I am 47, with two grown sons and living separated from my husband. I moved to Maine two years ago after going bankrupt and being evicted. My husband's family had a place for him to stay, but not enough room for myself and our sons. I have also suffered from depression, anxiety and PTSD since childhood. Over the past year I have had increasingly frequent suicidal thoughts. At one time I actually had the knife to my wrist but backed out of doing anything. Mainly for the love of my sons. But every day is a struggle to get out of bed and do things. I cry constantly, and think of death and dying pretty much all the time. I doubt that I would have the nerve to take my own life, but I hate living and wish I could just have peace, or nothingness. I did a partial hospitalization last year, and they had a hell of a time pinning down the right meds for me. Right now I am on buspar, Xanax and Klonopin. The doctor feels that it would be good for me to go for a short term hospital stay. My employers are alright with it (thankfully I have insurance), and my sons back me up. But my husband seems to not care at all. And for some reason that I really cannot figure out, that is hurting me more than almost anything else. Today I had the knife to my wrist again. And again I backed off. I am going to seek help, but this feeling of hopelessness is just taking over me.