
AThe Double-Text Demon
You text like your Wi-Fi is about to expire — fast, frantic, and with absolutely zero chill.
Every personality label from our quizzes. Which one are you?

You text like your Wi-Fi is about to expire — fast, frantic, and with absolutely zero chill.

The Grim Reaper of the group chat. Your 'got it' carries the emotional weight of a death sentence — zero grams of feeling, maximum psychic damage.

Your group chat has more intel on your conversations than the CIA has on anything.

You weaponize smiley faces and "no worries!" like you're running a psychological black ops unit.

You don't just watch the drama — you provide award-winning commentary on it.

You hold everyone together — and absolutely no one asks if YOU'RE falling apart.

Every friend group has a "that one time" story. You're the reason it exists.

You're in the friend group, technically. You just keep forgetting to show up to it.

Your emotions have a checkout button and your bank account is screaming.

You and your mattress are in a committed relationship. Rest isn't recharging — it's the force-quit button on reality.

Your apartment has never been cleaner, and that is a massive red flag.

Last month it was pottery. This month it's coding. Next month? Who knows.

Burnout is your personality, your laptop is your emotional support animal, and "I'll sleep when I'm dead" is your love language. Someone close your laptop for you. Please.

You've time-blocked your bathroom breaks, ranked your friendships by ROI, and your idea of "letting loose" is using a spreadsheet without conditional formatting. One unplanned Tuesday away from a breakdown.

You brought your laptop to the beach, counted "reading for fun" as "personal development," and felt guilty that this quiz took 3 minutes of your Productive Time. Breathe. Please.

47 Chrome tabs open. Aesthetic workspace. "Rise and grind" posted at 10 AM after hitting snooze six times. Your productivity is a performance and honestly? Oscar-worthy.

"Sorry" is your verbal tic, your shield, and your opening line. You've apologized for apologizing too much.

You've mastered the art of the non-apology. "I'm sorry you feel that way" could be your tombstone epitaph.

Why say sorry when you can buy coffee, clean the kitchen, or send a meme? Words are overrated. Actions are your currency.

You walked in to get an apology and left having given one. The emotional UNO master — every conflict is just a card game you refuse to lose.

You're running on empty but somehow still lapping everyone. Your coping mechanism IS the problem.

You've replaced every coping mechanism with screen time. Your thumb has more stamina than your will to function.

Your burnout manifests as pure, distilled fury. You're one "per my last email" away from a supervillain arc.

Checked out, logged off, spiritually departed. You're here in a purely theoretical sense.