There's no doubt - separation has taken it's toll on me - physically and mentally.

There's no doubt - separation has taken it's toll on me - physically and mentally.and it's starting to show on my face.  Suddenly I look and feel really old - and sad.

Ageing doesn't happen gradually for me: it's not linear or predictable.  I can look broadly the same for a decade, then suddenly everything shifts and sags.  I remember catching sight of my reflection one evening and stopping in shock.  I was just about to turn 40 but I looked used anddefeated; the skin around my eyes was thin and crepey, the corner's of my mouth turned down.  No happiness in sight.

Today I'm experiencing the same jolt of surprise: ticking off the big life events - separation, redundancy, moving house - all very stressful and ageing.  I have a proper, deep line between my brows which seems quite new, a burst vein on one cheek and the start of those especially unattractive Dot Cotton lines around my mouth.  My face betrays too many late nights bathed in the glow of my laptop, gnawing worry about finances and the future, too much wine and cigarettes, too many tears.

The doorbell interrupts my moment of self pity to find my X has arrived to pick up the children.  He gives me a peck on the cheek which still feels peculiar. 

"Hi there"

"Hi - you OK?"

"Yup, fine"

He's in a good mood - excited about an upcoming holiday he's taking.  As we talk I look at him closely.  He doesn't look any older.  The alarming weight loss of the early months of our separation has halted leaving him slimmer and healthy looking.  He's always looked young for his age but now he is radiating a 'ready brek' glow of energy.  And again, just for a moment, I feel like the picture in the attic.

He looks happier - that's it.  Not just happier since we split, but maybe even happier than he was even in the early days.  It looks as thought something has resolved itself inside his head.

He notices I'm looking at him and puts his head to one side and looks at me.

"Are you really OK? You look a bit...." he trails off and raises an eyebrow.

There's something about that question, from him, the real concern in it, that engulfs me in unmanageable emotion, a wash of sadness I had no idea I was feeling.  Suddenly, embarrassingly, I'm blinking back tears. There really isn't anything terribly wrong: life just seems quite hard at the moment, and sometimes a little sympathy is a dangerous thing.

I attempt a casual shrug.

"Ah, I don't know. I'm just feeling really, really old.  And looking really old," I add.  I rub my eyes with feigned tirednesss, to get rid of the tears, the heel of my hand grinding into the thin skin under my eyes.  When I look back at him, I feel exposed, vulnerable.

X looks at me carefully, scrutinising my face.  He puts his head on the other side and looks for another few seconds.

"No," he says finally. "You don't look older to me".

Then he gets up, pats me gently on the shoulder, and gets ready to leave.