Quien Es Mas Loco?

Ricardo Montalban? My Mom? Or, her therapist?

I'm a staunch advocan't of organized therapy and feel that most individuals can do it on their own through stubbornness and sheer will power. In addition, since I read Brave New World by Aldous Huxley, I'm deathly afraid of mood altering medications. In the past two years, however, I've dabbled in therapy and stared down a box of Zoloft and debated starting a prescription med regiment in order to be happy. I feared that deep down I would know that I was only happy because of the meds, though, and chose not to take them. I suppose that after taking them for a couple years I could stop and a tiny mouse could let me know that it was me and not the feather all along. That's kinda cartoony, though.

Anyway, when your phone rings and you look and see who it is and bigtime them once, you are okay if you call them back as soon as you have a moment to share in conversation with them. If the number rings again within a minute or two, you need to grab it because something is wrong or someone is in trouble.

This happened to me on Sunday, so I picked it up and it was my stepdad. He sounded concerned as one would expect from the two calls in a minute scenario. It would be a really good idea if they added a "Dude, seriously" button or function to a phone that would give it a special ring so that your family knows that the call is serious because, frankly, sometimes you just can't talk to your mom. I'll work on that.

So, my stepdad asks me if I can drive over the hill to Santa Cruz where my mom is without a car or a cellphone in front of a mortuary. I have to admit, it's quite a lead-in to spark my curiosity. I ask him what's going on and he tells me that my mom owed her therapist some money. She went to her therapist's house to drop off the check and her therapist wanted her to stay the night until the check cleared.

At this point, I suggested the use of cash, cashier's checks and sorry no C.O.Ds be used to avoid this in the future. It worked for the Rolling Ruler. I totally don't blame her therapist for the concern of the check bouncing because, god love her, my mom is not real good at being places on time or balancing checkbooks. I do, however, think that the slumber party part is a little bit much. She also took her cellphone for collateral, I guess. Hence, my mother has no way of contacting anyone and ended up using a fax machine at a mortuary to call my stepdad.

So, my mom ends up in the car with her therapist, somehow, and allegedly is forced from the vehicle after her therapist tries to convince her to check herself into an insane asylum or whatever the term is nowadays. My mom went into more detail on this when I talked to her the next day and said that her therapist had actually gotten a few clients to do this. Also, her therapist called my stepdad and said that she leaped from the moving vehicle and is not picking up her phone, which her therapist had at the time of calling my stepdad.

At this point, I'm imagining Moonies, Mansons, Masons and huge amounts of Kool-Aid. What the fuck has she gotten herself into and why am I concerned with taking care of my mom when I'm the one who is supposed to be the one out of control and a loose grip on reality and responsibility? I'm functional, but one wouldn't use the word stable unless it was referring to where a horse lives and I had locked myself in it. Also, why does Jim Jones look like if Tom Flores and Boz Skaggs had a kid?

Regardless, my stepdad says he is stuck in traffic and asks me to go get her because I am closer. He is right and at this point I'm a little concerned about her safety and have no real destination, but figure he will give me one by the time I'm close. I've also figured out what street her therapist lives on and mapquested it. I've also totally accepted that fact that I'm probably going to be stabbed or at least kicked in the stomach. Whatevs.

I get about a mile down the road and my stepdad calls back and says that she has managed to get a cab and get back to her car. I turn around, head home and wait for the aftermath.

I get a call later that night and my stepdad says that she is home and okay. It's kind of a relief, but I'm still a little uneasy about what went down. It's just fucking weird.

So, my mom calls the next day and doesn't sound real good. She's got that trembly voice and you can almost hear her chin quivering over the phone. Could be my cellphone reception, though. She starts talking about how my grandpa (Mormon) came over and prayed because my mom and her therapist were into black magic or what you may call soothsaying. She said that her therapist had made some "predictions" and that some of them came true and were a result of the usage of abilities in the black arts. She didn't mention the use of the horoscope section in the paper, though. She spoke of how her therapist demanded that she relinquish my little sister for the Summer because my mom was unfit to be taking care of her. Then, she also talked about her therapist's mood swings during the whole event and made some comment about how her therapist called herself the "Pied Piper" of her neighborhood and that she may have placed a curse on my mother.

I'm serious. This conversation happened while I'm sitting at my desk at work in dark socks, with dress shoes and a button up shirt being NormalGuy. People are walking by my office and waving as I'm listening to this stuff over the phone and smiling and waving back as if I was making an order for binder clips and reams of paper.

The question that keeps going through my head is WHY THE FUCK WOULD SOMEONE GO TO SOMEONE CRAZY FOR FUCKING THERAPY? I suggested that she really go talk to a LICENSED therapist that doesn't take her hiking, smoke her out, or tell the future. I guess, just someone who does not dabble in the black arts and charges by the session and not excursion.

So, sitting on that this week and not writing because I'm lazy. I also have been completely abstaining from scumbaggery and the like. It feels nice.