Probably one of the hardest pieces I've ever written...

There is one subject over the past six years that I've danced around when I write. I've always had a feeling that exposing all of it, or even parts of it, would somehow exploit Levi or the kids, or maybe even myself. I'm a lot of things, I refuse to be a victim. Maybe it's time to start to put some of it out there. I know one thing, without question, I am not the only one to walk this treacherous road. I will always, in one way or another, be dealing with the consequences of my choices along this path. One day I will have to answer to my children for the paths I've taken, and those I have not. We all have the scars. Mental illness is not a one person disease. It affects the entire family. Everyone. When it all started a few weeks after we lost Reese I had no clue. I stayed quiet for a long time. It was cyclical. He'd be the man I married one day, and my worst enemy the next. The impracticability of it all came close to driving me mad. When do you do when your spouse tells you that demons hiss at them? When they are shaking and riddled with panic, paranoia, and fear. In Levi's case I was the object of his delusions. He became convinced I had cheated on him and Vance wasn't his. That belief was rock solid. Two DNA tests couldn't prove it was false. My tears and please couldn't shake it. Nothing could. If only I knew then what I know now. There is so much to the illness, it would be impossible to summarize it all. My choices after 3 years of accusations, psychiatrists, psychologists, medications, counseling, and sheer determination came down to staying and living with it or leaving and hoping it would get better. So, I left. It was better, we were great at co-parenting. His illness seemed to stabilize. At that point he was diagnosed with Delusional Disorder type Jealous, also known as Othello sydrome.  If you've ever heard of magical thinking, I had it.  He genuinely seemed like his old self.  We tried to get back together.  After six months I moved back in, and the hell started again.  This time a little bit worse.  My last straw was when he asked for an open marriage on the eve of our 10th anniversary.  That hurt more than the previous 4 years of attacks on my character, integrity, honor, and loyalty.  If you know me then you know I hold all of those very near and dear to my heart.  I don't tell that part to make Levi look bad.  He is, without question, the biggest victim in all of this.  I asked for a divorce and we spent our anniversary dinner laying out how I was going to get through back surgery and how he was going to move out.  It was a really dark time in my life.  That surgery kicked my booty and he had no desire to be there for me in any way.  He moved out that December (the surgery was September 29th).  Things were good for about a month.  He stopped working events at his job that he had worked for the previous 6 years, he had time of work without explanation.  At that point I took away visitation because I didn't know what was going on.  By February he was in complete psychosis.  If you want to know what psychosis can look like I urge you to watch A Beautiful Mind with Russel Crowe, it is by far the most accurate screen representation I have ever seen.  His beliefs were concrete.  There was no getting through.  That May we finally got him some help (since we were legally separated not divorced I had some rights to force doctors to listen to me about how sick he was).  He stopped taking his medication and got worse later ending up in the hospital trying to keep him out of kidney failure. He had stopped eating or drinking and was walking miles upon miles every day.  There is so much more in between, so many details, but this covers the big "stuff."  When he was well enough the kids got to see him every weekend for dinner (by now his job had let him go but he had unemployment coming in), we were divorced, and things were okay.  This spring he stopped taking his meds.  I knew but watched and waited to see if he would remain somewhat stable.  He did, for awhile.  When he lost his job he lost his really (REALLY) good insurance and state insurance refused to pay for his injections and he only had a medical guardian for 6 months and that had run out before he even stopped his oral meds.  In June, on Father's Day, he was back in complete and total psychosis.  I let him see Vance for his birthday dinner but made it clear he could not see them again until he was back on meds which hasn't happened thus far.  The kids know that their Dad's brain is sick and plays tricks on him.  I saw a family psychologist to ask how and what to tell them.  They do okay, but it's hard.  It was written into our final decree that I have full legal/physical custody if he is off meds.  It sucks to make that choice. I hate it.  I hate it for the kids and I hate it for him but I have to follow my gut and protect them.  Would the Levi I married ever harm the kids or myself?  Not in a million years.  Mental illness, especially as severe as what he has (schizoaffective disorder, which is a combination of schizophrenia and bipolar disorder) is not predictable.  It's never, ever rational.  Yet I still carry the guilt for making the hard choices.  I can only hope that in 10 years my children understand my reasons.  I hope that in 10 years he is on meds and functional.  He is living with someone who helps him a great deal, which is good.  I'm glad for that.  He does speak to some family members.  So there it is.  Written out.  At least a skeleton outline of the past 6 1/2 years.  The system for mental illness is very, very, very broken.  My hands are tied, I have had the police do well-person checks.  I have no legal right to demand anything of him.  All I can do is hope that at some point he checks himself in...is sick "enough" to get to stay, and gets back on a path to a somewhat normal life that calms the voices in his head.  Please read this with an open mind, and feel free to ask questions.  I don't think there is ever a clear cut answer on how to handle someone in psychosis.  I think everyone has to decide for themselves how much they can handle, how much they can allow.  Boundaries don't exist.  It's incredibly hard.  As much compassion as I have for him, I feel the need to protect our children from his illness more.