I have always thought that it is only my skeptic and envious mind that refuse to believe that I have few(no?) friends. I was mildly surprised when I looked around me, and saw no one. There are few things which we do not accept readily about ourselves: like the fact that we are ugly, or stupid or poor. Likewise, we never want to admit that we are friendless. But, as humans, we must go through the cycle of grief when we realize such harsh truths of life. First, Denial came and told me coldly that I am not friendless, I have so many people who calls me as their friend, and I them. I spend my weekends with them, go shopping with them, and have fun times with them. How can I be called friendless?
As soon, Anger followed with his wrath-some voice asking why don’t I have friends? What do I lack that people finds me so terminally foreign and alien? Why do I have these people who pretend to be friends? Why don’t they act the way friends do?
Then I pleaded, can I not have just one friend who stands by me through and through? A true friend?
At this Depression gently answered, coaxing me to fall deeply into darkness, what is your purpose of life if you have no reason to live, and no friends to die with? Gently she told me, everything does not need to be this way, only a little slash at the wrist, or a rope trick will solve all my problems away.
But Reason came, and in her harsh tone, she said why do I need friends, I should learn to accept that there will be none for me. She further counsels that when fortunes have forsaken me, all friends will forget me. When needs are direst, friends will be the farthest. But to become stronger one must learn how to not need anyone. I must be enough for myself.
Yes, I must be enough for myself.
