The Hidden Toxin ✔(#6 in the Our Side of The Dice Series)

||Author's Notes 3: To be a cool kid||

The paradox of insecurity

Senior secondary school came with a lot of pressure in different dimensions—especially the last year of senior secondary school. Perhaps there wasn't any pressure, but for someone like me who didn't always feel great about herself, there seemed to be so much pressure.

I wanted to be many things. I wanted to look appealing and beautiful; I wanted people to talk about me. I wanted to be one of the coolest girls with the most fabulous friends.

I wasn't desperate. I didn't go all out to obtain these things, but deep down, I still desired it. I loved the friends I had, and I always enjoyed their company. I didn't mind that people liked to laugh at my squad of friends— mainly because they found our squad name ridiculous (I found it stupid too) and maybe because we were immature sometimes. Nevertheless, I loved my friends.

Still, whenever I walked into the preparatory hall in the evening, I was always bothered about how I looked. Every border had a uniform they would always wear once they were in the hostel. It was a buttoned wine t-shirt with stripes and plain wine trousers to match.

Almost everyone in my class looked okay in their uniforms. It was their size, and more importantly, they had the body that was suitable for their respective uniforms. Even if some didn't, they at least knew how to carry themselves smartly.

But my trousers were too baggy for me, and my shirt didn't feel right. There was no way I could slim-fit it like other persons. I was too short. Also, I didn't even like my manner of walking. It wasn't something I wanted anyone to notice, so even if my uniform fitted well, I had no confidence to carry myself smartly.

Hence, I was bothered about my outlook each time I walked into the preparatory hall. If I happened to walk in late, that was the worse thing because everyone was already settled on their tables, seated in groups of friends they loved to associate with.

The silence was always deafening, too, because we were expected to be reading our school books. So there was no way you would walk in late and wouldn't be noticed. During those times, I wished I could be consumed momentarily by the earth.

I felt intimidated by the boys in my class, especially— probably because I wanted to come off as attractive or sought some internal validation from them.

My insecurity was paradoxical.

There were some days when I had a vain sense of beauty—days when I felt beautiful and sexy—especially in my Sunday hostel uniform. It was a yellow gown with Ankara prints, and it seemed to have more fitting on my body than the wine shirt and trousers that I wore on weekdays. A few other times, It was just all in my head—regardless of the outfit I was putting on. How could I want to be so invisible and yet so noticed at the same time?

Why was my insecurity coated with an unreal standard of confidence? It all felt false. I was susceptible to this fantasy even in my most casual walks around the school or the hostel. I liked to consider how cool I must look, so I would replay ideal scenarios in my head — probably about how nice I sometimes felt about my body or a comment someone had given me in the past about my facial appearance, just something to fuel my vain bubble so I could walk with confidence, thinking people would notice me and bothering so much on external validation, but no one cared.

I liked to remain stuck in those scenarios that gave me serotonin—because it always felt good and much better than those feelings of normalcy, doubt, fear about my entire existence, whether people saw me and my lifestyle as uncool, and whether I was loved and seen in a good light by the people I wished to be friends with.

So, I stayed stuck in my head instead of simply participating in the world around me. I was a walking paradox—feeling so insecure but "confident" at the same time. My insecurity was a perverse expression of my pride. It was messing with me.