Running on Empty

08-23-2025

Some days just hit harder.

There are weeks when I feel like I’m simply running on empty. Moreover, my energy has disappeared without warning. A while back, I went in for a sleep study. It turned out I stop breathing fifty-seven times a night. Now I use a CPAP machine, which helps a little. It’s a royal pain, though. Not a magical fix, but I no longer wake up in total exhaustion, but I am not refreshed either. Sleep still isn’t restful. Even with pills, subconsciously, my brain keeps spinning like a wheel that can’t stop. The fog doesn’t always lift, even after rest. It’s not just emotional. It’s physical too. People throw around the word “burnout,” but that word feels too simplified for this kind of slow unraveling. Unraveling is a perfect word to describe how I feel.

The harder I push, the slower I move.

I’m not running—I’m dragging. When I try to push forward, it feels like I’m pulling myself along inch by inch. Looking for solutions drains me further. These days, even thinking about fixing the problem feels like too much. I’ve come to see rest and recovery as necessary, not optional. Still, guilt sneaks in every time I slow down. It’s a constant tug-of-war between trying and surrendering. Yang and jang, light and dark. I’m still struggling to learn how to navigate it, and I’m not there yet.

Even simple pleasures demand energy.

Enjoying life takes work now. Whenever I eat my favorite foods, I tend to gain weight. If I sit too long or skip movement, my joints fight back. Travel, once exciting, has become another source of stress. Even cruising feels hollow now. Casinos don’t pretend anymore—they’re there to extract, not entertain. I find myself wondering what it even means to enjoy the fruits of my labor. “Been there, done that, got the t-shirt.” That phrase sums up my mood and, in many ways, my life exactly.

Human connection feels distant.

Trying to get help today means talking to machines. I once spent half a day locked out of a program. “Customer service” became a series of emails with bots. There was no human—just AI-generated replies. I get it. Automation saves money. It makes things faster. But once you take the human out, you lose the soul. AI can sound empathetic, but it’s still empty. Clever words, polished replies, meaningless solutions. It’s a scripted concern dressed up as progress. In short, it is bullshit in a brightly colored box.

I miss being moved by something.

Maybe I’ve lived too much. Or maybe getting older makes everything more complicated. That sense of wonder is harder to find. Even things I once loved feel dull. The energy I had to chase experiences just isn’t there. Every day feels like a quiet battle. Some days, I fall forward more than I move forward. In conclusion, I hope this feeling will lift, but I don’t know when—or if—it will.

I’m tired of pretending otherwise.

This isn’t a dramatic cry for help. It’s just the truth. I’m tired. Bone-deep, soul-level tired. I don’t want more. Nor do I need more. I need the noise to stop. The spinning. The reaching. The fog. Everything. For once, I’d like to feel full again instead of constantly running on empty.

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