I grew up with a physically and emotionally abusive mother and a distant father. Did that make me more likely to excuse how he treats me? I don't know. And I recognize that, on good days, he's not a bad husband. We are best friends and have so much in common when he's Dr. Jekyll and not Mr. Hyde.

I know that he lashes out at me because he feels safe with me, that he sees my love as unconditional and it leeches out some of the bile he otherwise directs at himself. But he doesn't see the erosion of self I am feeling. He doesn't realize that every episode of his telling me what I've done wrong chews away at my motivation to right our collective ship. I wish I could sink into bed as much as he does. I wish I could rail at him the way he does at me. And, yes, I know he has a mental illness, but I feel like he's created one in me as well.

I'm starting to indulge in my favorite form of self-torture: foregoing self care. I'm not eating properly and I know that's stupid. I'm not showering enough and haven't worn makeup in days. I have a meeting to go to in an hour and then have a school event this evening, so I'll make myself shower and dress and even put on makeup. I'll go out for dinner with my in-laws and family and pretend that it's not all falling apart.