Unwilling to draw certain conclusions, unable to face certain consequences, you seek out a second opinion. Logical.
Months later, years later, you've got a full collection of second opinions. They are your coin collection, your butterfly box. Shimmering objects whose value is estimated by time and circumstance and rarity. But in the end, despite all those different worths, different species, different colors and shapes and sizes, they are all still coins, just butterflies. In the end, their only value is the truth they held for you.
So what do you next? Every angle of entry has taken you to the same place, every formula has given you the same answer. What do you do when you cannot accept the place, cannot tolerate the answer? There's no choice really. Not when you realize you cannot, will not, spend another day collecting.
You do it. You draw the blasphemous conclusion. You face the heinous circumstances. Bled dry and gutted, you realize you are still whole. The butterflies fly out of the box while the coins melt and pool at your feet.