Why am I doing this to myself?

Why am I doing this to myself?

Staying thousands of kilometers away from my near and dear ones, in a rented room, perhaps smaller than the kitchen I have at my home. I still search that bit of flavor resembling to the food I have grown with, which almost looks unachievable.

I miss the marriage of the person, I call as my best friend and I manage to reach the funeral of my loved ones, only after it is over. I am afraid to call somebody as my friend at my workplace, as it may sound unprofessional. Once, alcohol used to be insufficient for celebration and now it has got a role to cover up my isolation.

I cannot stop laughing at those who talk about earnings and savings, which comes at the cost of losing so much. When my small native town could provide a living & peace to my forefathers, why am I scared that it would be unfit for my survival, when I have all the credentials that even fetched me the hyped white collared blood sucking job?

I suspect somebody will take me to a hospital if a bus hits me tomorrow in this stranger city, and if at all my family will be able to reach me before I die. They say that Information Technology has transformed the heath of India: I completely agree, as I feel being slowly engulfed by the word; the closest I came across was being heard from a stranger “Depression”.