I've been married to my husband for 6 years. I had no idea anything was different about his mind when we were dating or in the first year. We were both working and contributing to the household.

During our second year he told me he was having panic attacks and always suffered from anxiety. I accepted it and tried to be supportive. Unfortunately I got sick and couldn't work for a year. I still tried to have meals ready, take the trash out, and do the grocery shopping because he was working 12 hour days. I drained my savings paying for my care and household expenses. When I had nothing left he told me I had to go back to work or we'd lose our house. We'd bought a fixer-upper that didn't get fixed up, I assumed, because I was sick.

Year 3 I took a job in a new state and he became a full time student. He was helping around the house. After graduating in year 4 he got a job, then lost it due to the pandemic. I encouraged him to be an entrepreneur. I earned a promotion that year and my husband's business was starting to take off.

Going into year 5, he wanted to buy a house because he was tired of dealing with our landlord. Unfortunately, I was an essential employee in an office that required me to be there in person 9-12 hours a day. We sat down and figured out what we wanted in a house. My must-haves were a kitchen with a lot of counter space and a walk-in closet; a garage would be nice. He wanted a space he could work from. Because he did a great job buying and selling our last home, I told him I trusted him.

He decided he found the perfect house and because I trusted him, I told him to make an offer. The offer was way over asking and to my chagrin, it appraised at the offered price. We were under contract before I ever saw the house, which had an even less kitchen counter space, no walk-in closet, and no garage, but a room he fell in love with for his office. He said he'd renovate to improve the things I wanted. Our first week in the place, the downstairs flooded and we lost all our flooring and part of a wall. 

I had to spend a month out of town and he promised it would be a whole new house by the time I got back. Roughly twice a week I'd ask for updates or photos but he said he wanted to surprise me. The night before I was supposed to come home, he was agitated when we were talking. He said he had to clean or I'd be upset. He's right that I was upset but not because of the cleaning. It was because the house was exactly as I'd left it. He said he hadn't felt like doing the work.

Next he shelved his business. Any time I asked him when he was going to work, he said he wasn't in the right headspace, or he just didn't feel like it, or he was having existential thoughts, or it was too overwhelming. He stopped doing anything around the house. He also stopped taking care of himself. I was ready to leave when he told me he gets overwhelmed and then depressed. He agreed to get help for depression.

When we lost our heater, he had zero urgency to get it fixed. His office was hot and that's good enough for him. We got a small space heater after a week. I caved at the month mark and got one that would heat the upstairs. Only then did he finally want repairs as much as I did. This was my fault for not being hot all the time like him. 

Around Christmas, my deck spontaneously combusted. Last month, my house was struck by lightning. No repairs have been made. The flood-damanged floors were finally replaced 10 months later when I found someone willing to do the work. I still need to get the walls fixed and as for the rest of the renovation? Light fixtures are sitting on the floor in their boxes, window coverings are still on the floor in their boxes, the kitchen shelving my husband picked is underneath his chair at the table, and the same t-shirt has been on the bathroom floor since he took his first shower here. He confessed that he picked this house because he was tired of looking at houses and I wouldn't like any house. 

This house turned my 20 minute commute into a 40 minute commute. After changing jobs and having to commute during rush hour, it became a 60 minute commute. Now that everyone's back to work, it's more often a 90 minute commute. I'm exhausted. There aren't enough words to describe the resentment I'm feeling about his decision to buy this house because it started with the words, "I trust you."

He finally saw a psychiatrist who diagnosed him with ADHD and sees a therapist once a week. For the last 3 months he's said he was going to resume his business but he doesn't. He hasn't helped around the house. He spends his days playing video games and not showering or changing clothes until I yell at him to get away from me because I can't take the smell. I know I can't blame him because he didn't choose to be this way but I need somewhere to put my anger. I keep fantasizing about having a rental closer to work that's intact, clean, and smells nice and I'd actually have energy to do things at night and on weekends. If it wouldn't bankrupt me, I'd be doing it already. I'm at the end of my rope. I love the man my husband was but I don't know how much longer I can live with the man he is.