People say it takes two months of doing something everyday before it becomes habit. It takes that long for your body to become accustomed to whatever it's doing, whether it be waking up at a certain time, buckling your seatbelt whenever you get into a car, or even something as simple as which shoe you put on first. After a while, some things become second nature to you. Sometimes, you don't realize what habits you've developed until you're forced to change your ways. Breaking a habit can be the hardest thing in the world, but if you're insistant enough with yourself, it's not impossible.

I've always been very determined and focused when it comes to what I do. I usually take weeks to prepare for a role, allowing myself adequate time to `become` the character. I'm not accustomed to having scripts thrown at me just days before I'm due to begin filming. To be fair, I had a feeling this would be coming. I'd hoped it be later rather than sooner but I suppose two months could be considered `later`, right? The problem with this is that for the first time since I started doing this, I've come to realize that I'm beginning to dread the thought of getting up each morning. Generally I don't let anything distract me when I'm working, but lately my head has been filled with nothing but distractions. I'm trying so hard to conceal it and do what I came here to do. It's hard to comply, though, when I didn't exactly come by choice. There are obvious places I'd rather be, and it shows.

The first night was the hardest. I walked into the empty hotel room and just stood there in the middle of it, not sure of what to do. I couldn't bring myself to sleep in the bed, it was too perfectly made and desolate. I collapsed onto the couch instead. For a moment, I thought I heard him behind me, I thought I saw him next to me. My mind was playing cruel tricks on me because he wasn't there. I looked around the room and it hit me that I was truely all alone. It was then that the tears came. I'd been doing my best to hold them back, but I just couldn't any longer. I sat in complete silence and let them roll down my face, making no attempt to brush them way. They came until there were none left. I curled up with his sweatshirt that I'd taken before I left. I don't remember when I finally fell asleep, but I do remember waking up in the middle of the night and reaching out for him instinctively only to realize, of course, that he wasn't there.

I hate to admit it, but I took him for granted these past few months. I assumed that he'd always be there when I reached out for him. I refused to think of a time when he wouldn't be because I lived like that for what seemed like forever and I never want to go back to that. I let myself think that that's how life was going to be from then on ... just like those two months. That was my biggest mistake because now I don't think I want to live without him, I don't think I can. And that thought alone scares the hell out of me. Then there is the simple fact that I can't seem to shake it from my head. He's the only comfort I have right now, whether he wants to be or not, and he's not here.