There’s a particular kind of emptiness that hits after a hyperfixation burns itself out. It doesn’t happen all at once, either. It creeps in slowly, like a hangover you don’t realize you’ve earned until the adrenaline wears off and you’re standing in the middle of your living room surrounded by supplies, receipts, and the ghost of your own enthusiasm.
I used to think I was just awkward. That weird shift mid-conversation where I’d be fully engaged one minute and then suddenly, like someone had flipped a switch, I’d be done. Not just “a little tired” done. I mean “brain shutting down, words turning to static, eyes glazing over like a malfunctioning animatronic at a discount Chuck E. Cheese” done.
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