When?

When will it come back? That elusive part of the self that goes missing when you go through really tough years? I can’t even recall the last time I laughed. I’m glad that I’ve moved away from him and I’m beginning to love my new home but I can’t help but question how long it’s going to take for the old, or rather, the revised version of me to come back if, of course, it ever will.

I used to be funny. I was mischievous and quirky. I often had the devil in me.  He took that all away from me. I was so sure that when I left him it would come back more or less straight away, but it’s been twelve days and there’s not even a glimmer of me yet.

I feel stressed about so many little things. Trying to find more work, making an effort to eat healthier food, the lack of furniture. That part, at least, is easier for him. He still has all of our furniture, I have pieces not yet etched with memories.

The pressure to succeed and prove him wrong is taking over all rational thought. All I can hear is his voice telling me I’ll never manage without him. I will. Maybe not straight away but I will. I can’t relax but then I got used to never being able to with him.  Maybe my biggest challenge right now is to stop allowing him to control me still, even though he’s not even here.

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