artist?

I used to create drawings, with charcoal sticks and gummy erasers. Whatever I was going through, I was still proud of my work. Each piece spoke a little more of what was inside- of my struggles and emotions. Drawing made me happy, freed me in a way nothing else could. I always knew I could create beauty, even when my head was dark and ugly. It was the gift given to me by God. My work challenged me, won awards, put me into the college of my choice. It was what I had going for me.
But now- now I feel like vomiting before my 1:40 figure drawing class. I pull at my clothes, my hair, my skin; digging at my surface for a sense of security. My confidence dwindles as each hour approaches class. Sometimes, I just leave. I walk out of the art school I worked so hard to get in. And when I'm out, I feel I can breath again, after holding my breath for so long. I dont know if its the stuffy art crowd that gets me down. All of them so distant and iconic. I feel beneath them, and I feel they know it. Their eyes judge my old, thrown-together wardrobe. I am not hip enough. And my work- their eyes skim over, noses higher in the air. I am not good enough. My complex tarnishes more everyday. This, paired with my loneliness- only leads to self hatred. Maybe if I was skinnier, or bought new clothes, then i could work harder and create what they wanted me to. I am foolish for stating that. But its in my head. My damned artist head.