Diary of a Lost Wanderer

**Trigger Warning: Suicide, Ghosting** Recently a young actor died by suicide which led to a lot of furor on the social media. While I am no one to comment on how right or wrong this furor was, I can surely vouch for one thing - it is wrong to blame him for taking this step. Anyone who is/has been remotely suicidal knows for sure that our mind and body are out of our control. We cannot think rationally and hence this step.  I was into self harm for almost a decade before I quit it, never to go back. I knew I wanted to die and had tried many ways to do so. Every time I did it, I experienced a sense of relief. I felt I was one step closer to freedom. I was out of my senses, there is nothing else that mattered more than freedom from that pain and from that existence. Not even the pain, my death would have caused my loved ones. Because in my eyes and mind (maybe!) I felt no one loved me enough to mourn my death. 

Home.  A feeling I have always longed for and never found. Though in many ways this place gives me a sense of belonging, there is still something amiss. I cannot exactly point my finger as to what is it. I only know, the abyss within my heart refuses to be filled. Last week I longed to be home and that is when I realized the feeling of missing isn’t about a place or a person, it is about the feeling of familiarity. You miss the comfort that familiarity brings along. 

Image Source: Unsplash (https://unsplash.com/@juja_han) My father hated music. Well honestly, hate isn't the appropriate word to describe his feeling towards it. Our house was a silent zone 24 * 7. There wasn't pin drop silence, however. All that resonated within those four walls were voices that had no right to exist. Screams, abuses, sounds of things being thrown and broken and the dull noise created by slaps or beatings.