a bit with one of them. I wasn’t a kid who shouted out in class or who disrupted it; she just liked to pick on every single thing that I did. I didn’t like her for that reason and she made it clear that she didn’t like me despite not having a reason to – I certainly wasn’t going to give her one. She would tell me off if I decided to talk to the other kids at my table (which was rare as it was as I liked to just go in and get my work done and I was always quiet even when speaking) and would just make me feel unwelcome in her class. She seemed to get a kick out of making me feel like an outcast in her class so when I found out the she was taking my class again in 6^th year after 3 years of having other teachers, I gave her a couple of months to see if she did anything. At first we were fine; she actually said that she was “thrilled” to have me back and I was willing to let my first two-year experience of having her as a teacher slide. I wanted to get through my final year with very little to no issues. Then the little things that she did started to wear me down. Any tools that she gave me (pencils, clay cutting implements) were broken or severely damaged. When I asked for replacements she would spend most of the class looking for them so I couldn’t do any of my work (and would then tell me off for not having done anything) and when I didn’t know how to do something (photoshop for example), she would act as though teaching me how to use it was a chore. It got to the point where I was mute during my lessons with her (apart from the anxiety-inducing action of having to call out “here”) and I stopped asking her for help. I had had enough to the point where getting a good grade in her class wasn’t worth going in and feeling like everything I did was wrong so I would give into my feeling of being ill again (which I had tried to put aside for my last year for fear of not getting any qualifications so that I could go to college and live the life I wanted) and go home or not go to school at all. I spoke to my head of year about how being in class made me feel and he offered to speak to her about it but I didn’t want there to be any further issues stemming from doing so therefore my only option was to drop art. I felt like a failure but I was also so relieved that I no longer had anything holding me back or getting me down teacher-wise. 

However, in spite of all that, I would really like to share some of my art work with you at a later date so keep your eyes peeled for that!

Anxiously,
Me

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