I don’t drink… Matt called me last night from a recorded call from the San Diego County Detention Center. The nice woman’s voice reminded me that if I was a lawyer, doctor or priest I should hang up and call the sheriff’s department prior to talking with my inmate; oh and the call would cost 32 cents a minute plus a three dollar charge.
“Dad it’s me. I see the judge on Tuesday. Can you help me get a post office box so I can get my ID?” In his mind those two things went together, they don’t but he started to tell me how he had his wallet stolen living behind the debris box. I replied, “Matt! This is like the tenth wallet that you have lost! Your mom alone has replaced five or six of them.” That’s when he went into what they call an agitated state. Let’s just all it like it is, he started to scream how I and his mother haven’t helped him.
At one point, I just hung up on him. He truly believes he’s just fine and his mother and I just want to shove pills down his throat. What was the last thing he screamed at me, “I am not mentally ill and you listen to those doctors who think I am!” A few minutes later, he attempted to call back a few times but I refused to answer the call… God have mercy on my son… This too will pass