People around me started disappearing one by one. These weren’t people I used to get alone with, so I didn’t mind that much at first. Until I realized that the only thing they had in common was that, in some point in their lives, they had been in contact with me.

There was the girl who used to bully me in high school ten years ago. My first boyfriend who gaslighted me. The teacher who humiliated me every day in class… and then it started being more subtle.

A guy who once followed me home so I had to call the police. The car driver who almost hit me. The cashier who accused me of stealing even though I didn’t do anything. I had only seen them once, but somehow, it was enough for them to disappear.

Then I realized the second thing they had in common. They had all hurt me. I once used to wish they would get hit by a train. I wouldn’t be driving the train or throwing them in front of it, I just wished something happened. They had disappeared because I once wished, even for a second, that they would be dead.

Then it hit me.

I had sometimes wished the same thing for myself. Whenever I made a big mistake, I thought that I did not deserve to live, that I had to be punished. I never attempted to kill myself, but sometimes, I had thought about it.

Did I deserve to die for the small mistakes I made? I didn’t think so anymore. It didn’t matter now. I had moved on from those mistakes. But it was too late. I once thought I would rather be dead and my wish would soon be granted.

I disappeared before I could ever forgive myself.