"THE CANCEROUS ME." - by Abisolina

I used to wear confidencelike a crown welded to my skull,shiny, loud, untouchable.I called it strength.I called it self-belief.I didn’t know it was growing teeth.I walked into roomslike destiny owed me a seat at the head of the table.Chin high.Voice sharp.Advice? Unnecessary.Warnings? For the weak.I mistook volume for wisdomand stubbornness for courage.People tried to tell me—softly at first,then with sighs,then with silence.But silence, I decided, meant envy.Concern, I labeled hate.Correction, I called disrespect.So I built a throne out of my egoand sat there alone,clapping for myself.I thought I was unbreakablebecause I had never been broken.I thought I was rightbecause I had never listened.I thought I was aheadbecause I was too proud to look backand see the bridges I had burnedstill smoking behind me.Overconfidence is quiet at first.It doesn’t shout like arrogance.It whispers,You already know enough.It smiles and says,You don’t need help.It pats your back while pushing people awayone eye-roll at a time.I stopped learning.Stopped apologizing.Stopped asking questionsbecause questions felt like weaknessand humility felt like defeat.I confused growth with speedand wisdom with winning.So I ran—past advice,past love,past chances meant for me.I ran so fast I didn’t noticeI was circling the same mountainagain and again,calling it progress.Then life did what pride never could—it humbled me without permission.The job I was “too good” to prepare for? Gone.The friend I thought would “always understand”? Tired.The opportunities I assumed would “wait for me”?They learned how to walk away.Failure didn’t knock.It kicked the door in,sat me down,and held a mirror so closeI could see the cracks in my own reflection.That’s when I saw it—the tumor I had been feeding:my refusal to bend,my allergy to correction,my addiction to being righteven when I was wrong and alone.I had watered my egoand starved my character.I had protected my imageand neglected my soul.I had been so busy proving myselfthat I never improved myself.And the hardest truth?Nobody ruined me.No enemy.No bad luck.No conspiracy.It was me.Growing inside myself.Spreading quietly.Turning confidence into a diseasethat ate my chancesand called it self-worth.Now I’m learningto cut pieces of that version of me away—to listen without defending,to ask without shame,to lose without collapsing,to say “I don’t know”and let it be the beginning, not the end.Confidence still lives here,but now it walks with humility,not ahead of it.Now it asks questions.Now it leaves space.Now it knows strength isn’t loud—it’s willing to learn.The cancerous me is dying slowly,not in hatred,but in honesty.And maybe that’s the cure:not becoming smaller,but becoming teachable.Not shining less,but burning without burning others. NOTE; OVERCONFIDENCE is nothing but a letter to disaster,it is a quick way to die and will always leaves you with "NOTHING" to cling on to.Turns your FRIEND to ENEMYFAMILY to STRANGERHELPER to DESTROYERAnd finally YOU to a LAUGHINGSTOCK.

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