Home Is An Illusion

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⚠️ **Content warning:** Domestic abuse and implied sexual abuse.
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Home is an illusion.

One may think of home as a cozy, warm living space where they can snuggle up in a blanket with their partner in front of the television. Others find it a place of safety and solace, a place where they can get away from the chaos that life brings. 
“I’m home!” They would say, as their partner and children come to greet them at the door. Joy and laughter, love and tenderness, cozy and comfortable. That is home.

Home is an illusion.

One would come home to broken glass, chairs and tables overturned, shattered light bulbs... and the unmistakable smell of alcohol. Their partner's fist would connect with their child's cheek, sending them sprawled out onto the torn-up rug. One could only stand, feet frozen at the door, as the unfathomable scene played out. Why would one come home to chaos and confusion at the hands of the person they thought would love and cherish them each day? 

Home is an illusion.

One’s parents would come visit, only to be met with the addition of blocks, diapers, milk bottles, and the newest addition to the family. One’s friends would visit to talk about the latest celebrity drama, share a pizza, and watch a movie. One’s family would come over for their annual family Thanksgiving dinner, sharing the fellowship, love and blessings among them. Perhaps instead, one would like to have their home to themselves? 

H0me is an i1lus!0n.
//--H3!p m3--//

One would approach the front door, hands trembling as they reached for the handle, well aware of their partner’s fury if they had looked at another person wrong. They would pause mid-turn as endless scenarios raced through their head, each one much worse than the last. Their heart would race as they mentally braced themself for the inevitable. 

--H0m3 15 aи il1nƨ!0u--
//--Wha+ 1s h0w3?--//

One would come home to the pleasant aroma of cooking wafting from the kitchen, the comforting crackle of fire in the fireplace, and soft music playing in the background. One would come home, looking forward to enjoying the tranquillity of snuggling up in front of the fireplace with their cat. Perhaps, one would come home to see that their Partner and children have whipped up a nice little surprise for their birthday. 

--H̸0̶W̷3̴ ̵!̸Ƨ̸ ̷4̴И̶ ̷I̶1̵!̴U̷5̴1̸Ø̶N̶--
//--1̸M̴ ̸Ƨ̵Ø̴R̴Я̸Y̷--//

Why would one come home seeking their partner’s --l̵͇͌Ø̷͇̑v̷̟̀3̵̢̍--, while fully knowing that they would instead get the towering figure of malice waiting to assert their dominance? Why would one come home, knowing that the presence of their "partner", who uses --ĥ̸̖̞0̴̮̺̀w̸̘̬̅̉3̶͖͋͗-- as a domain to show "tough l̶̙͆Ø̴̜̀V̸̞͊3̶͕̚", looms in the malevolent atmosphere? Is that really what --Ⱨ̸͈͊0̷͇̐₥̶̮̎Ǝ̷̰̏-- is about? 


---̵-̴Ⱨ̵Ø̸₥̶Ɇ̶ ̶ł̸₴̷ ̶₳̷₦̴ ̶ł̷Ⱡ̸Ⱡ̴Ʉ̶₴̷ł̴Ø̵₦̴-̴-̴--
//--P̴̡̕1̸̧̄3̷͈̆4̶̘͊Ƨ̵̺͆Ǝ̷͓̆ ̴̧̏F̷̤͐Ø̵͊ͅЯ̸̛͙Ĝ̶̹1̶̢͘V̷̟͝3̸̻̑ ̸̞̊M̷͚̈́Ǝ̸͙̽--//

One would come H̶͍̿Ø̶͖͒W̸͖̆3̴̞̏, taking their coat off to reveal the purple-black necklace and bracelets etched into their skin, and thrust themselves into the role of a stress toy. Why would one turn back to their P̴͙̒4̶̗̾Я̴͕̂+̵̣̚и̷̜͐3̶̲͌R̶̩͛’̵̼̃Ƨ̷͇̐ kingdom, like how a dog returns to its own vomit? Is it really |̵̪͋̈́-̵͍̃͜|̶͔͂Ø̶̭̅͂Ṃ̵͔̠̈̑Ǝ̶̹̠̩̿ if all it does is hide the cruelty that they are subjected to? 
Are they really 1̴̸̵̵̷̦̕-̵̴̵̷̸̢̐1̴̷̶̶̵̜̄Ờ̸̷̶̶̸̗́|̴̶̸̷̵͚̌\̵̵̵̴̷̜͂/̸̴̸̴̸̆ͅ|̷̸̶̵̴̠̍Ȅ̵̷̴̸̷̟̕?

--1̶̘́-̸͎̌1̷̜̟̏Ờ̸̤͈̌|̸̺̞̓\̷͙̹̐͂/̸̡͗|̵̠̳̇Ȅ̴̱͐̿ ̴̺̽̀ͅÌ̴͇̿͝Ƨ̴͉͕̀͋ ̸̯̥͘/̸͕̖͐̋\̶̘͔̂Ӥ̵̛͙͙́ ̴̞̈́Ȋ̶̦̅͛Ḷ̵͈͠2̷̰̾Ǘ̶̬̝͂͗Ṥ̸͉̐̊Ȉ̶̦̟͒̚Ổ̴͈́͝/̶̮͌V̴͈̻͌--

//--!̶̦̗̹̿ ̴̹͇̽M̵̢͌̍4̷̜̱̗͂̍̅И̸̣͆T̸̖̈ ̸̭̔̋2̷̠͝ ̷͓͋̃͝Ḡ̶̳̳̗̇Ø̷̴̴̝̲̯͆̾͠ ̴̡̭͈͛̔Ḩ̸̫͒Ø̵̴̴̛̻͕͖̀̅̇͆͠Ẃ̷̡̭3̷̤̼̠̒̅̓--//

Ⱨ̵͇́Ø̵̡̊₥̶̹́Ɇ̵͖̆Ⱨ̵̛̭Ø̴͍̾₥̷̙͠Ɇ̵̣̿Ⱨ̶͚̑Ø̶͔̚₥̷̢͌Ɇ̷̮̊Ⱨ̶̫͝Ø̶̯͐₥̸̝̎Ɇ̴̖̐Ⱨ̶̼̃Ø̴̢̊₥̴̛͍Ɇ̵̭̄Ⱨ̴̛̰Ø̵̗͝₥̵̹͠Ɇ̵̳͝Ⱨ̶͙̀Ø̴̡͆₥̸͇͘Ɇ̶̻̓Ⱨ̷̹̊Ø̷̟̉₥̷̖̇Ɇ̶̮̄Ⱨ̴̢̆Ø̵̱̆₥̷̡̎Ɇ̴̥̐Ⱨ̷̖̍Ø̷͕̓₥̵͍͗Ɇ̸̧̀Ⱨ̵͔̔Ø̸͎̈́₥̴̥̆Ɇ̴͕̑Ⱨ̵̼̍Ø̴͕̌₥̴̯́Ɇ̴͇́Ⱨ̷̥̅Ø̶̟͊₥̸̨͛Ɇ̶̝̒Ⱨ̸̤͝Ø̶͉͆₥̸̠̀Ɇ̴̛̰Ⱨ̸̹̋Ø̶̳̏₥̷̤̈Ɇ̶̧̂Ⱨ̷̟̌Ø̵͓͋₥̸̡͛Ɇ̴̖͌
Ⱨ̵̪̝̱̐Ø̴̛͕̇₥̴̭̹̤̚̚͝Ɇ̷̼̭̪̃͐̇̈́͘Ⱨ̷̨̱͎̖̫̹̟̑̈́̓́Ø̸͓̼͒̔̂̔₥̶̦̩̥̝͊͒̀̅̑͆͜Ɇ̵͓̳̬̆͛̉́̚Ⱨ̴͎͇̔̌͛̍̈́Ø̶̝̹͇̿̽ͅ₥̶̠̞̼̼͗͜Ɇ̶̢͕̙͕̘͑̾Ⱨ̷̹̤̻͚̓̉̾̃̔͘͜ͅØ̴̰͓̠͇̃͆₥̸̬̝̉̿̃̿̆͝Ɇ̸̢̭͔̠̖̉̒̌͑͆ͅⱧ̸̬̪̊́Ø̶̢͍̠̖̘̗̤͂̀̍͂̕₥̴̙̭̩̦̜̮̯͗̌́́͋̾͋Ɇ̵̯̲͚̹̦͑̏͛Ⱨ̷͓͈͓̭͉̈̌̆͌̒̎̅Ø̸͈̦̦̖̳̃͗̂̈̂͛͐₥̶̢̠̠̈́̇Ɇ̷̨̨̧̗͎̟̰̂̎̆͊̚Ⱨ̵̨͓͕̭͗̏̓̈̐͐Ø̴̪̼̱̊͆͠₥̷̡̌Ɇ̸̢̡͓̩̻̜͒͆́Ⱨ̵̯̦̊̌̽̾̋͜Ø̴̧̙͓̀₥̷̝͍̥̗̒̈́̊̌̚͝Ɇ̵̛̝̞̬̃̆̋̚Ⱨ̸͈̮̮͊̆͛̓͑Ø̴̧̛̞̰̱̗̱͖̂̍̋̀̃₥̵̱̩̰̌Ɇ̶͔̭̈́Ⱨ̴̡̟̭̯̮̈́̑̈̊̚͠Ø̶̢͙̗̰̞͕̤͐͊̈́͐͠₥̸̨͉̣̥̻̹̌̈́͐͌̇Ɇ̴̧̰̙̺̽͆͌̓̌Ⱨ̴̛̰̦̈̔͛͘Ø̵̜͕̎̾̆͊₥̵͎̗͓̋Ɇ̴͍͉̼͙̐̉̌Ⱨ̸̤̉͑̈́̋͐Ø̶̣̬̲̟̣̔̏́͂̃̎͌₥̸̛̫̈́̀̒̚Ɇ̵̟̪̚Ⱨ̸̤̩̪͐Ø̶̟̮̻̦̅̇͝₥̸̧̛̰̩̘̈́̆̓̉Ɇ̵̢̗͌͛̄͗̔͝͠Ⱨ̸̗̲͝͝Ø̷̢̡̢̳̙̺̤͑́̆͝͝₥̷̼̉͊̃̽Ɇ̸̳͑̾̐̑͘ͅⱧ̶̺̗͕̥̕͝͝ͅØ̸̖̟̹͉̖̰̽͛̃̓̈̚̚₥̶͎͓͉͓̝̠͛̔̍̈̉Ɇ̴̻̬́͊́͝Ⱨ̵͉̬̭̹̬͑̇͐̎͐̕Ø̴̢̹̰̗̓̀₥̴̡̝̠͒͒͗̋̒͜Ɇ̶̱̒̇̆̓̾

Home.

What is the meaning of home?

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Home Is An Illusion

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