The definition of hell.

I criticize my friend Julie. For being reclusive. Hiding out. When she's in depression. And had too much to drink. But then, I'm reclusive, too. I love solitude. Makes me happy. At peace.  When I have no interruptions. And I'm able to turn inward. Yes, there's a time to be a recluse. For the purpose of soul-searching.  To retreat to a desert. Or a mountain top. Or to another planet. Another dimension. But Julie does it. To get away from herself. She abhors what she has become. And doesn't know how to get back on track again. She's wandering. Aimlessly.  Such a sad plight. Maybe this is the definition of hell. --Jim Broede