Dear Diary

A few days ago I felt like coming to talk to you diary. However I arrived home and my mother asked me if I had been crying, I denied and sat by her side. She slowly fell asleep and my mind grow even more tired of processing thoughts. I had not the energy to explain to you, so that you could more or less understand. I know you have a hard job of trying to make sense of my nonsense.

I begin to understand, some things after they changed, they can not really go back to how they were. Even though I know life is a cycle and things move forward I find it hard to feel things have slipped out my hands, feel things drifted and what used to be my support bloc has morphed. I keep hearing from some people that are dear to me, "people move on, they carry on with their own lives..." sentences with this theme. I mean, sweet diary, I understand, don't I? You know, you followed me while I was on my journey, I myself moved on, I know what it is to have to build a life and live it. I can not remember, did I ever ask you or talk to you about how I thought it would be when I returned? Friends. People know who they friends are because they those few that will always be there for them. I know that, I feel that. But I feel something else? I mean I lost out on a lot of things, important events in everyone's life that I loved. Would it be fair to ask them to trust, confide, relax with me, as once before? I know, I know, I am probably over reacting. I'm divided between a feeling of strong agony and a sense of reality check. It feels hard to be a people person and not feel my people like before.

Maybe I am not only feeling like this because I feel my friendship bar is so low, maybe dear diary, I am also feeling like this because sometimes I think about my decisions. Did I do the right thing by coming back? If only you could give me a straight answer. It is strange to ponder if what actually kept me sane in England was particularly that I was active, I had a purpose. The course, the work, the volunteering. It is so nice to be able to relax, do nothing, watch television, read your favorite books, have time to breath but then on the other hand... I kind of want to be ridiculously busy with those things that make me feel useful. I wonder is this how retired people feel? But when I am honest with myself I sense fear inside me. It is incredibly strange how I am able to pass from feeling indestructibly to feeling helpless.

So I leave here, diary dear, just a few words.