Back to the start line - Minsung

5.2 The fifth sense

The bell rings and everyone starts packing their things up, Jisung included. However, he doesn't get out of the classroom when a hand touches his shoulder, surprising him.

He turns around quickly and in front of him stands his literature teacher, Mr Bang.

"Jisung, I hope you're not busy right now, I kind of have something to say to you which I should've said sooner" he says, quietly and eyes the other stundets walking out.

When it's just the two of them left, the teacher turns to Jisung again, his hand still on his shoulder.

"I wanted to apologize for... intruding to your personal life and invading your privacy... it was inappropriate and intolerant of me to read your diary like that... I'm sorry" he says and hands Jisung the black covered notebook.

Jisung stares at it. He had completely forgotten about the whole incident.

Oh, God.

"Uh... Jisung? Are you alright? I hope you understand that I didn't have a choice but inform your mother... How are you doing by the way?"

"Ah- I-I'm doing fine, thank you! And it's okay, Mr Bang" he hurries out and takes the notebook, bowing for a couple of times.

"Well, I wish you a good weekend, by the way, the last essay you of yours was superior, I got very positively surprised, well done" the man adds and offers a smile.

"Oh, of course, t-thank you, and you also; have a good weekend" the boy bows again.

The teacher pats him on the shoulder and turns around..

Jisung leaves as well, after his mind has slowed down the racing.

God, why must he always be so embarrassing?

~~~

I don't know when my anxiety started exactly but I remember it slowly building up inside me my whole life. Since the earliest day of my life that I can recall, it has been there.

I've always shunned people - More of unknown or half known people, but people still. I have always been an introvert with rather faint social skills, always stuttering and embarrassing myself. I've gotten used to it, however, those situations never become any less awkward or uncomfortable.

It's kind of funny actually. I'm verbally pretty skilled and like puns, rhymes and so on. I like words but I don't like talking. I'd rather write them down or sing them.

It hasn't helped that mom would often pressure me into those awkward situations where social interaction is necessary as well as required. She would force me to open my mouth and say something. It doesn't matter if those people were my relatives or a receptionist at a hotel, they were still people who I didn't know well. They were scary people, strangers to me.

Mom would often say about it to me, call me whatever names came to her mind at the moment. She would rant about how I will never become anything if I can't communicate with people.

She's right, I guess.

As a kid, social interactions weren't fun but I can't say it didn't grow me.

Namely, it did. At least I have had chances to get used to it. Chances to learn how to tolerate, endure and bear until its all over and I can breath freely again.

The longer I can bear the uncomfortable feeling, the better it feels to be over it.

I don't know what it is exactly what makes my airways close dangerously, chest feel tight and heart race. It has been a lumpy road to look for coping mechanisms and ways to help me get through it all. Breathing exercises usually work fine as well as being held. The latter happens more rarely and it's usually with Minho.