Waiting to breathe

Tomorrow.  Maybe by tomorrow night I will be able to breathe.  We will be back from the airport, and he will be gone.  No more yelling in my face.  No more belittling.  No more controlling every. Single. Thing.  Maybe it is wrong of me, but I am looking forward to doing things my way.  Sure, I will make mistakes and learn along the way.  But I will try again.  See, despite what he thinks, I am not a quitter.  I lack consistency sometimes, but I stick with the important things.  I haven't always.  And there are times when he makes me feel like I'm still the same person who struggled so much at BYU, like I am incapable of doing anything different.  In his eyes I will always be at my worst, my weakest. 
Well, after a week of catching up on my breathing, I am going to prove him wrong.