At times, I've felt like I'm on a small airplane that keeps changing altitude.  My stomach jumps and I think we're going to crash.  Then we level out.  Then it happens again, and again, and again.  Is there a point at which we will crash? Other times I feel like this is Russian roulette.  Every weekend, I come home not knowing what it will be like.  Click, click, click, boom. Last Thursday night--the night I was feverish and my husband told me to sleep at my parents' house and then he went to use drug--I had a version of a rare recurring dream.  I sometimes dream that I swing my arm out clumsily, tap someone who falls over dead, and then I dismember and hide the body, whch makes me feel awful.  The first time I had this dream, about eight years ago, I was hiding the body of a friend my age and trying to get it through airport security in a trash bag.  Last week, I dreamt I had tapped and killed a police officer and tried to bury his body parts in a small wooded area near a public road.  I realized my prints were all over his police cruiser and tried to decide whether I should wipe them off.  I felt bad for his family and considered turning myself in.  The theme was definitely "trouble with the law," and it was prescient, insofar as I found out the next day that my husband was using cocaine again (although, thankfully, he was not caught and has no legal problems yet.) Last night, I dreamt that I watched two insane women, physically disabled and psychotic, squirm around on the floor and try to slash themselves and each other with knives.  Eventually they bled out.  Some other people were watching, too, trying to make a cheap horror movie of the action.  Later, the police came to take fingerprints, and I was afraid they would find mine everywhere in the building.  I felt that I had been complicit in the bloodshed because I had just watched with fascination rather than trying to stop them.  This dream reminds me of my relationship with my husband:  we are killing ourselves and each other by a thousand cuts, and we are becoming physically and mentally ill.  If I were to paint us, we would be shrunken in body and spirit.  And I have this sense of impending doom, as if someone is going to show up and blame me.  Sometimes I mutter things to myself, and in the shower today I yelled out "So shoot me!  So shoot me!"  I don't remember what I was thinking about.  My husband came in and cried hysterically about how I need to get help, how he is doing all the work trying to save our marriage and I'm not helping myself.  Right.  I spend 11 hours a day doing data entry with no breaks, 2 hours commuting, and the remaining 11 hours in the day is for eating, sleeping, and dealing with his suicidal, adulterous, thieving, addict behavior, including preparing to drive him out-of-state for residential treatment starting in a couple days, and I'm supposed to find a spare hour to help myself and superhumanly save our marriage within a week after his relapse.  I.e. I should forget that he was having sex with other people and not bring it up again because that's how he likes it.  And I shouldn't ever be sad, because that shows I'm not putting effort into helping myself.  Right-o. By the way, the green smiley "excellent" emoticon is sarcastic.