@heavensbvnny it’s been nice to just let my legs kinda take me wherever they want. i don’t really think while i’m walking. for some reason i feel too flooded to let myself grasp onto one thought rn, but it definitely is doing something. i’m here with you bro. it’s the world, not us fr
@heavensbvnny do you have anything you like to do on a day to day basis? like do you get out of your house just to be out ever? i’m literally dealing with this right now and yeah i’m gonna be one of thoooose but i started walking. i’m on day 2 rn and tbh it isn’t what people say it is but-
i just want to be with someone who can’t get enough of me. who’s genuinely so in love with me, they get mad at themselves when they’re mad at me. like idk call me toxic
adult life right there.
Two things can be true at once, and your brain hates it because it wants a villain and a hero. It wants clean lines. It wants “I’m right, they’re wrong.” It wants relief.
Instead you get this:
I love you.
You hurt me.
I understand why you did that.
It still wasn’t okay.
I’m proud of how far I’ve come.
I’m still not where I want to be.
I miss them.
They’re not good for me.
I’m grateful.
I’m exhausted.
It feels like a glitch in the system. Like your chest can’t process holding two opposing weights at the same time. You want to drop one. You want to simplify. You want to flatten the story into something easier to carry.
Reality doesn’t care about your need for simplicity.
The reason it hurts so much is because when two things are true at once, you lose the comfort of certainty. You don’t get to fully blame. You don’t get to fully justify. You don’t get to fully detach. You have to sit in the gray space where nuance lives, and nuance is heavy.
It’s easier to say “they’re terrible” than “they’re flawed and I still care.”
It’s easier to say “I’m fine” than “I’m coping and also quietly not okay.”
It’s easier to say “this was a mistake” than “this taught me something and also cost me something.”
When two truths exist together, you’re forced to grow.
Not in a motivational poster way. In an uncomfortable way. In the way where your identity shifts because you can’t cling to a simple narrative anymore.
You can love someone and still leave.
You can forgive someone and still not trust them.
You can be strong and still feel fragile.
You can choose yourself and still grieve what you gave up.
The mind wants one headline.
Life gives you a paragraph.
Part that makes it even worse: sometimes both truths demand action in opposite directions.
You want to reach out.
You need to stay away.
You want to defend yourself.
You also see how you contributed.
You want to hold on.
You know you have to let go.
That tension feels like it’s tearing you in half. Because no matter what you choose, you’ll betray one of the truths.
That’s the grief.
You don’t just lose a person or a situation. You lose the version of reality where everything made sense.
Quiet upside, even if you don’t want to hear it.
The ability to hold two truths at once without collapsing into black-and-white thinking is emotional maturity. It’s painful, but it’s powerful. It means you’re not living in denial. It means you’re not flattening people into cartoons. It means you’re capable of complexity.
And complexity is lonely sometimes.
Because it means you can’t join the easy narratives. You can’t just rage. You can’t just romanticize. You can’t just detach. You see the layers. You feel the layers. You carry the layers.
It’s exhausting.
Still, I’d rather be someone who can say:
“This broke me and it built me.”
Than someone who needs the world to be simple to survive it.
Two things being true at once isn’t the problem.
The problem is that your heart wants one answer, and reality hands you two.
And you have to live anyway.
Any love I have given you is yours to keep. I will never ask for it back, never regret it, never treat it as wasted. Love was never a trade. It was a gift I offered because, in those moments, you mattered.
it was never just a one time thing. this was years in the making of distrust and broken promises. one conversation wouldn’t have fixed what broke over time.