Carolina Confidential

They Don’t Die, They Just Stop Showing Up

It’s a strange kind of grief, losing people who are still alive. They don’t die—they just stop showing up. And somehow that hurts worse. You watch the messages fade, the plans dry up, the laughter shrink into memories that feel borrowed now. You tell yourself it’s life, that people get busy, that maybe you changed, maybe they did. But the truth is, people make time for what still matters to them. You just stopped being one of those things.

It doesn’t happen all at once. It’s a slow drift disguised as distance. One week turns into two, then into silence that nobody names. You tell yourself it’s mutual, but it isn’t. You’re still looking at the door; they’ve already walked through it. And the worst part? They probably don’t even know they did it. They just stopped checking if you were still standing there.

That realization doesn’t crash in—it seeps. Quietly. You start noticing they still find time for others. You see the photos. The weekends. The jokes you weren’t there for. You smile when it’s mentioned, but inside, something twists. Because deep down, you know what absence feels like—and you can tell when it’s intentional.

What cuts deepest isn’t the silence. It’s the knowing they could’ve said your name and didn’t. Could’ve mentioned you and chose not to. Could’ve offered help, or a word, or a reminder that you still mattered—and stayed quiet instead. And if you’ve ever been on the other side of that silence, you know how easy it is to justify. “Life got busy.” “They’ll understand.” We all become someone’s ghost eventually. The difference is, some of us still haunt ourselves for it.

So yeah, I got angry. Not because I wanted pity, but because I earned more than disregard. Because I gave my time, my trust, my energy—and got erased like a footnote in someone else’s story. Because it’s one thing to drift; it’s another to pretend the current never carried us together. There’s a special kind of rage that comes from watching people you once would’ve bled for act like you never existed.

But anger fades. Not quick, not clean, but honest. It burns long enough to light the truth: I was never the problem. I was the mirror. And sometimes people can’t handle what they see when the reflection stops flattering them. Funny how people remember your worth once it starts getting attention from strangers.

So no, I don’t wish them well or wish them harm. I just wish them gone. Because peace isn’t pretending it didn’t hurt—it’s refusing to carry what no one else reached to hold. I’m not bitter. I’m just done confusing loyalty with longevity. Done mistaking shared history for shared heart. Done watching people clap for my struggle only after I’ve already survived it.

If that makes me cold, so be it. Warmth built on one-sided effort isn’t warmth—it’s dependency. The truth is, people don’t forget you—they just get comfortable with your absence. And once you stop apologizing for being forgotten, the silence doesn’t sting the same.

They can keep their silence. I’ll keep my peace. I’ve just learned that the same quiet that broke me once—now saves me daily.

Until next time,
Stay safe. Make good choices. And as always, stay kinky My friends.

~Dray Orion