am i toxic?

Sometimes I catch myself wondering if I’m toxic. Not because I enjoy hurting people, but because it’s hard for me to believe that anyone could really care about me without a reason. Whenever someone gets too close, I start to tense up. My mind goes on high alert, scanning every word, every silence, every small delay in their reply. It’s like I’m always waiting for proof that I’m not worth staying for. And when I think I see it — even if it’s not really there — I start pulling away. Quietly. Casually. Like disappearing before they can notice I’m gone.

It’s a habit that feels safe but also lonely. Every time someone tries to care, I question it. Every act of kindness feels suspicious, every compliment sounds rehearsed. I don’t know when I started doubting love like this. Maybe it began the first time I trusted someone who left without explanation. Or maybe it’s a mix of all the small heartbreaks that piled up until I stopped expecting people to stay. I built a version of myself that looked independent, strong, self-contained — but it was really just armor. Armor so heavy that even I started believing I didn’t need anyone.

But lately, I’ve been tired. Not the kind of tired that sleep can fix — the kind that sits deep in your chest. I’m tired of my own patterns. Tired of pretending that I don’t care when I do. Tired of pushing people away and then wondering why I feel so isolated. I’m starting to see how I sabotage things before they even have a chance to grow. How I convince myself I’m unlovable just to avoid the risk of being proven wrong later. It’s messed up — this need to control my own heartbreak by starting it early.

Sometimes I think maybe I’m not toxic — maybe I’m just scared. Maybe I’m someone who learned to survive by staying a few steps ahead of pain. But survival isn’t living. I don’t want to keep losing good things just because I’m afraid of losing them. So now I’m trying to slow down. To breathe when I feel the urge to run. To stay when everything in me wants to disappear. It’s not easy. My fear doesn’t vanish overnight. But I guess that’s the point — slow down, but don’t stop.

I’m learning that letting people care about me doesn’t make me weak. It doesn’t make me naive. It just means I’m brave enough to try again — even after the part of me that still flinches every time someone says, “I’m here.” And maybe that’s what healing looks like: staying. Staying long enough to see that not everyone leaves, and that not every kind of love ends in pain.

I think I’m finally learning to live without fighting my own heart.

Maybe the goal isn’t to trust everyone blindly, but to trust myself enough to handle whatever comes. To know that if someone stays, I can let them. And if they leave, I’ll survive.

That’s the peace I’m chasing now — not the absence of pain, but think I’m finally learning to live without fighting my own heart.

Maybe the goal isn’t to trust everyone blindly, but to trust myself enough to handle whatever comes. To know that if someone stays, I can let them. And if they leave, I’ll survive.

That’s the peace I’m chasing now — not the absence of pain, but the presence of gentleness toward myself.

Slow down, but don’t stop.

Keep going, even if the only thing moving is your breath. presence of gentleness toward myself.

Slow down, but don’t stop.

Keep going, even if the only thing moving is your breath.

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