(no subject)

It is very, very hard to be understanding, but I'm trying.

He's out of town this week, and I'm barely hanging on. I had a mild OD last night because I couldn't remember what meds I'd taken. I passed out once this week, and came close a few other times. My grip on my temper is sketchy, at best - I yelled at Ro for asking about trick-or-treating because I just don't know what's going on and it eats at me. Not the best momming moment, but the best I can manage right now.

So he may have an ok to come home on Saturday night instead of Sunday night (I have a dr appointment on Monday, which is the only reason he's coming back at all - he has to be back in Norfolk Tuesday morning). He's chosen to take that time to go visit a friend in MD who is also having a rough time. Said friend has had a death in the family and this will be the only time Andrew has to go up there and visit until after the new year.

I understand this. I understand this person is important to him, and he wants to be there and provide support when he can.

If it were any other weekend, I'd deal. Hell, there are times I'd tell him to go. I've encouraged him to go see these friends in the past.

Just not now. I've been battling the suicide demons on a daily - sometimes several times daily - basis. I'm not being a good parent, or that good a person for that matter. Dealing with this thing with Guinness has just broken me emotionally. I cry whenever the kids aren't around, and sometimes when they are. I've told him this, and all I get are sympathetic noises and AFAIK no change of plans. Dammit, I want my husband home, and actually in the room with me, not off in the living room playing Warcrack and pretending everything's fine.

I realize this makes me a needy bitch. I don't care. I don't even care how much he'll resent me for saying this. I just know I shouldn't be alone.