Home no longer feels like home

It’s the same city, same place, same buildings, same streets, both familiar and different faces. I sit in the same places to eat lunch and make conversation with the same several people I call strangers that talk. I do the same thing day in, day out. At night, I try to rest my muscle on my favorite chair looking out to the busy city lights in mute version. I can hear my own heartbeat trying to slow down from the daily chaos; maybe some music would help to loosen it up, ease that stress from everyday.

My chest feels heavy, like bricks weighing down. I can’t remember the last time I felt genuinely happy. Home doesn’t feel like home anymore even at the end of a long day, and I toss and turn at night in the dark, waiting for sleep to overtake me. It’s become more than just the work I do all day. It’s the superficial friendships. It’s reaching out, but my presence doesn’t feel valued anymore by others. It’s the people, and the meaningless interactions that only drain me further. It’s the ignored messages left unresponded for days. It’s the city that has come to be a constant reminder of betrayed trust, the people who’ve broken my heart. It’s the streets and roads I’ve walked on with no real purpose.

I want to start anew in a place where no one knows my name, no one knows my story. They wouldn’t know my burdens, worries and fears. Maybe I should find a new home in a new place I never thought I could survive from. And just maybe, I’ll find myself again, along with a truly newfound happiness.