Back.

Still in not so good shape. Stayed a day longer, simply because I didn't feel well enough to face the world alone again. Which was not such a good idea, as it raised suspicion about the state of my mental health in my parents, and -not surprisingly- didn't make me feel any better. One more "Are you sure everything is ok?" and I'll freak.

I hate their speechlessness. One real caring question would be ok. But all this not-saying things and hinting-at-but-not-saying-it-alound gets to me.
But then, I am just complicated at the moment anyway.

Haven't talked to Ev since Saturday, and got a small eMail on Monday. Tried to call him on Tuesday, reached his sis as he wasn't home, called again a bit later, reached no-one, and then gave up. Its hard to describe it, but I felt like such a hassle.
The usual is this: I call him, we talk, I tell him how shitty I feel, he trys to lift my mood. I feel like such a burden for him. I'm always sad and needy and looking for him to make me better, I feel bad because he's the only one who really knows what's going on inside my head. It all just sucks.
And then, I also wonder. He knows I called. He knows these are tough weeks for me. So why in all the world doesn't he make an effort to let me know he is there? Why no calls, why no eMails, why nothing? If he cared for me, wouldn't he do something?
I know I am unfair here, and aggressive, too and a part of me knows that he is busy, and that there are probably good reasons why he hasn't got a chance to contact me, and that he cares for me (otherwise, he wouldn't have made the effort of getting the money to come here)...but still. The discontent and the fear (I am not lovable, he doesn't want me, especially not in the shitty state I am in at the moment) are there. they are joined by other worries...why doesn't he ask my opinion about future decisions? Why isn't he there for me, isn't that what relationships are all about, being there for someone? Why doesn't he read this, other people read their partners blogs and journals online, too, doesn't he care to know what I think?

All these are louder than that voice of reason inside my head.

Right now, I just cannot be bothered to contact him. I know it would be the usual conversation, I would tell him that nothing is better, would feel needy and bad. He'd feel helpless and maybe say the same not-so-clever thing as Saturday ("Wouldn't you be better off with someone closer to you?"). Afterwards, I'd just sit here and be more sad. Not surprising that I want to avoid that, eh?

So I don't call him, which feels like the total annihilation of our relationship, like declaring that it doesn't work after all, that we should give up trying, because it just isn't right and will never be right, like we should simply save the time and money and effort and do something else. He should go and find another partner, get back with Jen, have an affair with that other german Caro that's currently jumping around in Melbourne, just do as he pleases, - he'd be freed from the burden that I am for him, that sad needy thing at the other end of the phone line so far away. The one who isn't the way that he knows her to be.

I am so scared that I won't be back on track before he arrives in a meagre 48 days. The last time we met when I was at my lowest was just so bad. Sure, there were other things making it all harder for us, like the living situation and Jen, and whatever else, but still. We didn't work while I was on loony pills, I was so zonked out of everything. Our sex life sucked big time. All was evil. If someone would force me to relive some of those weeks, I would choose almost anything over that. There wasn't an us in those weeks.

I try to stand back and distance myself from all this. I know all of this isn't me. These bizarre thougths. I am not like this. This isn't me thinking or me talking. Or me that's making me cry here. I try to see that it's this fucking imbalance of whatever combination of neurotransmitters in my brain, teamed up with all the insecurities and fear that I learned in the past 23 years. And boy, they are having a great big party together up there in my head.
I try to remind myself that there's a real me, somewhere, that I can get it back, that I can be happy again, and have pleasure from good things and study and be normal and function, for goodness sake. That's really all I want. To function. To think clearly and be able to decide things and be a pleasure to have around.
Right now, I can't seem to remember what I, what my real personality, is really like. I can't seem to remember whether I was ever happy, or whether that huge smile has always been fake. It feels like that now.

I can't even look at my face. It seems so out of sync, like someone made a puzzle from a picture but put it back together in the wrong way.

I want my life, my personality, my self back.