I'm Sorry If I'm Difficult To Deal With. I Don't Know How To Deal With Myself Either.

Ways I Show a Character is Emotionally Burned Out (Before They Even Realize It Themselves)

I love writing characters who think they’re fine but are actually walking emotional house fires with bad coping mechanisms.

They stop doing the things they used to love and don’t even notice. Their guitar gathers dust. Their favorite podcast becomes background noise. Their hobbies feel like homework now.

They pick the path of least resistance every time, even when it hurts them. No, they don’t want to go to that thing. No, they don’t want to talk to that person. But whatever’s easier. That’s the motto now.

They’re tired but can’t sleep. Or they sleep but wake up more tired. Classic burnout move: lying in bed with their brain racing like a toddler on espresso.

They give other people emotional advice they refuse to take themselves. “You have to set boundaries!” they say—while ignoring 8 texts from someone they should’ve cut off three emotional breakdowns ago.

They cry at something stupidly small. Like spilling soup. Or a dog in a commercial. Or losing their pen. The soup is never just soup.

They say “I’m just tired” like it’s a personality trait now. And not like… emotionally drained to the bone but afraid to admit it out loud.

They ghost people they love, not out of malice, but because even replying feels like too much. Social battery? Absolutely obliterated. Texting back feels like filing taxes.

They stop reacting to big things. Catastrophes get a blank stare. Disasters feel like “just another Tuesday.” The well of feeling is running dry.

They avoid being alone with their own thoughts. Constant noise. TV always on. Music blasting. Because silence = reckoning, and reckoning is terrifying.

They start hoping something will force them to stop. An accident. A missed deadline. Someone else finally telling them, “You need a break.” Because asking for help? Unthinkable.

“I only asked for forever once”

I wasn’t asking for much, was I? Just a hand that wouldn’t let go when life got heavier than love. Just eyes that could see the mess inside me and say “stay anyway.” I only asked for forever once. Just once. But forever is expensive when people have pockets full of half-promises and hearts stitched together with exit wounds. They said “I love you” like it was currency, spent fast, forgot faster. But me? I meant every word like an oath. I carved it into my ribs — I don’t love on rental, I love like home. And maybe that’s my tragedy — giving forever to people who were only passing through. So here I am again, writing poems to ghosts, building altars out of ache, loving harder in memory than I was ever loved in real time. And yet — I’d still do it all again. Because some hearts don’t know how to love small.

"The heart that truly loves never forgets."

Astrum

♥️.

“I don’t ask for forever — I just ask for real”

I don’t want promises painted gold at midnight only to peel by morning. I don’t crave fairytales that fall apart the moment reality touches them. I just want someone who looks me in the eyes and says — “I can’t guarantee always… but I can give you honesty. I can give you the kind of love that doesn’t flinch when things get messy. The kind that stays soft even when life turns hard.” I want real. I want the kind of connection that doesn’t vanish when I forget how to smile or when I show my scars instead of my skin. I want fingertips that trace not just my body, but my brokenness — and still choose to stay. Don’t promise me forever. Promise me presence. Promise me truth, even if it’s inconvenient. Promise me warmth that doesn’t run when I collapse at 2 AM. I don’t ask for perfect. I just ask for real. Because real is rare, and rare is enough to be everything.

it hurts to be away from you

far more than unscrewed sharpeners ever can

“why do you have a gap in your resume” idk why is there a gap in your staff. worry about that

Maybe love is not chasing and begging for you, Maybe it is a quiet afternoon nap, no text to be anxious about, diet cokes and windows and screaming and laughing, for it is summer now, and you don't exist to me...