I've given up on giving up slowly

I'm getting all the confirmation that I asked for. And only now do I realise how much this truth strikes me like lightning. It gets me thinking about how much I actually wanted myself to be proven wrong. I wanted the truth. But I should have realised I couldn't handle the truth. It's such a weak feeling knowing that I'd rather be comforted and wrapped around lies than face reality straight on. Like a shredded cloth, this cause is pointless. Perhaps at one point I believed in this deceiving cloth. But my vision is no longer blurred and what I see, is a torn apart cloth with no use and a bin around the corner screaming home. Even if it's ripped all over and stained to the extent of no going back, I can't help but want to keep it. Hoping that one day it will mend itself. But I need to dispose the cloth and these thoughts that linger. It's presence only disintegrates my mental well being.