The Mask Mandate

Another Thursday had passed. A dreary Thursday filled with drama and gossip and tedious lessons that didn't really educate any of us at all. It was exhausting, having the same repetitive routine, a never-ending cycle that was impossible to break. As I looked around the room, I went from person to person, examining them, trying to think of one decent thing to say about each of them, but my mind went blank. They were the kind of people who thrive off drama and attention, the kind who peaked in high school and although from the outside I seemed no different from my classmates, the comparison could not be any more extreme.

My daydreaming was interrupted by the bell, my favourite sound. It meant I could drop the act, just for a few seconds while I packed my bag, or while I ate my lunch, or while I spent way too long in the bathroom. Despite Mr. Jeffreys' pitiful attempts to keep everyone seated at their desks, the entire class left the room. His words rang in my ears. A few people stayed behind to listen to him, and I know I should've too, but the mask was already planted back on my face and I couldn't break character, not in front of everyone.

People greeted me in the halls, as they always did. I heard my name from every direction. I felt the usual infatuation with the same boy and heard the same tiresome voices that belonged to my classmates. Notice how I said classmates, rather than friends. Most of them weren't even in any of my classes, but the words 'friends' was a push for these people. Sure, from the outside I looked popular, surrounded by all the kids deemed cool enough for me to be seen with, but really I felt more alone with them than I did when I was by myself.

Suddenly I felt overwhelmed by everyone and everything. I rushed to the bathroom, praying that my lack of presence is not noticed, or worse, that no one is following me. I lock myself in a stall and sit with the reoccurring feeling. The feeling of being constantly on edge. The fear of impending doom. The mild sense of foreboding in every situation. Excuses not to go somewhere. Finding negativity in everything. Being jealous of those who seem to have no fears, even though they definitely do. But our minds are malleable. They'll listen to what they're exposed to, believe what they're conditioned to.

Jealousy was the worst out of them all. It was as if I had an insatiable desire to start living because the constant fear made it impossible to focus on anything other than how others perceived you. I'd fear missing out on everything, or that I was wasting my teenage years feeling sorry for myself. So, sitting alone in the bathroom stall, I sat and waited until the buzzing in my head stopped and I was ready to paint a fresh mask across my face.

You see, the key to 'fitting in' in high school is pretending you're someone you're not, something I've mastered by this point. We were all just phonies; fakes - desperate teenagers trying to be seen, heard, noticed, for the right reasons and most certainly not for the wrong reasons. It's as if we're expected to be these social butterflies without a care in the world. Maybe I look like that from one point of view. Maybe the quieter ones amongst us see through my act. I hope they don't. Or maybe I hope they do.

The thing about being expected to be social is that you're not supposed to have any thoughts outside of what's happening in the present. And don't get me wrong - that sounds great, but impossible, for me anyways. My mind never shuts off, especially at school. Whilst I know in my head that no one actually cares enough to notice my mistakes or slip-ups, a constant irrational fear buzzes around my head, a voice laughing at me, waiting to mess up. I never do, of course. I couldn't.

Thursday ended, as they all do. Walking home with my friends (my actual friends, the ones I like), I zone out and for once I don't try and snap myself out of it. They know the real me. I know the real them. All of us, putting on an act for others, entertainment for those fortunate enough to not care about other peoples' opinions. 

I differentiated between friends and classmates through authenticity. The way I see it, most classmates aren't real friends, not really. Sure, they can become them, but without the effort, without the trying, they're just the people you sit with. They're the people who put on their masks around you. I could tell when someone had their mask on, which made me wonder whether mine was as obvious as their's. I really hoped not. But the true friends, the ones you can count on, don't put on their masks around you, or so you'd like to think.

I get home and my mask slips off my face. I'm not talking about a face mask as in a 'covid, pandemic, lockdown' type of mask, but a real mask. My mask. The mask mandate was lifted weeks ago, but mine stayed firmly in place beyond the safety of my house, plastered on as if someone had slapped a smile across my tired face to hide my lack of interest.

A while later, my phone buzzes. It's Sierra, a girl from school (as in classmate, not friend).

"Party still on tonight?"

I read it over and over. In my head, out loud, I even shout it. It infuriates me. I just want to throw my phone out the window and hide. Hide from people, hide from the world. But nevertheless, at 7 pm I open my front and let people in, Sierra being one of them.

Just like that the mask - my mask, the one I hated with every inch of my body and mind, the one I so desperately wished that I could rip off - was back on my face.