I’m Done Letting People Run Me Over

I’m done. I’m done letting people run me over without so much as glancing backwards at me. I’m done letting my emotions get ignored and washed away by other people’s problems. I’m done being the overly nice girl.

I’m done burning myself up to keep other people happy.

All my life I have been the sweet one. The kind one. The one who wouldn’t hurt a fly. The one who baked cupcakes for people who probably didn’t care about how long it took for me to decorate them and get the recipe just right.

I’ve always been the one who cared too much for people who didn’t give a fuck. I’ve always been the one who gave and gave and gave, for people who took and took and took.

I’m so damn tired.

I’m tired of caring so much. I’m tired of being nice to people who have done nothing to deserve my love. I’m so tired of loving people who don’t love me back. I’m so tired of giving people the benefit of the doubt when all they ever did was toss me to the curb.

I’m tired of playing nice. Of shining my light too brightly. Of smiling too broadly. Of laughing too loudly to people who don’t deserve to hear that music.

Friendship isn’t a silly game. Relationships aren’t something to take lightly. So why am I sitting here still caring? Why am I sitting here still wanting to be nice to people who burn me? Why am I sitting here still wanting to smile back at people’s dirty stares? Why am I still sitting here wanting everyone to love me back?

It’s like my brain is programmed to please and please and please. I want everyone to love me. I want everyone to see me in a certain light, as a good person, as a kind person. I want everyone to adore me.

But what if I’m done being nice?

What if I just want to be real?

I don’t want to be burned anymore. I don’t want to keep hurting. I don’t want to keep allowing myself stand to the side while everyone else takes center stage. I keep getting shot at. I keep getting punched.

Yet still I smile. Still I say please and thank you. Still, I give.

And all anyone does is take. Take pieces and bits of me without a care in the world. They tear and scratch at me until I fade away. They throw their punches. They toss their stones and their pebbles. And I let them watch me bruise. I let them break open my skin and my wounds. I just sit there and let them.

But maybe it’s not their fault. Maybe it’s not their fault for breaking me open. Maybe it’s not their fault for hurting me with their words and screams and cries. Because all my life, I’ve let them do it. I’ve smiled through it. And I never told them to stop. I never told them to quit it.

Until now.