The first time you take your child to the ER for a psychotic break, you’re a wreck. A living wreck. They ask you tons of questions. They ask him tons of questions. You can’t think. You see their faces, the grief and pity and apology mixed up into an almost unmanageable expression. Almost automatically, you answer their questions about his history: the meltdowns, the violence, the diagnosis, the medications, the daily life. Who else is at home? What’s the family history?  “There just aren’t enough psychiatric beds in North Carolina.” You spend ten days in and out of that hospital, by his side, as he endures what you never wish…