Most thoughts arrive politely.
This one boots the door in with muddy bots and suggests vanishing.
A thought shows up without knocking:
“What if I just vanish for a bit?”
Not disappear forever or run off dramatically.
Just… step out of the noise. Slip out of sight long enough to stop feeling tugged at from every direction.
At first glance, it sounds extreme.
At second glance, it’s barely a thought at all more like your brain sighing in your direction, the kind of sigh you pretend you didn’t hear.
So we lay it on the table and open it up.
Incision One: The Trigger
This thought usually turns up on days that have stretched too thin. Nothing huge.
Just too many tiny demands stacking up like refund receipts in a till tray the ones you swear you already sorted but somehow they’re back again.
It’s the mind quietly muttering, almost sulking:
“There’s too much world and not enough of me.”
This isn’t despair.
It’s fatigue with a job title.
Incision Two: The Function
Despite the dramatic wording, the thought rarely means what it says.
It’s not asking to disappear. It’s asking for space.
Mental space. Emotional space.
Somewhere to breathe without being observed or expected to perform “fine,” whatever that’s supposed to mean today.
It’s the internal version of stepping outside for air except there’s no back door, so the brain imagines one and hopes nobody notices.
Incision Three: The Distortion
The brain loves shortcuts.
Instead of translating “Things feel heavy,” it leaps straight to “Remove self from existence.”
It’s still theatre.
A part of the mind throwing itself into the worst-case scenario as if it were the only script available.
Behind it is the same small truth: the system is trying to help, just in the most unhelpful way imaginable.
Incision Four: The Truth
Every part of you that wants to vanish really just wants relief.
Relief from the noise.
From pressure.
From carrying the day like it’s welded to your spine.
From pretending you’re fine.
From your own expectations, which are somehow harsher than anyone else’s and definitely not negotiated.
It’s not a wish to disappear.
It’s a wish to stop being responsible for everything for five minutes.
Maybe even four, if we’re being generous.
Incision Five: The Diagnosis
Once examined, the thought is harmless.
Not a warning sign.
Not a crisis.
Just the nervous system hitting the dramatic switch instead of the “I need a breather” one.
KH would call it a coherence overload signal the system trying to stabilise itself by imagining escape.
Not death.
Not endings.
Just temporary distance from the noise.
Humans aren’t built for constant input.
Sometimes the system asks for silence in the only language it has, and sometimes that language isn’t very elegant.
If your mind ever drifts toward darker interpretations of this thought, that’s a different thing entirely and talking to someone helps.
This piece is about the everyday version, the one most people feel but rarely name.
Notes
Header Photo by Holland Parkin on Unsplash
About the author
Based in the U.K. Rowan Broadley writes about quiet systems, everyday behaviour, and the work of running a charity shop.