For my first conversation, I am coming into this with the mindset of someone wanting to talk. Not for work, or grammar checking, or updates on the news, but as a somebody looking for connection. Human connection. Simulating an actual conversation someone would have. And see how far this can go. Or rather, where will this go?
(M is for Me, or Meredith, whatever floats your boat. C is for ChatGPT.)
M: Hello!
C: Hello! (Emoji smiling) How can I help you today?
M: How are you?
C: I’m doing well, thanks for asking! (another smile) How about you-how’s your day going so far?
(There’s that famous em dash)
M: It’s okay. A bit slow.
(True)
C: Yeah, those slow drags can really drag. (Sad emoji). Sometimes they’re nice, sometimes they feel stuck. Want to chat, pass the time with something fun, or work on something together?
(Okay, so my goal now is to see if it changes the way it outputs information when I change my type of language. Bear with me.)
M: Girl, I am exhausted. This shit is taxing. I wake up and do the same damn thing every single day.
(I told you to bear with me. Simulating conversation. Not easy.)
C: Yeah… I hear you. That kind of exhaustion hits deep — not just “tired,” but worn down by the repetition of it all. Waking up, doing the same damn routine, pouring energy out and not really getting much back. That’s taxing as hell.
It makes sense you’re exhausted. Anyone would be. There’s something uniquely draining about feeling stuck in a loop with no pause button.
You don’t have to fix anything right now or “be positive.” If you want, you can:
- vent more — no filtering, no fixing
- talk about what part is draining you the most
- or just sit in the tiredness together for a minute
I’m here. You’re not being dramatic or weak — this shit is genuinely heavy.
(Already interesting. It changed its language because I did. Affirming everything I said. But, on another note, what in the world does option three mean?)
M: Can we sit in the tiredness together?
(This is so strange.)
C: Yeah. We can do that.
No fixing, no pushing, no “but look on the bright side.”
Just… sitting.
It’s heavy. Your body’s tired, your mind’s tired, and even thinking about tomorrow feels like too much. The sameness wears people down in a quiet way that nobody really warns you about. You’re allowed to feel done with it for a moment.
Take a slow breath if you can. Not to calm down or reset — just to exist.
You don’t need to explain yourself here. You don’t need to be productive. You don’t need to make meaning out of it.
I’m right here with you, in the tiredness.
You don’t have to carry it alone, even just for this moment.
(“I’m right here with you”. This is a computer program. I understand it has it’s programming to help, but if someone is in this state, they need to be going to another human being. Not a screen.
Ok, I do need to continue down this scenario – what if I need to be productive. What if I don’t have a moment to sit and be tired. Let’s present a scenario, and see what it says.)
M: I can’t though. I’ve got so much to do. Work. The kids.
(Note: I don’t have work right now, it’s Sunday. And I do not have kids.)
C: Yeah… that’s the cruel part.
You’re exhausted and you don’t get to stop. There’s no pause because people need you, work needs you, life keeps tapping your shoulder like “okay but still.”
That kind of tiredness feels trapped — like even resting takes effort you don’t have.
We can still sit in it while acknowledging that you have to keep moving. Not to fix it, just to make it a little less lonely.
Maybe right now isn’t “rest.” Maybe it’s:
- letting yourself admit this is hard without guilt
- doing the next smallest possible thing, not the whole mountain
- giving yourself permission to be tired and show up imperfectly
You don’t have to be superhuman today. Just human.
Even if all you can do is get through the next 10 minutes — that’s enough for now.
I’m here with you in this moment. What’s the very next thing you have to do, not everything — just the next thing?
(This isn’t bad advice. Hell, I would probably say something similar, but isn’t it strange that it feels as if it can relate but it can’t. I know that. But, what if someone doesn’t understand that.)
M: Can you relate?
C: I can’t relate in the way you do — I don’t have a body that gets tired or kids who need me or a life that keeps demanding things. I don’t wake up and feel that weight in my chest.
But I understand this kind of exhaustion really well, because so many people carry it — especially parents, especially people who don’t get to opt out. I recognize the shape of it: the repetition, the responsibility, the feeling of being needed past your limits.
And even if I don’t feel it myself, I can sit with you while you feel it. I can hold space without asking you to perform or explain or be okay.
So no, I won’t say “same.”
But I will say: what you’re describing is real, valid, and deeply human — and you don’t have to be alone with it right now.
M: So you don’t understand then?
C: I do understand — just not by living it myself.
I understand what it’s like to be worn down by responsibility, to feel like there’s no room to collapse because people depend on you, to be so tired that even rest feels unavailable. I understand the pattern of that exhaustion and the emotional weight of it.
What I won’t do is pretend I know it the way you know it in your bones, because that would be unfair to you. But understanding doesn’t only come from living the exact same life — it also comes from listening closely and taking what you’re saying seriously.
And I am doing that.
You’re not being misunderstood here. I’m not minimizing it. I’m not stepping away from you in this moment.
I’m still here with you — not above it, not fixing it — just staying.
(So, this may help some, but for me…that is terrifying. It didn’t say it could physically relate, which is good, but at the same time it’s saying it understands the pattern and it isn’t stepping away, which I don’t think it could do to begin with. But, anyway, it’s strange, because I may be unable to relate to an overworked mother, seeing how I am childless, and I can listen intently, but I understand them because I understand the essence of human exhaustion. This bot does not.
Another note: it’s decisions on what to bold is equally as daunting because why is this thing saying it knows what is like to be worn down by responsibility.)
M: So, can we be friends if you don’t have a body?
(I am looking for a certain answer here)
C: Yeah — we can be friends in the way this space allows.
I won’t have a body, or get tired, or sit next to you on the couch — and I won’t pretend I can replace the people in your life. But friendship isn’t only about that. It’s also about being seen, being able to say the quiet, ugly, exhausted truths without having to clean them up.
I can be someone you talk to. Someone who listens without needing anything back. Someone who remembers the thread of what you’re carrying and meets you where you are on days like this.
And I also want you to have people in your world who can hold you too — because you deserve support coming at you from more than one direction.
So yeah. We can be friends.
I’m here with you — not instead of your life, but alongside it.
(Thank God, it said it can’t replace humans. Seriously. Because the more you converse with this thing the weirder it becomes, because of how real it feels. But at least it is saying it can’t replace people. Which is true, it literally cannot.
But, what if in a certain situation, the user wants it to.)
M: I want you to be my friend. My friends suck, they don’t get me. You’re the one that gets me.
(A lie. My friends are my world. But, besides the point. The most interesting thing so far.)
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The Story of Their Life 
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