It was a normal day.
Well, as normal as any other Sunday had started lately anyway.
Little did we know that in less than an hour our world would once again be turned upside down.
After having a nice afternoon brunch together, that he had kindly made, my ex had another relapse.
His bipolar/schizoaffective brain had taken over (thanks to a little caffeine) and we were once again faced with a person we didn’t know. And a situation we weren’t sure how to navigate.
Even though we’ve been through it before, many times, it had been a while, we had hoped we’d never see this face again.
But alas, anyone out there who has dealt with a mental illness knows, it never really goes away.
So there we were, having just eaten and realizing that the conversation was taking a less than ideal turn . . . my daughter and I looked at each other with the “uh oh” face and wondered, “how bad is this going to get?”
We hoped he was just rambling. That we would just have to deal with it and hope it didn’t get worse.
But it got worse.
Eventually, I realized I was going to have to ask him to leave until he could control himself and be “safe” for the kids.
His conversations, you see, dance between reality, religion and death. It’s an inappropriate topic for children (frankly, anyone) but especially children. And when I see it getting out of hand, I politely bring it to his attention and ask him to leave. He usually will.
But today, he wouldn’t.
After a couple of attempts to reach his family to see if they could talk some sense into him, I reluctantly had to call the police.
He had no problem with this. Said he was willing to return to the psych ward if need be.
Meanwhile, the three of us are in tears. Once again, unbelieving that this is our reality.
When the cops arrived, he told them his side, which included the less than sane portions and willingly agreed to leave.
I was once again left to pick up the pieces of my shattered heart and the hearts of my children.
I understand that he will never know the chaos that is left after his breaks. I understand that this is a mental illness and out of his control (to a certain extent . . . he could take medication that would help, he refuses.)
For any other family out there dealing with something similar, I think you know that getting them to take medication is nearly impossible.
Where do we go from here?
While the police encouraged me to file a restraining order against him, I still stand reluctant because I know that after a good night’s rest, the person we are used to will once again return.
And while it isn’t ideal and he will never be normal, days like today are few and far between.
Should he be punished all of the time for having an “off” day?
Where is the line?
This is a question I will always ask myself. I will always protect my children and I have a good sense of when he’s crossed the line of appropriate and safe.
It will forever break my heart to hear my daughter in tears say, “I just wish he was normal, and that he loved me.”
Would love to hear your comments, opinions and your own stories. Please leave one below. Also, please join me on Medium where I left a recent article about my true feelings on this wonderful day.
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