I'm not talking about you!

Let’s get this clear from the get-go; I will not talk about any living person, not in the public spot light, without their permission on this blog.

What I am trying to say is that there are a lot people in my life who have been witnesses to my depression. Without their permission, I will not talk about them, except in very vague terms. (You know who you are.)

Who I will mostly talk about is my mother, Margaret. She died in 1977 and part of my inheritance is the right to investigate what made her tick and how she molded my life and contributed to my depression.

So, let me introduce her. Margaret was born in December 1925 in Duchesne County (the Northeast corner of) Utah. She was born and raised a Roman Catholic. Her grandfather was one of the first non-Mormons to settle in Utah. Our family continues to carry that distinction proudly!

She had two older brothers, Robert and Richard. I was told that my maternal grandmother did not like nicknames. So she found the three names that have more nicknames than any other I know, to give her babies. Perhaps this is an important insight into Agnes’s character. From what little I know, Margaret’s relationship with her mother (Agnes) was not great. Margaret didn’t talk about her much. However, she and her father were close.

Let’s pause a moment. Margaret like other parents had lots of stories, some of which had suspect legitimacy. Any of these stories I will call according to Margaret. When I use the phrase I was told, as above, it means that others have told me. I hope this doesn’t get confusing.

Margaret was incredibly intelligent and was expected to follow in her father’s and brothers’ footsteps and go to college for Engineering. She entered the University of Utah in the fall of 1942 as an Engineering major when she was 16.

I will touch more on her childhood and growing up stories as time goes on. Right now I want to introduce her as an adult. She was a diagnosed Manic-Depressive. These days it’s called Bi-Polar. She would swing between moods of depression when she would sleep for days and of mania, being erratic, impulsive and out of touch with reality. On top of that, she self-medicated with alcohol and a variety of prescription drugs.

I don’t know specific dates of most of her drug history. I do know one. Margaret had horrible morning sickness during pregnancy. She said they called it morning sickness because it started in the morning and continued for the rest of the day. It was also accompanied by a lethargy that made it difficult to get through the day. When she was pregnant with me (her third and last pregnancy) her doctor gave her something for her stomach and exhaustion called Dexamyl, a combination of dextroamphetamine and amobarbital. She was on an amphetamine (or upper) to give her energy and calm her stomach and a barbiturate (a sedative) to calm the twitchy side affects of the upper.

In my whole life, none of my maladies have ever been diagnosed as birth defects. So the affect on me inutero were subtle. (Unless you count the third arm growing out of my back – kidding!!)

The result of this tryst with Dexamyl was one of her many addictions. I don’t know the exact progress and calendar of all the addictions. I do remember, between my ages of 10 and 15, she would often be up all night working on “projects” and then sleep all day as a result of the Dexamyl. The projects always seemed to involve tissue paper, glue, Scotch® tape and staples.

When she and I moved to Greece in 1971, I was 15, she switched to Librium (similar to Valium) which she could buy over the counter, and Retsina, the local wine that tastes like pine sap from the pine barrels it’s stored in. Yes, it is contraindicated to consume alcohol with Librium or Valium. Much more about Greece in a later post.

Margaret would often lose touch with reality. As I reread this post, I realize that it was the mania that caused the lapses. She was hospitalized several times for mental issues. Once, a very bad reaction to a sulfa drug after surgery sent her to the psychiatric wing of the hospital to recover.

 I have never been hospitalized for anything related to mental illness. There have been times when I envied her situations that allowed her to lose touch. I have since learned that my envy was confused and really based on a longing for someone to take care of me. I have always taken responsibility more seriously than she did, perhaps too seriously. I admit that I really don’t know what it is like to be manic. In the long run, I’m so glad I don’t.