the gift of lost.

The journey had just about ended, there's no romanticising that.Now, it is the beginning of return, of getting back to the 'real' life, which in my case, hasn't still quite happened but then that's a different story.But the lights had just been dimmed, when every single thought in and around me started telling me that I'm less than prepared for reality.For the pressures it holds, maybe even the aptitude it demands.And while there's a part in me wanting to deny it, a major part of me agrees.
This major part is more discouraging, because it believes that I can't and that the minor part doesn't like.
Why would it be so hard to believe and so easy to do the exact opposite?Why wouldn't faith come naturally to me?The times when I laugh over my failures, do I really think I'm not affected?Or am I actually not affected?
And so the noise won't stop.The thoughts are sort of stale, but they still seem to stay.
And one ill-effect of being ill that too for so long is that you have too much time to think.Which I choose to exercise.And not really for my benefit.
I don't see too much of main stream in me, I want to know if I'm fit for it.Is there way to find out whether I've grown out of comfort shell?And as I write this line, the answer comes right into my head... No-
And whatever phase this is, I don't feel like trusting people.I don't know what they mean and if they mean it or not.I don't know which is sympathy.I can't even recognize friendship anymore.
As for getting back to 'reality', I'm not very good at doing that anyway but I'll try from Monday, hopefully, if my intestines and liver and whoever allow me to.