Home. It’s where your parents are. It’s where your friends are. It’s where you are safe. You are comfortable. You can let loose and not worry about anybody judging you. And what happens when you have to leave all that behind? The new place seems strange, everything about it feels distant. You cannot connect moreover, you don’t want to. You hold on to the feeling of being with your own people as you hold on to the clothes that smell of your perfume. Even if it’s fading, it’s still there. The friendly faces now seem selfish to you, a helpful hand seems someone trying to use you, a little noise here and there seems like it’s going to rip your head off. You look here and there and all you see is emptiness. It feels like you are going crazy. You question every small thing. Literally everything. You get up on the wrong side of the bed that irritates you. Your friend doesn’t pick up your call that irritates you. Your pen falls down you don’t want to pick it up. All you want is all of this irritation to just go away. To actually physically feel it drawn out of your body and thrown somewhere really far from where it does not look back at you. But it doesn’t happen. Everything feels pretentious and you are forced into it. You don’t smile. You don’t cry. You are just a shell in an auto-pilot mode. People call this withdrawal. I call this hell.