Couch Potato’s Diagnosis

Yesterday afternoon I called Couch Potato’s office and left a message on her answering machine. She returned the call today. After bringing her up to speed about what’s been going on at Dad’s place in Idaho I asked her a serious question.

“Right now I’m considering going against Dad in court by challenging his power of attorney over Mom. If you were asked to appear in court and testify about Dad, would you be able to do that?”
Couch Potato said, “I will be of no use to you.”
“How come?” I asked. “Is it some sort of patient to doctor confidentiality clause or something?”
“Okay. I understand.”
She said, “Sounds to me like Mom needs to take a one way trip from Idaho back down here to live with you.”
“Yeah. I’ve been thinking a lot about that lately Couch Potato. But I don’t have much room here in my place and I don’t have the financial means to take care of her. I’d have to force the issue with Dad in court which brings me right back to square one. She probably would not be able to handle the trip to California anyway because she’s in bad shape these days.”
“Peasant, I want to tell you something and this is going to be strictly off the record. Okay?”
“My diagnosis of your father is that he’s nuts. Insane.”
“Really? You’re not pullin’ my leg are ya?”
Couch Potato replied, “No. And remember, if you need to talk to me don’t hesitate to call.”

I thanked Couch Potato and said goodbye.

Hearing those words “Your father is insane” was a huge relief. How ironic and strange I felt that way about it. For many years I had suspected Dad suffers from some form of mental illness. Actually getting the straight dope on his condition from a professional psychiatrist changed everything. It reinforced my determination to do something to help my mother.

Now I knew exactly what I was dealing with. I could put his behavior and treatment of Mom in a different perspective. Even though Dad may be incapable of doing any better I was not going to forgive him for what he’s done to Mom. This also changed how I felt about my personal dealings with Dad. Most of the time when Dad cut me down and made cheap shots about me I ignored them. After years of hearing the same stupid shit coming out of his mouth it didn’t have much of an effect on me anymore. Knowing that he’s a definite kook meant that I could instantly disregard anything he says or writes to me from now on. After all, I was doing battle with a crackpot.


~ by factorypeasant on August 29, 2006.

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