Honestly? I never cared about star signs. I always figured it was just weak internet stuff, something people scroll through when they’re bored. I was a practical guy. I dealt in facts, in hard deadlines, in things you could actually touch and fix. If you’d told me two years ago I’d spend a whole weekend practically living on weird astrology forums, trying to figure out if some imaginary fish constellation was the key to my biggest life mistake, I’d have laughed you out of the room.
But here we are. This wasn’t some gentle intellectual pursuit; this was a desperation dive. This whole “practice” started because I had a massive, career-defining blowout with a former business partner I’ll just call D. The title talks about what a Pisces is really like? I went and found out, the hard way, because D was the living embodiment of every cliché, and it nearly cost me everything I’d built.
The Messy Start: Why I Began This Dumb Search
I started this not because I was curious, but because I was livid. D was a classic creative type—charming, full of huge ideas, and utterly, profoundly incapable of showing up on time, sticking to a budget, or admitting when they were wrong. We were pitching a major contract, one that would have locked in my finances for the next three years. I spent three months getting the specs perfect, locking down the numbers, and rehearsing the presentation. D’s role was just to finalize one small creative detail and show up to the meeting.
Instead of showing up, D sent a text five minutes before the pitch, saying they felt “a sudden, overwhelming need to connect with nature” and were getting on a bus to the coast. The client, needless to say, was not impressed. I totally crashed and burned, swallowing three months of work and the potential deal. This wasn’t the first time; it was just the biggest. I felt completely gaslighted, manipulated, and abandoned.
I was so angry I couldn’t sleep. I just kept asking: Who does that? What kind of person thinks that’s an acceptable way to treat a partner? After exhausting my supply of angry calls and emails (which D, naturally, ignored or deflected with poetic excuses), I remembered a mutual friend once mentioning D was a Pisces. I figured, what the hell, I’d already lost the deal, I might as well lose an hour to some nonsense.
The Deep Dive: My Weekend of Uncovering “Secret” Traits
I sat down and I started scrolling. I didn’t search for “D is a jerk.” I searched for “Pisces personality,” “Pisces man running away from problems,” and “why do Pisces people ghost.” I wasn’t gentle with my research; I was aggressive. I compared the top three “spiritual” sites with the top three “skeptical” or “gossip” sites. I needed common denominators. I cross-referenced them all with D’s actual behavior over the last year.
I expected to find nothing. I expected to close the laptop and confirm my practical nature. What I found was chilling. I discovered the personality profile that kept showing up was an exact, painful blueprint of D. It wasn’t just vague; it was specific.
Here’s the shortlist of what I dug up and immediately checked off on my mental ‘D’ checklist:
- The Master of Escapism: Any pressure, any confrontation, any required hard facts, and they disappear. Not just physically, but mentally. That coast trip? Classic attempt to “swim away” from responsibility.
- The Martyr Complex: They truly believe they are the victims in every scenario. They are misunderstood dreamers, and the cold, hard world (i.e., me, asking for a professional deadline) is too cruel for them.
- Extreme Empathy/Zero Boundaries: They absorb everyone’s emotions but can’t tell where their feelings end and yours begin. This makes them charming but also prone to letting everyone down because they over-commit and under-deliver.
- Chronic Flakiness (The ‘Lost’ Soul): Not just flaking, but genuinely losing things—appointments, keys, files, and crucially, me, in the middle of a client meeting.
I spent maybe eight hours on Saturday and another six on Sunday, I collected these facts, I highlighted the passages, and I realized I wasn’t looking at a personality description; I was looking at a user manual for a walking disaster.
The Realization: Why This Practice Mattered
This whole ‘astrology practice’ wasn’t about the stars, not really. It was about accountability. You see, the reason I got so obsessive, the reason I spent a good chunk of money I didn’t have covering D’s costs for that failed pitch, and the reason I couldn’t just brush it off, was because this failure wasn’t my first, but it was going to be my absolute last.
Three years before all this, I went through a ridiculously painful, sudden split with an old employer—similar to getting blind-sided. I’d worked my butt off, done everything right, and then one Monday morning, the locks were changed and my access revoked, all over some BS excuse that was never explained. I didn’t get paid for that month. I fought it, I sent lawyers, I pleaded, but the door was shut, and I was left staring at a mountain of debt I hadn’t created. It took me a year to dig out of that hole. I swore then I would never let anyone blindsight me again.
So when D pulled this stunt, it didn’t just feel like a professional failure; it felt like that old wound tearing wide open. It felt like history repeating itself, like I was once again the reliable, practical chump who gets left holding the bag. I was done. The realization that came from that ridiculous Pisces rabbit hole wasn’t about D’s birth chart; it was about recognizing the pattern of avoidance and emotional manipulation, giving it a silly name (Pisces!), and saying, “I see you now, and I’m walking away.”
I immediately I drafted a withdrawal document, I sent the final accounting, and I blocked D on every platform I could think of. I cut the cord completely, not with anger, but with the cold, hard certainty that I was dealing with a force of nature I couldn’t change, only avoid.
So, what’s a Pisces really like? For me, it’s irrelevant. The secret personality trait I found wasn’t theirs; it was mine—the one that finally learned to stop believing the sad stories and start protecting the border. The whole search was me, finally, putting a concrete label on chaos so I could move past it. I didn’t find astrology; I found boundaries. And that’s the only secret trait that really matters.
