The oxymoronic nature of vulnerability is this: you are vulnerable when you get hurt, and you get hurt when you are vulnerable. In essence, by being vulnerable, you are opening yourself for more salt to be rubbed on raw wounds, daggers twisted in ripped flesh. You get ignored, you get hurt. You get dismissed, you get hurt. You pour your heart out to someone and they toss your words aside, humiliation washes over you and you try to rebuild the wall that you had torn down to make all this possible, scold yourself for being stupid. It’s embarrassing, really. And all that comes out of it is remembering that, truly, in the end, you are the only one that understands yourself entirely, the only one that you can rely on. Sometimes there are nights where you can’t sleep and mornings where you can’t wake. Emptiness that rings more than bells. Times when you feel more alive in the space between heartbeats than during. The moments when you realize just how alone you are, that understanding each other is a lie that people say because no one understands each other, not completely, not the way you understand yourself. This isn’t to say you shouldn’t be vulnerable. It’s to say that you shouldn’t forget to credit yourself for being able to put yourself back together every time opening yourself up etched a target on your heart. We really don’t give ourselves credit for supporting us our entire lives. Don’t forget that you are your greatest support and don’t ever lean everything you’ve got against another human being.