//------------------------------//
// How To Disappear Completely 
// Story: Mrs. Brightside– Coming Out Of My Cage Extras 
// by Boopy Doopy 
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Mark stared at himself in the mirror, flinching hard at what he saw.
He saw a man that was beginning to age. It wasn’t significant yet, but the signs were there. There was a permanent stubble on his face that wasn’t there before, a little less hair in spots, a little bit of his hairline receding despite his attempts to halt and hide this, and a few more wrinkles on his face. He didn’t look very much different from the average man on the street, and in fact, many people still thought he was just as handsome now as he always was, maybe even more so with how rugged looking he was. However, his reflection still hurt to look at, almost physically. He thought he could hold out if he kept doing what he was doing, but he was starting to come to the conclusion that he couldn’t. It was getting to be impossible. He looked awful, so awful, and it seemed every day he was looking worse.
He thought if he could just keep growing out his hair, keep shaving, keep avoiding looking at himself in the mirror, something would change. Or at least, he could hold out until he grew into an old man and died. He was coming to realize however that he wasn’t going to be able to. The dysphoria never, not even for a day, let up. He took to exercising, working longer hours, taking anti depressants, and just doing everything he could to try and distract himself. And it all worked, for a little while anyway, but the dysphoria always came back. There was once a point where he could get by with how bad it felt, but these days, he found himself crying himself to sleep most nights no matter what he did.
He felt absolutely terrible, and knew there wasn’t anything he could do about it except let it continue to get worse.
He knew he was nearing a certain point. The point of no return. It felt too bad to keep going on the way he did, and he didn’t know if he could take another day of living life the way he was. He tried desperately to push through, but couldn’t, and was now coming very close to a point that he wouldn’t be able to return from. He knew what was going to happen, and couldn’t do anything to stop it.
Why am I like this? he wondered silently as he cried at his reflection. I’m too old to still feel like this. He was coming up to age forty next year. Next year he would be forty, and then there’d only be thirty more years of suffering to contend with. At minimum anyway. At least thirty more years of this horrible feeling getting worse, exponentially so. He couldn’t take thirty more years of this.
Thirty more years of bottling it up and pretending to be fine and never telling another living soul how he felt. Thirty more years of living alone and crying in bed as he desperately he could be someone else. He would rather be anyone else, the reflection he saw was brutal. 
He was wondering right now if he could last another five minutes. 
He was close, so close to just giving up. Not for five more minutes could he do this. There was nothing to look forward to but worsening pain and that horrible, terrible ache in his chest. He knew well enough ten years ago that this was the case, and yet he sought to foolishly convince himself that there was hope when there wasn’t. This wasn’t going to end, not ever, and staring in the mirror right now was bringing that realization to the forefront.  
He was just so tired…
Thankfully, the door bought Mark at least a few more minutes of trying to carry on and pulled his attention away from the mirror. Someone banged on his door out of the blue, and on the other side, he heard a voice he recognized.
“Mark! Get your butt out here!” Jase called. “Trent and I wanna go out, and you have to come with us!”
“Hold on,” he said, having to hide the pain in his voice. “I’ll be out in a minute.”
He rubbed his eyes dry, but couldn’t help that they became wet again. He hated what he saw in the mirror so much, hated how bad his life was getting. This dysphoria felt so bad.
It was a few minutes before he was opening the door, both of his brothers standing at the front door waiting for him. It had been a few years since he’d seen either of them, and he internally gasped at the sight of Trent’s hair.
“Wh-what happened?” Mark asked, a bit shakily, afraid of what he saw.
“Huh? With what? What do you mean?” his older brother asked in the flat tone he always had. 
“You’re hair! Your hairline wasn’t that bad when I last saw you!”
“Oh, that? That’s just male pattern baldness. You know dad has it, too. Actually, I think I can see some of your hair receding. The line looks a little farther back than it did before. It’s crazy though how fast it goes.”
Shut up, shut up, shut up! I don’t wanna hear that! It took every ounce of Mark’s being to not scream out loud.
“Anyway, we wanted to go out with you to Denny’s, if that’s cool.”
“O-okay,” he said, then cleared his throat and shook his head, trying to calm his nerves. “Okay. What for exactly?”
“Just to eat,” Trent said flatly. “I mean, it’s been what? Three years since I last saw you even though you live just across town? I wanna hang out with you and catch up, you know?”
“That’s why I’m here,” Jase added. “Come on, man, it’s been years.”
“Sure, yeah, that’s fine. Sorry, I just didn’t expect to see you guys is all. Did you wanna leave right now?”
“Yeah, if that’s okay with you. Did you have something to do?”
He looked back inside his house, in the direction his bathroom was in before shaking his head. “No, we can go now if you want.”
To Denny’s was where they went, not taking longer than half an hour to sit down and have their orders taken. Jase chattered away like he always did, Trent being more quiet but interjecting every so often. The two talked about how their lives had been so far, Trent talking about his kids and Jase describing how he’d just broken up with an ex girlfriend. Mark desperately tried to listen, and did his best to smile and nod along, but knew he wasn’t doing a good job. His thoughts were still on the bathroom and how he was ready to give up and stop pretending like hope could be found.
“Anyway, how have you been, Mark?” one of them finally asked. “You look like you’re keeping up and doing well for yourself like usual. How’s everything?”
“Eh, same ol’, same ol’,” he said with a shrug, a statement that might as well have been true, even if for Mark that meant he was still horrific. 
“Anything new with you, man?” Trent asked, Mark involuntarily flinching at the word, something he seemed to have less control of over the years. Thankfully, his brother seemed not to notice it as he asked, “Any women in your life? Or, you know, men if you’re gay, I guess.”
“No, I’m still single. There’s absolutely nothing new with me.”
No new partners or friends or experiences or TV shows or movies he’d seen or foods he’d tried or anything. He was floundering so hard right now, barely able to keep his head above water. Or maybe he was already under water and drowning right now. It certainly felt like that. 
“Well, you could certainly get anyone you wanted. I know a couple of girls who said you were attractive before, and with long hair like yours and how meticulous you are about it, you could probably get guys if you wanted them, too.”
“Haha, yeah, maybe,” Mark pretended to laugh, sighing internally as he did. Everyone seemed to continuously talk about how well off he was and how he could do anything he wanted or get anyone he wanted to be his partner because he was just so great and handsome and whatever else, and yet here he was, drowning. If those things were true, then why did he have to be cursed to feel so ugly? Why couldn’t he just be normal and not hate his body as much as he did and not be so intensely dysphoric?
“But how are your kids?” he asked a second later, wanting to keep the conversation off of himself. “I wanna hear more about them.”
They talked a little more and ate some lunch, Mark heading promptly back for his home shortly after that. Jase, however, asked to stay over cause he wanted to talk to him some more. About what, Mark didn’t know.
Mostly childhood memories it turned out, something Mark despised going through. Almost all of his memories were painful, except for a couple of bright spots. His mother holding him close when he cried, trying on his sister’s dresses in secret, the feeling of hair touching his shoulders for the first time. These things were few and far in between, most of his memories of childhood being how he stayed home in his room and cried all day during his teenage years. That’s how most of his memories were turning out now, too, crying in bed in between the times he had to work or go outside. Every single day, it felt like there was less and less to live for. 
What was he still trying to live for?
He was so wrapped up in his own head that he completely forgot about Jase as he sat down on the couch, put his face in his hands, and sobbed. Not that it was anything new. Five or ten years ago it might have been, but he was so attuned and used to it now, he hardly thought about it. Attuned to it like he wasn’t to the pain he felt. He imagined most people who had such long term pain as he did, whether physical or mental, got used to it, to the point where it was as normal as having to go to work. He wished his dysphoria felt like that, rather than the terrible hot coals that only seemed to continuously burn hotter and burn his skin and soul greater. That was the worst part about it. It kept hurting worse, day after day.
He wasn’t going to be able to take another day after this.
He didn’t even realize his little brother was touching his shoulder with a firm hand until it started to rub carefully. It was a hand that eventually worked its way around his waist to pull him in close. It made Mark sob harder, appreciating the comfort but feeling worse because of it. 
“What’s wrong?” his little brother asked as though it didn’t surprise him in the least to see from him. It was a surprising gentleness from someone like him, like he knew what was wrong and knew exactly how to help him.
He didn’t though. Mark knew that. Jase didn’t know, and if he did, there was no way to help him.
“Mark?” he asked more firmly. “Tell me what’s wrong?”
He didn’t dare look up at his little brother, but couldn’t help leaning into his brother a little bit as he cried. “I- I- I… I’m sorry… i-it’s nothing…”
“It doesn’t seem like nothing, Mark,” he said, talking to him like he was his parent rather than his little brother. “I’m here to listen. Let me try to help you if I can.”
“Y-you… you can’t help me…”
“You can’t know that if you don’t tell me,” his brother said. “I wanna know what’s wrong. Let me try.”
There was no way he could help, not at all. Mark knew that. But why not tell him? It wasn’t like he was going to keep on going anyway. His closest, most painful, most well guarded secret wasn’t going to matter if he was ready to give up. It didn’t matter right now if he was only six feet from the edge and thinking that six feet might not be so far down. What could there have possibly been to lose?
Mark’s hands were shaking badly and he was struggling to catch his breath as he looked up at his little brother. Jase didn’t have surprise in his voice, but Mark could see the shock make its way onto his face when he caught just how distraught he looked. He must have been expecting something flat and depressive rather than the shaking panic he had now. He imagined he looked like a man with a gun being put to his head. It was basically true.
It was exactly true. 
“I look like a monster,” he whispered quietly, almost inaudible. It was words he thought in his head but never spoke aloud. The shock on his little brother’s face increased, but he did his best not to show it, and definitely kept it out of his voice. 
“How do you look like a monster?” Jase asked, sounding like a concerned teacher talking to a student.
“I– you– it’s st-stupid… I’m sorry…”
“It’s probably not stupid if it has you feeling so messed up, Mark,” Jase countered. “I’m here to listen to whatever you wanna say, and certainly stay here if you’re not feeling so safe alone.”
“I… I’m not…” he admitted, looking down at his feet shamefully. There was no way he would be safe alone for another night. He might have already given up by now if not for his brothers knocking on his door earlier.
“Well, I’m here to listen. Tell me whatever you want. I’m not gonna judge you or anything.” There was a little pause as he asked again, “How do you look like a monster?”
He wanted to hold back how he felt, but couldn’t. It was stupid to do so. He was already on the edge of the cliff with nothing to lose. He wasn’t going to last the night with the way he felt. Either Jase was right and it would change something, or he’d give up.
He told his little brother how he felt, and cried the whole time doing so. Jase offered advice from his limited perspective, but it seemed like good advice to Mark anyway, not that there was any bad advice with how bad off he was. Jase also stayed the night to make sure his older brother was safe, not daring to sleep while Mark did.
Despite what Mark thought though, Jase genuinely did help him, and within a few years, the dysphoria disappeared almost entirely, and so did he. Jase told him how to disappear completely, and Mark did, leaving someone much more beautiful and happy living in his place.