Tethered: Lost Soul and the Avoidant

Zace was once unshakable. Confident, driven, a little arrogant even. Laughter came easily to him, and success followed close behind. As a team leader at a top BPO company, he was respected and relied on by management and admired by his peers. People expected him to have it all together. But in 2023, everything collapsed. He was scammed. In a single, calculated blow, he lost his savings, his apartment, his sense of security—his future. Something inside him cracked. The man who once stood tall now struggled to breathe through days thick with shame and grief. The emotional spiral was quick, silent, and invisible to everyone around him. He didn’t speak up. He couldn’t. The fear of being misunderstood—or worse, ridiculed—kept his mouth shut. To the world, he was still “okay.” Still the same strong Zace. But inside, he was unraveling. June 6, 2023. His birthday. It was supposed to be just another shift. His usual clock-out time was 2 p.m., and as always, he messaged his partner: “Hey, I’ll be home late. We have a conference until evening.” Jhen, unaware of the truth, replied sweetly: “Okay, take care. I love you. Bring me something, okay?” Zace didn’t open the message. Instead, he stayed curled up in the quiet corner of the office sleeping quarters. He waited. Thought. Planned. At around 7 p.m., he left the building and walked to a nearby grocery. He bought two bottles of Smirnoff vodka and a can of Baygon, a common insect-repellent spray used to kill roaches and mosquitoes. This was his plan. This was his way out. By 9 p.m., he was in his black sedan, parked in a nearly deserted lot. The windows were tinted—no one could see inside. He turned the ignition, let the air conditioning run, then took one long breath and opened the can of Baygon. The harsh chemical smell filled the cabin. He drank from the vodka bottle. Then again. And again. He sprayed the repellent. Swallowed the fumes. Screamed until his voice broke, the sounds swallowed by the sealed car. Then, with trembling fingers, he typed out his last message: “Jhen, thank you for everything. I’m sorry I became so weak. Please take care of Mama. I’ve left a letter in the glove compartment. I love you.” And then… silence. He closed his eyes, expecting not to open them again. But fate didn’t follow his plan. At exactly 4:30 a.m.—the time his shift would’ve started—his phone began to buzz violently. Calls. Messages. People were looking for him. People cared. Zace gasped awake, confused. Dizzy. Panicked. He hadn’t died. Death had denied him. Again. Heart racing, he gripped the steering wheel and drove—faster than he ever had. He didn’t want anyone to find him. He didn’t want to face the questions, the judgment, the pity. His mind was a storm. Fear. Shame. Confusion. Grief. He drove aimlessly, the city lights blurring into noise. His phone kept ringing. He tossed it aside. Hours later, running on nothing but dread, he left the city. The roads got quieter. The sky darker. He didn’t have a destination—just the overwhelming need to disappear. Eventually, he reached a beach he once loved as a child. A quiet place far from the world. With the remaining vodka bottle in hand and the can of insect repellent still in his pocket, he stumbled toward the far end of the shore. The waves crashed gently, as if unaware of the storm inside him. He drank. Sprayed. Walked into the water. He swam to where he could no longer feel the sand beneath his feet. This was it. He was ready. But again—death didn’t want him. A local fisherman spotted him floating, motionless, and dragged him back to shore. Saltwater in his lungs. Breath barely holding on. But alive. Alive, still. Twice, Zace had tried to end it. Twice, the world pulled him back. Death wasn’t chasing him. It was avoiding him. And now, he had no idea why.