I learn fast. Like, really fast. But I don’t stick around for the grind. I keep chasing that spark at the start of something new, that burst of progress that makes people look at me like I’m some kind of superhuman. And honestly? That reaction feeds me. It makes me feel seen, admired, even invincible.
But then the momentum fades. I slow down. The awe in people’s eyes disappears. I’m no longer impressive, just average, just... normal. That’s when I let it go. I move on. I chase the next thing that can bring back the cheers. The cycle resets.
This is why I never reach “100” in anything. I sprint from 0 to 30, maybe 40, and then I jump ship.
The worst part? I want to finish things. I want to go all the way when it matters. But once the speed is gone, I start hating myself. I feel dumb, worthless, like a fraud who had a spark but no fire. That self-hate gets so loud that the only way to quiet it is to walk away. It’s the only relief I know.
This pattern isn’t just about projects. It shows up in my emotions, too. I fall hard in relationships — passionate, intense, endlessly giving. But then my brain kicks in, telling me I’m too much, too devoted, too vulnerable for someone who doesn’t give back the same way. And just like that, I start pulling away. Little by little, I let go. Until there’s nothing left, and they’re left wondering where all that love went. They don’t realize my own thoughts killed it.
I’m scared of my brain sometimes. I wish I could train it — rein it in — stop it from wandering into extremes.
Now you know me. I’m only good at beginning.
