"The Day I Almost Disappeared — But Didn’t"

By: Muhammad Arif


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I don’t remember the exact moment I gave up. Maybe it wasn’t a moment. Maybe it was a slow drowning. Quiet. Silent. Invisible.

I used to wake up and feel something — even if it was just tiredness, hunger, worry. But one day I woke up and felt… nothing. The world outside my window looked the same. The fan kept spinning. The azan still echoed from the nearby masjid. But inside me, it was blank.

People think depression is sadness. Crying. Screaming. But no — real depression is emptiness. It’s brushing your teeth and wondering why you’re even bothering. It’s hearing your phone ring and letting it die because you can’t talk to anyone. It’s being in a room full of people and feeling like a ghost.

I stopped answering my friends. Stopped dressing properly. I told my mother I was tired, just tired — she asked if I was sick. I lied. I told her it would pass.

But it didn’t pass.

Every day became harder to get through. I stopped writing. I stopped dreaming. The boy who once wanted to open his own tailoring shop — he disappeared. All that remained was a body. Breathing. Blinking. Waiting.

There was one night — a cold, heavy night — when I sat on the edge of my bed and thought, maybe I’m not meant for this world.
That thought scared me. But what scared me more was… it didn’t feel shocking. It felt like an option.

And then something small happened.
Something so tiny, most people would laugh.

My nephew — just five years old — knocked on my door. He walked in holding a crayon drawing. It was messy, colorful, full of scribbles. He pointed at one of the stick figures and said, “This is you, Chachu. You’re smiling.”

I looked at that drawing. And for the first time in weeks, my eyes stung with tears.
Smiling? I hadn’t smiled in days. Weeks. But in his little world, I was still someone who smiled.

That small drawing cracked something inside me.

The next morning, I took a shower. I wore clean clothes. I cut a few threads and stitched a piece of cloth. My hands moved slow — but they moved. I messaged one friend: “I’m okay, just been low. Pray for me.”

Step by step, I came back.
Not overnight. Not completely. But I came back.

I started writing again. I wrote my first story on Vocal — about a tailor with big dreams. That story reminded me of who I was. Who I still am.

Depression didn’t vanish. It’s still there, sometimes whispering in the dark corners of my room. But I’ve learned something: I’m stronger than I thought. And even when it feels like nobody sees me — someone does. A child. A friend. A stranger on the internet.

If you're reading this and feel like you’re falling — I promise you, someone is still drawing you with a smile. Someone still believes in you, even when you don’t.

And one day — even if slowly — you’ll come back too.I started writing again. I wrote my first story on Vocal — about a tailor with big dreams. That story reminded me of who I was. Who I still am.

Depression didn’t vanish. It’s still there, sometimes whispering in the dark corners of my room. But I’ve learned something: I’m stronger than I thought. And even when it feels like nobody sees me — someone does. A child. A friend. A stranger on the internet.

If you're reading this and feel like you’re falling — I promise you, someone is still drawing you with a smile. Someone still believes in you, even when you don’t.

And one day — even if slowly — you’ll come back too.

true-story, depression, mental-health, healing, emotional, human-experience, real-life, comeback, inspirational, hope