Not So Tough

I have a sharp tongue. I can trade insults with the best of them, and in a verbal argument, I can hold my own quite effectively. And yet, when it comes to people I know, the fierce, steadfast, rage fuelled fire – that has gotten me into trouble as many times as it has saved me from it – seems to just evaporate. I turn into this weak, meek, subservient little fool. And I allow myself to be taken advantage of, because I don’t want to be troublesome.

I mean, what the fuck is wrong with me? I just allow people to totally inconvenience me, until I am so run down that I can’t even think straight, and so overly emotional that the smallest thing sends me into a physical and mental breakdown. But if I raise a complaint, I get made out to be the worst, most selfish person in the world until I’m practically swimming in unnecessary guilt. Followed shortly by the false certainty that I don’t have the right to say no. I mean hell, it’s not like I have to look after my health and well being, or be happy, or have a life in any small measure.

I always tell people that I’m tough. Evidently, that is entirely false. Because if I was really tough, I would tell everyone exactly where they could go, and then ride off into the sunset; my own hero and saviour. Instead, I lay down like a doormat, and let the whole world trample on me and dust their feet off on my weary bones.

Forgive me for venting at you like that, guys. I’m just angry. I’m angry at everyone else for happily using me, because they look past me and see only what they can get out of me. But mostly I’m angry at myself, for constantly letting it happen. I need to be stronger, I need to get some grit and learn how to say no. I need to start proving that I am as tough as I say I am, and not to anyone else, but to myself. There’s a tough girl buried in here somewhere, I just need to coax her out.

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