Hard day today. Not CPS stuff.

Marriage stuff. Our finances are in ruins. We are going to lose our house unless a miracle occurs. H sees I can't work, if he were married to a mate who did work, these issues wouldn't come up. Also, he would like me to be a better housekeeper, but OMG, if he understood depression & bipolar & mixed, he might get it. If I get a good day, it's a wild card thrown out there. He says he loves me and then he says the housekeeping stuff. But with severe depression, maybe he could keep an immaculate house, but I just can't. And pile on the panic disorder, the eating disorder, PTSD, God, I've go so much baggage to lug around.

Divorce word came out a lot, and, God I don't know what to do, how I can save myself to save this marriage. It seems like he wants me to get a job, get us a financial solution, and there just isn't. He thinks we are past the point of marriage counselling and even if he had a divorce, met someone with a job, it still wouldn't save the house. He feels I will lose it then and end up in the psych hospital.

I don't know what to tell him. I don't know how it would affect me, losing the house, being homeless. I'd rather still be married & a family, but God knows. H took off the day from work to rest (he is tired & depressed) and then we spent basically all day discussing this. My eyes hurt from crying so much. I wish he knew what this damned BP does to me, what it feels like, how meds have side effects even you you don't complain about them, like dry mouth (so bad you suddenly find yourself unable to speak), tinnitus, headache. He just seems me using them as an easy out, and yeah, at night I do. I want the Seroquel to knock me out ASAP, give me some sleep & peace. I honestly think he may know depression, but he doesn't know bipolar and he definitely doesn't know mixed. He doesn't think I should take medication, and yet without it, I weighed 80 lb., wasn't sleeping for days, was SH, took a bunch of pills (not hoping to die, just to fall asleep, but I woke up like 24 hr. later on my apartment carpet in a pool of vomit. I hadn't really cared if I died of not. Not I'm caring about dying while asleep less and less; I am wanting to die in my sleep every night.

Not in a good place. Eyes tired from crying. Have to put on good front for daughter.

I feel sick.