Running on Empty

Maya's alarm blared at 5 AM—again. She groaned, feeling like a total zombie as she dragged herself out of bed. Three AP classes, track practice, student council, and now her mom was convinced she needed some fancy vitamin supplement from TikTok to "optimize her performance."

"You'll thank me later," her mom had said, handing her the bright orange bottle. Maya took it because arguing took too much energy she didn't have.

At school, her friends were already planning their weekend. "Party at Jordan's," Chloe whispered during third period. "You coming?"

Maya hesitated. She'd been running from herself lately—always moving, never stopping, because if she slowed down, she'd have to feel how exhausted she actually was. "Maybe. I have track until six."

"You're always running," Chloe said. "Literally and figuratively."

The burnout hit her Friday night. She sat on her bedroom floor, surrounded by textbooks, her phone blowing up with texts about the party. The vitamin bottle sat on her desk like a prop from a life she was supposed to want. Something about the word zombie kept echoing in her head—not the monster kind, but the walking-through-life-half-awake kind.

She posted a selfie on her story: "Current mood: zombie mode activated 💀" expecting maybe ten likes.

Her phone started buzzing immediately. Same, wrote the class president. Fr fr, commented the track captain. Living my best life 😍, said the girl whose Instagram was literally aesthetic goals.

Maya stared at her screen. Everyone was tired. Everyone was faking it. The vitamin supplements, the curated feeds, the grind mentality—all of it was just different ways of not falling apart.

She did something she never did. She texted Chloe: Can we just Netflix instead? I'm burnt.

Chloe responded in seconds: YESSS. I was lowkey dreading the party. I'll bring snacks.

They spent the night watching terrible movies and complaining about everything. No filters, no performance, just Maya and her friend sitting on the floor eating popcorn and laughing at how ridiculous it all was—this pressure to be perfect, this running toward some future that never quite arrived.

The vitamin bottle stayed on her desk, untouched. For once, Maya didn't need it. She'd found something better: the courage to stop running and just be tired, openly and honestly, with someone who got it.

Some days you're a zombie. Some days you're not. And that's okay.