The almost-relief that flutters through when I see an email that's not for me because that split second where I think it's a problem that needs fixing, a fire that needs putting out, a crisis that needs managing, that part of me still wants it, like a phantom limb aching for a tool that isn't there, and then it's gone and there's just this flat nothing and god is that worse somehow, the emptiness of not being needed, the silence where the sirens used to be, and the guilt the absolute crushing guilt of being grateful for it, the way i keep reaching for something i hate because it's also the thing that defined me, made me feel… important? or is it just comfortable, like a worn groove that my mind keeps falling back into even when it knows it's just going to keep circling the same old drain, the cortado doesn't even help anymore.