We call this place safe environment. I call it my safe haven. We call the real world ‘outside’ or ‘downstairs’.
This is not our home. Yet the thought of going home scares and frightens us. Because we know once we are ‘outside’, we are no longer safe. We are vulnerable to the whims and fancies of the ugly world and reality. Even our own home isn’t considered safe.
We have to go home some day. We could fuss and cry all day, but we still have to return to our natural environment.
I find it amazing how we define our environment by our physical boundaries. And how by stepping out, we enter a whole different world.
A different world where we get ridiculed at, where we feel like everyone is out to harm us, where everything is a facade, and where altruism does not exist. A world where nobody is going to stop me from buying blades and drugs, where people think of us as crazy and attention-seeking when all we are really doing is to seek respite from the inner turmoil and torment. Can we blame them though? No.
It’s been 14 days. I want to go home. But how?
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