My husband doesn't even acknowledge that I have a problem. If anything when I have an attack the usual response is annoyance. Actually last time I told him I wasn't feeling right and my chest was hurting. He said, well I'm going to bed.
If I'm going to kick this its going to be by myself.
My family are more disordered than myself I think that was half the battle of why I was what I became; my partner was the only one that had the patience with me and still does.
My mother has dementia, so she hasn't a clue. My sister, on the other hand, shares depression with me, but still insists that she has to "fix" me. Even though she's been on antidepressants for decades. It makes her angry that I'm not better yet. I need to be cured, already.