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You’re tired and you don’t know why. You sleep enough. More than enough, if you’re honest. You’re always trying to get more sleep because it’s better to be unconscious. Because you’re convinced that if you got just one more hour of sleep, you’d be less tired. You never are.

You’re okay, by most standards. You have a job. You may have a career. You make money- good money- and you spend it. You’ve been spending more than you can afford because it makes you feel something.

You’ve been spending on stupid things because you feel a spark when your stupid things get delivered. You haven’t felt that spark in so long, you’ll do whatever it takes to feel it. But you know this won’t continue too long. Things have stopped amusing you.

You flip through page after page after page of beautiful things. Nothing tugs at you anymore. You’re in love. You’re loved. Of course you are. You have friends and you have a lover who looks at you with more adoration than you can bear.

You want to tell them all that you’re not the person they love, the person they think you are. You’re an imposter who cannot be that person. You’re just tired, and you don’t know how to love them back. You wish you did. But you don’t. And you’re too tired to learn again.

You google your symptoms and find the language for them. Burnout. Depression. Covid related brain fog. Social fatigue. Afflictions of the successful and the smart. You take the quizzes and feel a sick sense of accomplishment because you rank as ‘very burnt out’.

You read the assessment and turn away. How could someone be burnt out if they never really did anything? How could you take a break if you’ve never really accomplished much? You feel like an imposter here too.

You read somewhere that if you fake a smile you can trick your brain into believing you’re happy. You stand in front of the bathroom mirror, skin warm and soft after a scalding shower, and stretch your mouth out into something that doesn’t look anything like a smile.

You bare your teeth and it looks less like a snarl and more like a cry for help. You keep standing there, waiting for happiness to kick in.

It doesn’t. You wear your ratty pajamas again, ignoring the mountain of laundry waiting for you. It can wait a little longer. At least that’s what you tell yourself. At least that’s what you hope.



enthusiastic about indian D2C brands. monkeying around at swiggy. illegitimi non carborundum. venture scout (DMs open). views mine, but i share. she/her.

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