How to Disappear Completely



For someone who has little to no qualms about being the centre of attention for much of the time, the feelings that come with not wanting to be observed are confusing at best, and a startling emotional rollercoaster at worst. I’m not talking about the simple desire to be left alone or to have some space for oneself, I’m talking about the desire to disappear. To vanish. I used to fantasize sometimes about what my life could look like if I ever had the ovaries to do just that. To fully act out and make it happen. To pack up in the middle of the night, skedaddle style, and just leave. Everything. People, pets, relationships, family, everything. I used to imagine traveling a long distance just to end up in a small town somewhere around the city of Nowhere on the outskirts of God Only Knows. I saw myself finding a small apartment where I would keep to myself and the neighbours would only know me as that lady who plays Miles Davis late into the night and has a bulk membership to the local liquor store. I would find a low key, forgettable way to pay my bills, a waitress at a small diner maybe, working the graveyard shift so as to limit my contact with anyone who could possibly sustain any kind of long term relationship with me, be it customer, friend, lover or otherwise. I remember watching moves when I was a kid where a lot of people wold try and do just that. Leave. runaway. Start anew somewhere else. They would find a quite job, keep a quiet life. But their old life always seemed to catch up with them at the end of the first act and naturally they would be thrust back into the mess they had tried to run away from in the first place. I always thought that whole idea was a little unbelievable. Because if you really set your mind to it, how hard could it actually be to disappear?
Whenever I have expressed these thoughts to anyone who knows me in any real way, they are usually met with a wry smile and words that, while somewhat validate the novelty of the idea, scoff at the mere notion that someone like me would ever, could ever, be happy living a life like that. Their response always gave me pause, and while I had to acknowledge they did have a point (or several depending on the person) a much more secret part inside me disagreed with them. Because while I often do enjoy existing in the centre of a vibrant hub of personalities and activities, despite appearances, that’s not all of who I am.
I had a bad day today. I’m in the middle of a month of sobriety, and while this is self inflicted, it is not maturing me in the ways I imagined it might. Perhaps it was wishful thinking but I kinda thought that being sober for a full month, given my history, might present more of a growing opportunity for me and challenge me in ways I had not yet experienced. So far, it’s just pissing me off. I enjoy drinking wine at the end of a long day. So, fucking sue me. I’ve got another week to go and I’m just fucking done with this shit. I’m going to finish because at this point I am committed, but I’m just fucking done with this bullshit.
Also, my husband and I had a fight and while it wasn’t a hill for either of us to die on, it wasn’t fun and we are now in the weird time between “the fight’ and “everything is fine’ when we are both apologetic to each other and both pretty much over it but there is still the remaining icky-ness that there is nothing to be done about. It’s one of those weird relationship things I never experienced until I got married and I know most married or long term partners will get what I’m talking about. It’ll be gone in a few hours, tomorrow at the latest, but it’s still not a fun way to exists on a Friday night. Especially one without wine.
I’m also PMS-ing. Hard. Getting my period is one of the things I hate the most about being a woman, besides the fucking patriarchy of course. When I was younger my period was never a big deal; no cramps, light flow, an excuse to eat whatever I wanted and, once I became sexually active, it was usually a welcome sign that my life would continue as planned. As I’ve gotten older it’s become something out of a nightmare. I won’t go into too much detail in regards to the specifics, but the biggest change has been the emotional shit I experience right before it starts. I’m talking crying at the drop of a fucking hat, intense feelings of sadness for no fucking reason at all, a penchant for lashing out at things that have little to no relevance on my emotional state at any given time (WHY WON’T THE GODAMN COMPUTER LOAD FASTER??????? WHY IS THE MICROWAVE BEEPING SO LOUDLY??????? WHO IN GODS NAME JUST LEAVES MUFFIN CRUMBS ALL OVER THE FUCKING FLOOR??????) and a tendency to swing from one level to another with no rhyme or reason at all. It’s a fucking blast let me tell you and as a part of the gift package I got when I signed up to be a girl, along with the ever-present knowledge that my accomplishments and opinions matter 76% as much as any man’s, I get to go through this every month!!!!
I’ve also gained 40 pounds in the 4 years since I’ve been married. I’m trying to lose weight and it’s not going well. Even without the booze which is some serious bullshit because wine makes up at least 30-35 of the pounds I’ve put on. Trust me.
I also had a mini indignant-off with one of my girlfriends, I spent good money on a shitty ass lunch I felt queasy about for an hour afterwards, I puled my neck out in my sleep last night, it’s minus fucking 18 where I live, and I have to work my second job both days this weekend.

So yeah, I get how you can’t always run away from your problems. But there are some days I have seriously considered fucking trying. Today's not over yet. So, I guess we’ll have to wait and see.  


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