I didn't mean to disappear. Not in the dramatic way, at least. Just that, somewhere along the way, I just… started pulling away.
Not all at once. No slammed doors. No farewell texts. No status updates hinting at a breakdown. Just… silence. A slow withdrawal from everything, like stepping back into a shadow and realizing no one noticed.
It was more like water draining from a sink — slow, unnoticed, until one day there's just nothing left. And by then, even I couldn't tell when it really began.
At first, I thought it was temporary. A rough week, maybe. Some bad nights strung together. But days passed. Then more days. And I stopped counting.
I stopped replying. First to the people I didn't care much about. Then slowly, to the ones I did. I'd see the messages come in, read them, but I wouldn't answer. Not because I was angry. Not even sad, really. Just tired. Tired of pretending I had something to say. Tired of trying so hard.
I guess it starts like that. You skip one message. Then two. You forget to reply. Then you choose not to. And the world, surprisingly, doesn't come looking. It just shifts slightly, makes room for your absence, and continues spinning like nothing's missing.
At some point, I realized people don't always leave. Sometimes, you are the one who fades.
But there's a kind of grief that comes with fading. It's not loud or dramatic. It doesn't come with tears. It's a slow erosion — like watching your own name disappear from someone's mouth, one day at a time. Like realizing no one checks in anymore. And not being surprised. And if it's from someone that you've given your hearts to.... Well you're done.
I stopped showing up in chats. Stopped liking posts. Stopped sending reels to friends I used to talk to daily. I muted conversations instead of deleting them— just in case. But I never unmuted them.
I no longer show up in photos. Not in anyone's stories. Not tagged, not mentioned. Like I've been edited out of the frame completely. Like my presence was always optional.
Sometimes I wonder if I did it on purpose.
Maybe it was a quiet test — to see who would notice the space I left behind.
Spoiler: Not many did.
There's a weird comfort in it, too. In being unseen. You don't have to explain yourself when no one's looking. You don't owe anyone a version of you that smiles, or cares. Not that they ever gave a damn about it anyway.
But that's not peace. Let's not pretend it is. Peace is when you choose to be alone.
This — whatever it is that I'm in — this is just… absence. A dull, piercing kind. Not loud enough to scream. Not quiet enough to sleep through.
Some nights, I stare at the list of contacts on my phone. I scroll and scroll and don't stop. But I don't click anyone's name. I just look at them like I'm in a room full of people I used to know, but can't talk to anymore.
To be honest, I don't miss everyone, just her. I miss being her first text in the morning. The one she'd check on when she didn't see my story for a while. I miss being the person someone wanted updates from — no matter how boring. "What did you eat?" "Where are you now?" "Did you sleep okay?"
Now? I could go missing for a week and no one would notice until something needed doing.
There was a time when she even used to say, "If you disappear, I'll find you. No matter what.
I'll be around to annoy the hell outta you.
Always."
I think about that sometimes.
I wonder if she even remembers saying it. If she even meant it.
Maybe that's the part that stings the most — knowing how easily people adjust to your absence.
Like you were just background noise all along.
The hardest part isn't the loneliness. It's realizing how replaceable you are in other people's lives. You vanish, and no alarms go off. No one's knocking on your door asking if you're okay. They just assume you're busy. Or over it. Or being dramatic.
Maybe they're right.
Even my presence feels optional now. Like I'm in a room full of people, but slightly out of focus— blurred at the edges. I nod when I'm spoken to. Smile when expected. But none of it sticks. I'm a placeholder in my own life.
There are days I wonder what would happen if I truly vanished. Would anyone notice if I just packed a bag and left? No status. No calls. No clues. Would someone panic? Or would they scroll past my silence like it was just another quiet person having a quiet life?
I used to think the fear of being alone was the worst feeling. But I was wrong.
The worst is being surrounded— and still being invisible.
Sometimes I walk past mirrors and don't recognize the reflection. Literally.
I'll pause, look at the shape, the posture, the eyes— and feel nothing. Like staring at a stranger. A ghost wearing my skin.
I find myself walking even slower these days. Not because I'm tired — but because there's nowhere to be. No one waiting. No reason to rush. The world doesn't feel urgent or anything anymore. Everything's dulled out, colorless, like someone desaturated my life and forgot to put it back.
My routines have dissolved too. Meals are inconsistent. I sleep when I'm too tired to stay awake, wake up when I can't stay asleep. Even my dreams are fading. I wake up and there's just this heavy feeling, like I went somewhere I didn't belong to. Or maybe, I was with someone I shouldn't have left behind.
Often, I sit on the floor of my room for no reason. Lights off. Just sitting. Existing. Or not.
I deleted most photos from my gallery last night. Not out of anger. Just… it felt strange carrying memories for people who no longer carry me.
It's few of her pictures. Laughing. Smiling. Eyes squinting. Head tilted slightly like she was always leaning into me. I stared at one for maybe ten minutes before deleting it. Not because I wanted to forget. But because I didn't want to keep pretending she still existed in some frozen, happy frame.
Disappearance isn't loud. It doesn't slam doors or leave trails. It's quiet. Gentle. It looks like skipping lunch and telling yourself you'll eat later. It looks like unread messages. Like turning off your "last seen." Like canceling plans you made with every intention to keep.
But that's what I'm most afraid of. Disappearing. From her life. From her memories. Of getting erased. But that's not what I wanted, that's what she did!
I still write, though.
Not often. And never fully. Just pieces. Thoughts. Sentences that feel too heavy to say aloud. Words that never find an audience.
Things like:
"If I disappeared tomorrow, would it change anyone's day?"
I don't expect answers. Not anymore.
There's this particular feeling I keep circling back to. A kind of hollow yearning— not even for her, specifically. But for the version of me that existed when someone cared enough to ask if I was okay. Before she was in my life.
I miss being asked how my day was. I miss being annoyed by someone's clinginess. I miss mattering.
And no, this isn't some elaborate cry for help. I'm not breaking apart dramatically. Just… fading.
Little by little.
Like a ghost no one bothered to notice.
And if I'm being honest, even I don't know if I'd notice myself anymore.
"Sometimes it's not the leaving that hurts the most -
It's how easily the world adjusts to your absence."