There’s a strange kind of beauty in that, isn’t there? The illusion of control — even if what I’m controlling is my own loneliness. When I’m the one to end things first, the pain feels predictable. But when I let my guard down, everything becomes dangerously uncertain. So I start testing: silence, distance, coldness… and then I act surprised when people walk away, as if they didn’t see all my warnings. Do I actually want them to leave? Or am I just afraid that if they stay, I’ll lose my freedom — and with it, the right to demand what I think I deserve?

Sometimes it feels like I live two parallel lives: one part of me craves tenderness and simplicity, while the other thrives on the quiet power that comes from being the one who cares less. That feeling — raw, a little cruel, but intoxicating — it’s not pretty, yet it’s real. I’m not writing this to justify myself, but to confess: I’m not perfect, and my fears make choices that hurt not only me. 🔥

Maybe my “no” isn’t rejection at all — maybe it’s a safety mechanism. A way to protect myself from jealousy, disappointment, the exhaustion of explaining who I am. I’m basically saying: be careful, I don’t know how to be safe for anyone else. But can I really keep living like that? ❓

I’m not searching for an answer here. This isn’t advice or a resolution — it’s just the diary of a woman who knows she sometimes becomes the source of her own heartbreak. Some days, I wish I could stop testing love and simply trust it. Other days, I think I’m just not built for something easy. And admitting that feels like both freedom and guilt at the same time. 🤷‍♀️💭