Take this quiz instead of going to therapy. Or do both. We’re not judging.
You’ve been holding it together with caffeine, denial, and sheer determination, but how cooked are you really? Maybe you’re just a little toasted, or maybe you’ve reached the point of no return and are running purely on vibes and chaos. This “How Cooked Are You” quiz digs into your burnout level, coping style, and the flavor of emotional exhaustion that defines your current mental state.
It’s not just about stress. It’s about burnout, overthinking, and the strange comfort of laughing through the mess. We all handle the heat differently, whether by spiraling, numbing out, or finding small moments of peace in the wreckage. This quiz looks at how you process pressure, balance optimism with apathy, and keep going when life’s giving you charred lemons. Let’s find out how cooked you really are.
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If this quiz made you question your sanity, find out how rotted you really are with our Do I Have Brainrot Quiz. Or if you want to explore see just how fine (or not) you are, check out our Am I Chopped Quiz for an honest look in the mirror. And if you’re ready to go full-blown evil, take on our What Sin Are You Quiz.
What kind of chaos do you secretly enjoy?
• People arguing in comment sections of posts you’re not even interested in
• Overbooking yourself just to feel something
• Randomly rearranging furniture at 3am
• Ignoring texts until the relationship dies naturally
• Making playlists with titles like “drowning in the produce aisle”
How many tabs do you have open right now?
• 3 or fewer. I like clean edges.
• 4–12. It’s a controlled mess.
• 13–30. They each represent a version of me that had hope.
• 31+. I stopped counting when I stopped pretending.
• One. But it’s a PDF I haven’t read in three weeks.
• Safari just crashed. I’ll never know.
What’s your fantasy coping mechanism that unfortunately doesn’t exist yet?
• Screaming into a pillow that absorbs my anxiety and releases essential oils
• Turning into a crow and flying into the fog whenever overwhelmed
• Getting a hug from someone who just gets it without speaking
• A government stipend for emotionally complex girlies
• A remote control that pauses existence but not you
How many beverages are on your desk right now and why are none of them water?
• Just water. Hydration is peace.
• Two. One’s coffee, one’s emotional support.
• Three to four. There’s a system. There’s no system.
• Five. Possibly six. Time isn’t real.
• None. I forgot drinks existed.
What does your dream day actually look like?
• Waking up rested, phone on Do Not Disturb, no expectations
• Wandering around a bookstore and only buying one thing
• Road-tripping into the void with good music and bad snacks
• Doing absolutely nothing and feeling okay about it
• Laying in bed scrolling for 9 hours but feeling inspired
What inanimate object are you spiritually aligned with right now?
• A freshly baked loaf of bread
• A cracked phone screen
• A Roomba stuck under the couch
• A scented candle that’s burned out but still warm
• A thrifted coffee mug with a chip in it
Describe the internal crisis you experience when someone texts “k.”
• Mild annoyance, then nothing. I move on.
• Spiraling, but I pretend I’m fine
• Full narrative creation with betrayal subplot
• Immediately ghosting them back out of spite
What’s a thing you romanticize to avoid real decisions?
• Moving to a cabin and disappearing
• Getting really into pottery or beekeeping
• A new wardrobe equals a new personality
• Starting over in a different city where no one knows me
• Becoming emotionally stable by buying new bedding
What’s your go-to move when the existential dread hits mid-toothbrushing?
• Stare into the mirror until I remember time is fake
• Scroll Twitter and pretend it’s helping
• Hum my childhood theme song and disassociate
• Try gratitude journaling for seven seconds
If you were visited by the ghost of a small Victorian child, what meaningful but cryptic advice would they give you?
• “Do not chase the horse that whistles.”
• “Take thy rest before the fifth crow.”
• “The spoons are not for eating.”
• “Your shadow knows the truth.”
• “You have been here before. Twice.”
How do you recover from a really bad day?
• I journal, meditate, and drink tea
• I nap aggressively
• I doomscroll for hours until I feel worse
• I make something: art, food, chaos
• I complain to the group chat and then disappear
What kind of future scares you more: one where you’re alone or one where you’re stuck?
• Alone. I need connection to stay grounded.
• Stuck. I fear repetition more than emptiness.
• Both. I cannot imagine either without unraveling.
• Neither. I already exist in the overlap.
You’re just barely cooked. Emotionally al dente. You have your routines, your boundaries, and a playlist that actually helps. People assume you’re untouched by chaos, but really, you’ve just developed good filters. Keep choosing peace, even when drama feels louder. Your calm isn’t boring. It’s earned.
You’ve got a hint of the unhinged, but it’s charming. You overthink texts and accidentally spiral while cleaning, but you also give great advice and know when to leave the party. You live in that sweet spot between functionality and existentialism. Don’t let the world convince you that stability is cringe. You’re proof that self-awareness can still be soft.
You’ve seen some stuff and laughed your way through most of it. You’re emotionally singed but still standing, making niche memes and too many playlists. Your mind runs deep and fast, which makes life both beautiful and exhausting. It’s okay to slow down before you catch fire. Being thoughtful is a strength, not a burden.
You hold it together impressively well for someone whose internal battery is 3 percent and declining. You’re responsible, competent, and deeply tired in a way no sleep can fix. You still try, though. And that matters. Give yourself permission to rest before your next comeback.
You are fully cooked and emotionally crispy. You joke about everything because the truth feels like too much, and you’ve gotten really good at functioning in the middle of a quiet meltdown. Still, there’s a surprising resilience in you. You’ve kept going when no one was watching. That’s not nothing. Let someone hold the heavy stuff next time. You don’t have to carry it all.
You’ve gone past burnout and built a little apartment in the void. Reality feels like a weird sitcom and you’re the laugh track. You alternate between chaotic productivity and lying in bed whispering “what now.” But you’re still showing up, even in your own ridiculous way. You don’t have to be okay to be lovable. You just have to be real.
You are what happens when existential dread marinates too long. You are incredibly self-aware and dangerously good at disassociating in public. You’ve burned through several versions of yourself and now live somewhere between exhaustion and performance. And somehow, you’re still funny. You’re not broken. You’re rebuilding in a way only you understand.
You’re not just cooked. You’re a problem. You’ve unlocked a level of chaotic self-possession that confuses strangers and terrifies HR. Your coping mechanisms are concerning, but oddly effective. And even if no one gets you, you get you. Don’t mistake being unhinged for being unlovable. You’re weird in a way the world needs.
