Hubby came home, and mentioned that he was working three hours away tomorrow. Asked whether I could organize public transport details for him. After seeking details and transport links, I said he would have to drive. This is the only day he has worked in a while, since quitting a job in Canberra. Oh man! He hasn’t organised a needed loan, despite coming home early. How will he do it from where he is working? Get message from Vodafone. We are apparently overdue on our bill. Don’t know how this is possible since we have paid consistently in the past six weeks. Speak to India. His dinner goes untouched, and I hear a twist-top being opened on the back deck. He wants me to log onto computer. I have to help our daughter with her homework. Two hours later, I get another message saying another bill is late. He explains that he heard from them yesterday. Feel like my head will come off my shoulders, and when I close my eyes, he says “I can see having me here is doing you no good. You should sign up for a pension and I will go away.” Breathe deeply. Try to locate his resume, which he demands I redo. After an hour of fiddling around, he explains that a former company created it with a unique programme, which is why I am having trouble opening it. Man, I am so tired. Four hours of hell. I have been to ministers, naturopaths, acupuncturists, counsellors, psychologists, endocrinologists, general practitioners and many services over the past six years, begging for help. Nothing has tempered the disquiet inside this man. The man who slept by my hospital bed when I had my Harrington Rods removed at twenty, who was the most committed, loving, romantic man from the time I was eighteen. Where have you gone? What the hell happened? I have brought up the possibility of you being bipolar, but it was discounted. The whirlwind that occurred in my home tonight, and on every other evening, speaks otherwise. I have to get help. Where do I get help?