The day of the super bowl my mother had managed to overdose on psyche meds. Throughout the day she had been acting weirder than she normally does.

The first incident should have tipped me and my family off that something wasn’t right even for her. The first incident occurred during a baptism while she was at church. Somehow my mother got it into her head that she should get baptized immediately after witnessing one.

We didn’t react too strongly to that because my mom is famous for sporadic decisions. It should have been a red flag considering she had already been baptized at the same church when she was a child. There was no actual need for that to happen.

As we were watching the super bowl she would look at me as though she couldn’t figure out who I was. I was cracking jokes the entire time, she loves my sense of humor and not just because she’s my mom. I’m the only one in the family who understands her and admonishes her for her bad decisions without giving her too much crap for it. Were thick as thieves, so seeing her act as though I was a stranger should have tipped me off right then and there that something wasn’t right.

My suspicions would later be confirmed when she started mumbling nonsensical things under her breath. “He’s going to shoot me.” “I’ll burn in hell.” My family passed it off as another dramatic episode. I kept my guard up, and I’m glad I did.

Later that night after the super bowl ended my mom randomly decided to walk outside. It was snowing and the temperature had to have been less than thirty degrees. So I immediately followed after her, considering she was dressed only in a bathrobe and pajamas. I caught up to her and she started telling me that my grandfather (her dad) was going to shoot her and she was going to burn in hell.

I had to employ ever stoic technique I had to remain calm and gently reassure her nothing bad was going to happen to her, while leading her inside the house. After I got her into the house I told my grandfather what had happened.

The next day late into the night my grandfather told me that he had my mother committed to the hospital and I would have to show up at a hearing as a witness the next morning.

This morning I would end up doing something I haven’t done in a long time. I cried, not just once, but twice in a single day. I’m a man, and men simply don’t cry unless something really fucked up happens. Suffice it to say today qualifies.

I got a ride to the hospital with my grandfather. I figured this would be a simple procedure and I would be back to my day without a care in the world. Yeah fucking right.

I’m sitting in the waiting room in the mental health ward when my mother walks in and sits with us. At first I’m relieved until she starts talking. She tells me that her best friend of twenty years is sleeping in the bed next to hers and that they resuscitated her. Her best friend died months ago, my grandfather attended the funeral with her. Then she tells me that she spent all night delivering a litter of twenty puppies. For one, no hospital I know of will have animals in it let alone deliver them. Then she proceeded to tell me mobsters from one of her favorite soap operas were in the room with her. I was there, I’m more than certain Sonny Corinthos and his gang weren’t there.

I really wish I could make this up, because that is when I ended up crying. I knew that I might never be able to see my mom as she was when she was sane. The woman who cared for me growing up even though my dad had custody. The woman who showed up to every play I was in when I was in High School, even if I wasn’t a major character. Hell my mom even spent time in jail because she had to steal to provide for me when she couldn’t afford anything when I was an infant.

I eventually calmed down and sat through the legal proceeding. My mom’s lawyer must have coached her somehow, and the final verdict was that because she volunteered to stay in the hospital, she only has to stay for five days, rather than being commited for longer. I’m with my grandfather’s side that she needs to be committed somewhere for far longer than five days. The technical definition of my mothers condition is paranoid schizophrenia. But because she hasn’t threatened anyone with violence, and she was sound enough during the proceeding that isn’t the case.

I could only imagine how much worse this entire situation could have been If I didn’t chase after her and get her back in the house when it was snowing and less than thirty outside. My grandparents are over eighty years old, they could never catch up to her. I’m glad I have empathy, without it my mother could have gotten herself killed. To hell with being emotionless. When the lives and sanity of people you care about are fucked up beyond repair lets see how useful being dark triad really is. Without empathy the human race would have died out ages ago.

This whole experience has reminded me that emotions aren’t necessarily a bad thing, being aloof and emotionless doesn’t mean a whole lot if you don’t care about the people in your life who are suffering. The expression “You don’t know what you are missing until it’s gone” takes on a whole new meaning when it’s personal.

TLDR- FUCK BEING DARK TRIAD, if it gets in the way of caring about and protecting the people who care about you.