Thursday, July 26, 2001

Considering how shitty I feel in general today and considering this was the first day in weeks, really, that I cried for real ("real" meaning: not because of Lance wearing the meillot jaune), it's quite impressive how much the phone calls with Ev have helped.

I am very impressed by us and how well we communicate these days. By the fact I can finally tell him when things go wrong. By finally feeling that yes, he loves me even when I am curled up in a fetal position and crying and looking shitty and feeling like the greatest loser in the whole wide world.
I love him. Very very much. And am very happy that he is in my life. And there to help.

Somehow, last year, I never felt good about telling him exactly how I felt. And when I did, he hence didn't take it seriously at all (something which he apologized again today) and never realised how bad I really was.
It's different now. Sure, it was not easy to say "I feel that things are getting worse again", but it was far far easier than last year. Not just because we just are generally *better* together these days, but maybe also because he's doing psychiatry. And knows about the medical side, too, and can support me here.
I think he worries about me relapsing as much as I do. Relapsing as in being close to suicide again, I mean.

I really am scared about a relapse. And I feel it coming on, in a way. I haven't been living healthily lately, really. Being so lonely, I mean. It isn't good, but being around others is harder.

Discussing yesterday evening with Dr.K. this morn was good, even though it made me very sad. He thinks (and I have to agree with him, I think), that the fact yesterday evening was good for me, that I impressed people and had an enjoyable evening and heard that I did a good job and received praise was the reason why I needed to bash myself and tell myself I sucked (and am ugly, talk too much, am too loud, too...whatever, the usual) afterwards. Because taking praise is something I can not do. At all.
I think it's a preventative measure, actually. Being told I was too loud or whatever else would be even worse than the horrible self-bashing I do to myself instead.

I am very bad at taking critique. And even a probably well meant statement that I have worked enough and should someone else do the rest is a big mighty big blow to my ego. Yay. My fragile little ego.

In any way, I will need to keep an eye on myself. The last thing I want to do is get back on meds (even though Ev thinks - and is probably right - that the meds I were on weren't a good idea to start with). I felt like a Zombie. Those 8 weeks last week are a daze. I functioned, I wrote exams, I survived, but I really never ever want to feel like that again.

Anyway. It's good to have Ev. Good to be able to talk about all this with him, finally. And I know that I can get through this with him, indeed.