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The Disappearing Act
I didn’t plan to fade. It just… happened. Slowly. Almost invisibly.
One skipped call turned into five.
One declined invitation turned into months of no plans.
One unread message became an inbox full of conversations I didn’t have the energy to continue.
And no one really noticed. Or maybe they did and chose not to ask. Maybe it was easier to believe I was just “busy” or “in my zone” than to confront something heavier. Something uncomfortable.
The truth is, disappearing doesn’t always look like running away.
Sometimes it’s just being present—but not here. Sitting at a dinner table, smiling when prompted, nodding at all the right words, but feeling like a ghost in your own skin.
I watched myself become a stranger.
The version of me that used to light up rooms, who used to find joy in small things—coffee runs, bookshop visits, rainy bus rides—was just... gone. I wasn’t even pretending to be them anymore. I was just existing.
Days felt like fog. I’d wake up already tired. Stand under the shower until the water turned cold, not because it felt good—but because I didn’t want to move. I’d stare at the mirror brushing my teeth, not recognizing the dull eyes looking back.
Some nights, I wouldn’t sleep at all. Other nights, I wouldn’t wake up until noon.
Time was elastic. Days bled into each other, and I couldn’t tell you what I did last Tuesday, or the Tuesday before that. It was all noise and nothing.
People said, “You’ve changed.” I wanted to say, “Yes. I’m drowning.”
But I just smiled and said, “Yeah, I’ve been working on myself.”
That one always gets them to back off. It sounds healthy. Productive.
Safe.
But it wasn’t growth. It was erosion.
I stopped listening to music.
Stopped opening the curtains.
Stopped looking people in the eye.
Not because I wanted to disappear.
But because it felt like no one would notice if I did.
And maybe, deep down, I wanted someone to pull me back before I fully vanished. Maybe every withdrawal was a test. A silent scream - “Will anyone reach for me if I go just one step further?”
No one did.
Ashes and After : 2
Previous Chapter: https://www.chatzozo.com/forum/threads/ashes-and-after-1.60760/ --------------------------------------- The Weight of the Unsaid It’s strange how heavy silence can be. Not the kind that’s peaceful, like after a long day or during a walk in the rain. No, this was the kind...
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The Disappearing Act
I didn’t plan to fade. It just… happened. Slowly. Almost invisibly.
One skipped call turned into five.
One declined invitation turned into months of no plans.
One unread message became an inbox full of conversations I didn’t have the energy to continue.
And no one really noticed. Or maybe they did and chose not to ask. Maybe it was easier to believe I was just “busy” or “in my zone” than to confront something heavier. Something uncomfortable.
The truth is, disappearing doesn’t always look like running away.
Sometimes it’s just being present—but not here. Sitting at a dinner table, smiling when prompted, nodding at all the right words, but feeling like a ghost in your own skin.
I watched myself become a stranger.
The version of me that used to light up rooms, who used to find joy in small things—coffee runs, bookshop visits, rainy bus rides—was just... gone. I wasn’t even pretending to be them anymore. I was just existing.
Days felt like fog. I’d wake up already tired. Stand under the shower until the water turned cold, not because it felt good—but because I didn’t want to move. I’d stare at the mirror brushing my teeth, not recognizing the dull eyes looking back.
Some nights, I wouldn’t sleep at all. Other nights, I wouldn’t wake up until noon.
Time was elastic. Days bled into each other, and I couldn’t tell you what I did last Tuesday, or the Tuesday before that. It was all noise and nothing.
People said, “You’ve changed.” I wanted to say, “Yes. I’m drowning.”
But I just smiled and said, “Yeah, I’ve been working on myself.”
That one always gets them to back off. It sounds healthy. Productive.
Safe.
But it wasn’t growth. It was erosion.
I stopped listening to music.
Stopped opening the curtains.
Stopped looking people in the eye.
Not because I wanted to disappear.
But because it felt like no one would notice if I did.
And maybe, deep down, I wanted someone to pull me back before I fully vanished. Maybe every withdrawal was a test. A silent scream - “Will anyone reach for me if I go just one step further?”
No one did.
