I hate my husband

Listen, he’s an okay guy. The standard for men is low, so okay considered. And I hate him. Three kids, a life, a household, and I loathe him. All he talks about is himself and food. My God, I’ll try to engage a conversation and nothing but when I’m deep in a craft, changing a poopy diaper then all of a sudden, boys got mad libs. For food. I never want to talk about food again. What dinner will be next week, the options on the menu we had three years ago, the bbq we went to and how he could have made a better burger. Mind you I’m a cigarette for lunch kind of person. Food is there to keep you from dying. This? It’s a compulsion. If it’s not about me, it’s about feed ordeal. His mother runs our life. It’s sadistic. If I’m not literally kissing this man’s asshole I am the devil. His parents? Separated and making us all pay for it. They want to fuck in our guest room and pretend they hate each other. And where does all this angst get displaced you ask? Oh yeah it’s me. At one point my husband said “you look tired” to me. His dad goes “WHO WHO WHO LOOKS TIRED?!?” And I said “he’s talking about me” FIL “YOURE NO MORE TIRED THAN THE REST OF US WHY THE FUCK ARE YOU COMPLAINING” and I said “I didn’t, Husband said I looked tired” and it gets quiet. It’s a mind fuck and a battle ground to interact with them and he won’t say a thing. He’s not the man I married. He was a man among men at one point. A pillar, someone to look up too, someone to trust. I’ve had to unsigned the hole he’s buried us in financially 3 times. We almost lost the house. I dug us back out. I can’t leave, I don’t need advice. I just need to say it. I hate him, I wasted my life, and I’m fucking pissed.