Huge long deflated sigh.  My mental illness is in full swing.  My husband is now fully aware of it, intellectually.  I get the sense that the gravity of what that means of the past three years, and what that means for the future has not fully hit him yet, in his emotional mind.  I told him that I read that some people recover in a year.  I think that is why he is staying with me.  I didn't mention that some people never recover.  The thing I never understood about suicide hotlines is that apparently people feel suicidal in a big dramatic way, and not just a low level of it constantly.  Like do I call them now, or is there going to be a time in the future when I'm like holding a knife to my wrist and I'm like, 'crap'.  We were walking to the train, and there was a furniture store, and right in the doorway, onto the sidewalk, there was a table for sale.  It was a log that had been shaved into a table top with some wrought iron hairpin legs.  I gasped and said, "Wow look at this table, how cool."  He said, "It looks unfinished."  I just wanted to show him the table that I liked.  I didn't want to buy it, or spend any money on furniture.  I do actually want a bed frame, and not just a mattress, but  I'm ok with not getting one until he is ok buying one.  I just wanted to point out the table and say "look. table. log. hairpin legs. cool." to share the aesthetic.  He was not into it.  I think I was projecting just then.  Like, about money. I just assumed he was thinking about money. I don't get it because I used to actually be poor.  I am more worried about money now than I was when I made $9 an hour working 25 hours a week.  Anyways, I feel like my husband is so fundamentally different from me.  How could he ever love me?  We didn't have sex tonight and I honestly can't tell if it's because I didn't approach him out of fear of rejection, or he was just exhausted after our completely draining and fucked up day/week/month/years.  I can never tell what he's thinking.  I just want to be good.  I want to take the bad parts out.  When I love myself, I feel so good.  I feel like I am a beam of light, and everything feels perfect.  When I hate myself, my face feels like it was run over by a truck.  I'll probably have some fucked up dreams tonight, and tomorrow cancel my plans for the day and repeat today, but worse.  The next day will be worse.  I am sucked into it again.  I sincerely hope I can get out of it, magically, by the time I wake up.  Good night, you are special.