So I tucked him in. I vented a lot of my miserableness at him. He ended up saying "Then why don't you get the eff out of here?" That's actually a fair response for him to make. Some will think "Oh, poor abused Rose." But it's not fair for me to mope around, whining what a martyr I am. No one's holding a gun to my head. I'm complaining about things that he doesn't control. He tried being nice to me. He said he hoped I'ld feel better tomorrow. He agreed the attendants don't help as much as their job description states they should. But nothing he said would satisfy me. I was taking a bath in resentment and self-pity. I plunged headlong into a depressive pit.

The hospice agency will pay for him to go 5 days into a nursing home to give me "respite." Of course, now is a particularly awful time to opt for that. The nursing home just undoes my hard work. He'll come out with rashes and a urinary tract infection. And he'll lose weight. And getting him into a facility is a lot of work for me. He'll share a room and a bathroom with someone else, who may not be too clean. We're in a poor state. The nursing homes here are crappy.

It is true that he's not the most appreciative of persons. I am taken for granted. That's how he is and always has been. What I do is a lot to do for someone who is basically a taker. He can be warm and sweet toward me, but only after he has gotten what he wants out of me. I know not to expect different. He can't change who he is. Neither can I.

So I've gotten depressed. Resentment/bitterness will do that to you.

This micro-drama goes on against the background of the Corona pandemic. It starts to feel unreal.

I tell myself to remember that depressive episodes blow over. They always have.