Not one person cared about what he said. Not one. Ever.
It was subtle, not overtly rude, but impossible to miss. People interrupted him without hesitation, talked right over him, ignoring him when he talked over them until he just stopped talking.
It was a matter of respect. A matter of disrespect, actually. He had no gravitas, was not taken seriously as a person, someone who had something worthwhile to say. Apparently he had not earned the right.
He wasn't sure how this happened or why it happened, but it definitely happened. And it hurt.
He was lying in bed, procrastinating about getting up to begin the process of getting ready for work. It was a complicated process because it was as much psychological as it was physical. Beyond going to the bathroom, brushing his teeth, washing his face, grabbing a bowl of Wheaties and getting dressed, he had to psyche himself up to do battle with every person he was forced to deal with throughout the day.
Jesus Christ, communication was so fucking hard. Because he lacked the confidence, because people don't listen, because people are selfish, because people have agendas that don't include his personal welfare. And when you work with others you are forced to communicate. You gotta give them information, they gotta give you information, you gotta ask questions, they gotta ask questions.
His ex-wife used to joke that the perfect job for him was one where he sat in a corner by himself, a job that requires no human contact whatsoever. It wasn't really a joke.
Still, lately, this awareness of nothingness in his human interactions, the feeling that he was not recognized, appreciated or respected, had taken on a crushing weight. He felt himself slipping away.
It was an odd feeling. There was no vibrancy to his life. No excitement, nothing to look forward to. The numbness he felt was simultaneously depressing and relieving. Depressing because, what was the point of being alive? Relieving because when you are completely numb, everything bounces off you. You just don't fucking care.
Every day he felt more and more invisible. Not here, not there, just existing in a weird imitation of life devoid of feelings. Just breathing. For no apparent reason.
He thought he was dying but he knew he wasn't sick. Still, he put a little more distance between reality and whatever it was he was living, every day. Every day ended with less of him and more of a void.
He decided to get out of bed to prepare to do battle. But something was different. He couldn't quite put a finger on it, but something had tragically, drastically changed. Laughing to himself, he thought about those movies where people were not aware they had died. Was he dead? He didn't think so.
As he moved around the house it was strangely obvious that his cat was ignoring him. This really hurt because he loved her so much and she was ordinarily deeply affectionate with him. Instead she slept soundly on the footstool.
He went to the bathroom, brushed his teeth, washed his face, walked into the kitchen and realized he wasn't hungry. He loved breakfast, sometimes treating himself to omelettes that he was so good at cooking. But even Wheaties were a treat for him, especially when they got soggy. Today he felt nothing. In fact, the thought of eating repulsed him. Suddenly, it hit him.
He was gone. Not dead, just gone. He had retreated from life little by little over so many decades that he didn't notice the distance he was putting between life and him. Until right now.
He was not dead. He was just gone. He had faded away.
Nobody noticed.
