Veronica, the doormat

“I would have loved to have seen you get mad…”

Today I was given some advice. “Get mad.”

Funny. I am not sure I ever really understood how unfathomable of a concept that is for me. I don’t even remember the last time I felt mad at a person. Legitimately, truly mad. I get mad at cars. Barking dogs. Loud music. Myself. But another person? A person I care about? Ha. Yeah right. 

I relate anger with bad choices and abandonment. My father and my sister were two of the angriest people I have ever met. And eventually they got so angry, they left. My father’s anger contributed to his alcoholism and death. My sister’s translated to addiction and separation from the family. As a teenager and as an adult, I befriended far too many people that taught me my feelings were wrong. Especially if it meant that they were in the wrong. 

Veronica, the doormat. 

At 26 years old, I have perfected the art of being neutral. Anger and strong emotions lead to loneliness and self-loathing. I don’t want to share an emotion, for the grotesque fear that it is, ultimately, the wrong one. People’s reaction to me, their true thoughts about me, absolutely terrifies me. 

I don’t want to live this way anymore. 

The other day someone described me as apathetic. I am not going to let that be the Veronica that people see anymore. I want people to see the real, passionate, true Veronica. The one who laughs, and cries, and yells, and FEELS things. 

I don’t want to coast through life without feeling the things that I want to feel. I want to embrace every emotion that comes my way, and I want to allow myself to not worry so deeply what other people are thinking of me. I am through with being afraid of living. 

I am through with letting my screwed up family and terrible old friends define my relationships now. 

This is a new era in my life.

I refuse to be the doormat, anymore.