The Year I Stopped Existing (Director’s Cut) by Jonathan Harnisch It didn’t begin with an explosion. Or a heartbreak. Or a goddamn siren. It started with silence. The kind of silence that doesn’t echo—it erases. They pulled the plug. Not from a ventilator or a dialysis machine, but from the one thing still barely anchoring my nervous system to this earth. Klonopin. Gone. Cold turkey. After forty years. No taper, no bridge medication, no prep. Just yanked like a weed they didn’t want to explain anymore. And with it, twelve other prescriptions vanished overnight. Decades of medical dependency wiped out with all the finesse of deleting a file you forgot to name. Just poof —goodbye, reality. And then came the descent. Pain is a word too gentle. This wasn’t pain. This was desecration. It wasn’t that my body hurt—it was that it stopped being mine. Muscles jerked of their own accord. My arms flung themselves against walls. My fingers let go of objects I’d never meant to release. Silver...