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The Vanishing Point
#WritcoStoryPrompt60
Was there a point in your life that you wanted to stop, quit, and leave everything behind just to disappear to the point of changing and hiding your identity?(Fictional one don't think reality kindly )
In 2016, I reached a breaking point. The kind of moment where you look around, see everything you've built, and wonder how it all feels so empty. I was 32, a successful tech entrepreneur—wealthy, admired, always surrounded by people, always "on." I had everything I thought I’d ever wanted. But somewhere along the way, I lost sight of what mattered, and the pressure of keeping up with it all started to feel unbearable.
I didn’t notice it at first. At first, it was just the small things. Long hours spent away from home. Canceled plans with friends I didn’t even care to reschedule. The way I’d lost touch with my own family, so caught up in business deals and the chase for the next milestone. But it wasn’t until a Tuesday, after a whirlwind trip to Silicon Valley, that the cracks became impossible to ignore.
I sat in my sleek downtown apartment, the city’s lights twinkling like a false promise of excitement, but all I could feel was… nothing. The emails were piling up, the Slack messages pinging, but I couldn’t bring myself to care. I was tired, physically and emotionally drained, but there was something deeper—something that cut straight to the core.
I didn’t know who I was anymore.
I didn’t just mean in the moment, I meant in my life. Who had I become? What was the point of all this anymore? The company, the investors, the constant hustle—it all felt like a game I was playing without even knowing the rules anymore. And then, as if to underline the loneliness of it all, my phone buzzed. It was a text from my mom: *“Ethan, I haven’t heard from you in weeks. Are you okay?”*
The words hit me harder than I expected. *Am I okay?* I didn’t know. The only thing I knew was that I wasn’t happy, I wasn’t fulfilled, and I hadn’t been for a long time.
For the first time in years, I asked myself: *What if I just left? What if I disappeared?*
I remember it so clearly—the thought that gripped me so fiercely, almost like a compulsion. I could vanish, change my identity, leave everything behind. The idea was strangely intoxicating. I could delete my social media accounts, close my business, leave behind all the expectations. I could go somewhere quiet, a small town far from the noise, start over with a new name. I could finally have peace.
I spent hours that night in a rabbit hole, googling how to disappear. How to start fresh. How to erase your life. At first, it felt like a joke, but the more I read, the more I realized it wasn’t as far-fetched as I’d thought. There were people who had done it—people who had reinvented themselves. It was unsettling how easy it seemed, like it was just a matter of moving to another city, taking on a new job, and cutting ties with everyone. I could be anyone, someone different. I could be no one.
For a moment, it felt like the perfect escape. No more pressure. No more business calls or board meetings. No more pretending to be someone I...
Was there a point in your life that you wanted to stop, quit, and leave everything behind just to disappear to the point of changing and hiding your identity?(Fictional one don't think reality kindly )
In 2016, I reached a breaking point. The kind of moment where you look around, see everything you've built, and wonder how it all feels so empty. I was 32, a successful tech entrepreneur—wealthy, admired, always surrounded by people, always "on." I had everything I thought I’d ever wanted. But somewhere along the way, I lost sight of what mattered, and the pressure of keeping up with it all started to feel unbearable.
I didn’t notice it at first. At first, it was just the small things. Long hours spent away from home. Canceled plans with friends I didn’t even care to reschedule. The way I’d lost touch with my own family, so caught up in business deals and the chase for the next milestone. But it wasn’t until a Tuesday, after a whirlwind trip to Silicon Valley, that the cracks became impossible to ignore.
I sat in my sleek downtown apartment, the city’s lights twinkling like a false promise of excitement, but all I could feel was… nothing. The emails were piling up, the Slack messages pinging, but I couldn’t bring myself to care. I was tired, physically and emotionally drained, but there was something deeper—something that cut straight to the core.
I didn’t know who I was anymore.
I didn’t just mean in the moment, I meant in my life. Who had I become? What was the point of all this anymore? The company, the investors, the constant hustle—it all felt like a game I was playing without even knowing the rules anymore. And then, as if to underline the loneliness of it all, my phone buzzed. It was a text from my mom: *“Ethan, I haven’t heard from you in weeks. Are you okay?”*
The words hit me harder than I expected. *Am I okay?* I didn’t know. The only thing I knew was that I wasn’t happy, I wasn’t fulfilled, and I hadn’t been for a long time.
For the first time in years, I asked myself: *What if I just left? What if I disappeared?*
I remember it so clearly—the thought that gripped me so fiercely, almost like a compulsion. I could vanish, change my identity, leave everything behind. The idea was strangely intoxicating. I could delete my social media accounts, close my business, leave behind all the expectations. I could go somewhere quiet, a small town far from the noise, start over with a new name. I could finally have peace.
I spent hours that night in a rabbit hole, googling how to disappear. How to start fresh. How to erase your life. At first, it felt like a joke, but the more I read, the more I realized it wasn’t as far-fetched as I’d thought. There were people who had done it—people who had reinvented themselves. It was unsettling how easy it seemed, like it was just a matter of moving to another city, taking on a new job, and cutting ties with everyone. I could be anyone, someone different. I could be no one.
For a moment, it felt like the perfect escape. No more pressure. No more business calls or board meetings. No more pretending to be someone I...
