I don't think I've ever been so tired in my life. Though depression is nothing new to me, I've always managed to be up and awake and relatively functional in the past. This is new. In fact, sleeplessness used to be an enormous issue for me. In the last few days, I've slept full nights - and then some - and still feel as though I could just keep on sleeping. My brain is foggy and thoughts are disjointed, and it's frustrating because even in past periods of protracted insomnia, I was always on the ball.

We haven't yet found a therapist, even though I've made inquiry calls everyday. Mr. Farce leaves for work at 5:30 a.m. and doesn't get back until 6 or 6:30 m ost nights. So far I have had no luck in locating a therapist with night/weekend hours. Most do, however, offer sliding scale payment options.

I think I'm so tired because of the anger, mostly. It's not the anger I'm used to: the hot, rippling rage that I experience, for instance, reading about Ferguson, MO. That type of anger has a logical, precise origin, one I can dissect through what I know about the world and what is true and what is right. This one, though, is so different. It's a dull, crushing feeling that makes it hard to breathe and walk and talk to him without getting mean.

He mentioned suicide last night. I caught him dramatically tracing the veins on his wrists as he sat on the deck while I grilled fajita fillings. Rather than show compassion, I snapped, "Stop it. Stop it right now. I know what you're doing and I won't stand for that bullshit."

I stormed inside with dinner, and he followed me saying, "Maybe suicide would be easier." I calmed down and tried to measuredly explain it would not. It was not an emergency, just a clear demonstration that he has really hit rock bottom, and is devastated by the reality of our situation.

We had an almost-normal discussion about how to fix things over dinner. He asked that I am the only one in the house to carry cash - not a problem, I never have cash, but he needs it from time to time for work dues, so I can manage. He asked that I take care of shopping - not a problem, I do that anyway. He said he would understand if I can't get through this with him. I told him I wasn't making any decisions before we try to get help.

The truth is, I'm not sure I'm strong enough to make our relationship last through this. I am determined to help him get healthy, either way.

I'm trying to keep myself as healthy as I can, and have kept up with my morning runs, even if 30 minutes on the treadmill leaves me sucking wind as it never did before. Food is flavorless to me now and I'm subsisting largely on forced meals of fruit and coffee because it's easier than cooking and thinking about food: my new nemesis.

I've only just really started to digest (HAHA) what food addiction is. I'm angry at the condition and at him. After all, you can live without other addictive substances: tobacco, alcohol, smack. No one can live without food. And I don't want him to have to live without the pleasure of food, either, but some treatment providers suggest just that, i.e. permanently abstaining from "highly palatable foods." We're pretty sure he can never eat fast food again, which is fine by me since I have been repulsed by such places for a long time. Much grease, so chemicals. Wow.

A trusted friend suggested I speak to my employers about the fact that my personal life is in ye olde toilette for the time being (without specifics), but I'm hesitant. I understand the rationale for speaking to them, I just don't trust bosses in general - I've been burned by many in the past, simply because I tend to be honest to a fault. That's said, I know my work is slipping. At a wine presentation yesterday for some high-capacity potential customers, my brain was on "fog machine" mode. I know my products inside out, but I couldn't remember the simplest things like cost and volume. So happy they seemed to enjoy the wine regardless. I left a bottle of a beautiful southern Rhone style red blend as a thank you/apology. Thankpology? I'm keeping my fingers crossed.

It's after 9 am and I'm still on my first cup of coffee. Usually, I've had two cups of joe, a run, a shower, a nice peruse of GT, thrown a few balls for the dogs, and completed my first scan of emails by now. But the treadmill won't run itself...? heh.