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 Tom, 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. 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 a few 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.