The art of disappearing
1. From a very young age people learn to hold onto things, often the wrong kinds of things, but these become dear before rationality kicks in. And so, people hold onto — unattainable dreams, hope, memories, versions of people that no longer exist and ideals. Ideals of themselves. People hold onto the idea of what they could be, what they aspire to be and very often, attach their identity to the ideal instead of themselves. People think they deserve more because of all the things they could achieve; they dream of a life in which the ideal is their reality. I do too.
2. Ideals vary in size, shape, purpose. Sometimes an ideal is someone with more money, more discipline, more love. Other times, an ideal is someone with less debt, less stress, or less guilt. Over and over again, an ideal is not a person, but an idea, a concept — yourself but better — you, but slightly out of reach.
3. The unattainability of an ideal is directly proportional to its abstraction. Concrete ideals, like someone who wakes up early, or takes their vitamins, have roadmaps to get there. These ideals appear deceptively easy, whether people achieve them or not, is up to their determination, aptitude and ultimately, luck. Abstract ideals, like someone who is kind, content or happy — those are the ones that kill. People become obsessed with achieving them, without knowing how to. They claw their way into every opportunity they think will help — clutching at every outstretched hand, clamouring at every door that will open, clinging onto any embrace that will hold them. Abstract ideals birth desperation so material, it hangs from the lips of the beholders.
4. Along the way, some people gain introspection. Self-aware, they know what they aspire towards is unattainable, they try anyway. The pursuit, the ideal, the ritual then becomes a comfort. I found comfort in dreaming up my disappearance.
My ideal self leaves.
5. Time and time again, I dreamt I left. Vanished. An air of mystery lingering behind, people questioning my motives, my actions, my intentions. I would leave behind everything that weighed me down and go. In one swift movement, I would set myself free. For years, I clung to this notion, desperately finding comfort in believing I could control the situation, end my suffering on command.
6. Disappearing is contingent on your absence being noticed. I, however, planned my exit from society meticulously. I crafted the perfect stories — elaborate ruses with no space for intervention —visualized the false predicaments, practiced my lines, my regret, my remorse. I mastered the art.
Alas, I never leave. Because if I did set my plan into motion, I would be gone without a perceivable trace. Gradual distance, measured concern, and clipped conversations, would ensure my erasure. I would disappear too well, too quietly. There would be no warnings, no alarms, no big “poof.” I would just be gone.
7. I would do my part to no avail. I would be gone but they would not know. I would be gone and no one would know. I would end my suffering, but the misery would follow. They would not think to notice. I will not let them notice. I will disappear, they will not know.
8. Abstract ideals are difficult to understand; you start out wanting to be happy, you end up a ghost.
