The Girl in the Wind

Chapter 1: Home

"What makes a place feel like home? Is it warmth and familiarity? Some idealized make-believe version of the American Dream? Or is it simple safety?" -Jughead Jones

Dear Friend,

Life. The word 'life' itself has two definitions. But I'll give you the short one. It is the existence of a human being or animal. But you see, 'life' can mean different things to different people. Some may think life sucks. I am one of those people. I think life can kiss an oncoming train because I fucking hate it. But then there are people who truly enjoy life the moment they're able to talk to the moment they breathe their last breath. So, all in all, to live is to exist. But to exist is kind of hard if you have social anxiety. And you know, hate the people around you. I'm just going to be honest with you, I don't have a lot of friends, nor do I want a lot of friends. I actually find it so fucking depressing how desperate some people can be who want more friends than another person. Sorry, I probably shouldn't curse so much. After all, I don't know how old you are whoever is reading this. I'm going to guess you're around 16 and hopefully, you are and not younger. I just realized I haven't introduced myself. But the thing is, I don't feel comfortable doing so. I don't want to open up to a stranger who may or may not go and tell the whole world everything about me. So, I'll just be the mysterious girl whom you never find out about. Well, there's a hint. I'm a girl.

Anyways, let's talk about that quote from my dear Jughead. What is your home? Do you have a place in mind? Now think. What makes that place in your mind, home? Did my question confuse you? Let me try again. Home is where you feel the safest, where you're free and welcome to be who you are. Now, answer my question. Because here's my answer. Home to me is my room. Not my house, but my room. My room is my home because there, I can be the weirdo that I am and not have anyone judge me. My room is my home because the door that encases me in blocks all the dangers and problems that the real world comes with. You may be wondering why my room is my home and not my house. You see, my parents are so screwed up. They're always arguing, and when I say always, I mean every single goddam night. And they always argue for the same reason. Money. Money corrupted my family. I'm not rich. Believe me. I'm not. They argue over a single $20 bill. It's fucking ridiculous. Their arguing has torn my house into pieces. They turned my once upon a time 'home' into a war zone.

So, there's my explanation. Are you happy that you aren't me? Or do you pity me? Maybe you have the same issues or something similar or God forbid something worse. But either way, I hope you didn't agree with one of the things above. Because then that either means you don't care, you pity me or feel just like this. And I don't want that. I don't want your pity and I hope you don't feel this way but if you do, you deserve better. And lastly, I need you to care. Because I need to know that someone cares, someone out there can help. Someone is listening.

Yours truly, Anonymous