In this post, Dr. Margaret tells the story of her mother developing a prescription drug addiction which eventually plunged her mom into a silent existence.
My mother, Betty, was a beautiful, talented, smart woman who never believed a word of that.
There were various reasons for her disbelief. Some of them, I understood. Some, I didn’t — and never will.
At age 35, she searched for help after her first panic attack. She didn’t call it a panic attack. Probably the doctor didn’t either. It was 1960. While quietly attending a ladies church circle meeting, suddenly her heart was pounding. She was perspiring. Her hands grew clammy. The polite, reserved meetings weren’t something she particularly enjoyed, but they were a duty for any proper Southern wife in the 1960’s.
After hearing her symptoms, her doctor gave her a sedative, given commonly at that time. Not often to men, but especially to women. He advised her to take it every day. “Nerves,” he called it. And dismissed her.
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Thus began my mother’s prescription drug addiction.
That drug was called Equanil. There were others. Fiorinal. Librium. She used them daily for over 30 years.
No doctor ever stopped to try to help her understand the root of her anxiety. They handed her more pills. It’s true that she did not seek therapy. Rather, she ended developing behaviors of an addict, obtaining prescriptions from different pharmacies and different doctors. Underneath her beautifully polished, never-a-hair-out-of-place facade, my mother very secretly danced with her own demons.
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What my mother was trying to handle… all alone…
I figured out later, when I entered graduate school (and diagnosed everybody and their dog…including myself by the way…) that my mother experienced multiple levels of anxiety — obsessive compulsive tendencies, horrible worry, and wasn’t a hoarder per se, but certainly was what she would call a “saver.”
She would buy multiple products all at once. Hair spray, deodorant. Then line them up in drawers.
She’d panic if she didn’t have twin bottles of the same medicine (back when the pharmacies allowed you to do that). One, she said, was for home. The other lived in her “travel bag,” although my parents rarely traveled. She would say quite rationally to me, “What if Dad got sick and needed medicine? And the drug store was closed?”
Weeks prior to a party, the dining room table would be elegantly set, silver gleaming. She would check and recheck every detail. She would never eat, making sure every guest had all they needed. If someone was sitting alone, she would chat them up to make sure they felt welcome.
She would get up hours before everyone, to “put her face on,” as she called it. I don’t think my dad ever saw my mom without makeup.
My mom… perhaps the first person I knew with Perfectly Hidden Depression…
Funny how that comment is a bit ironic now. For now, I see my mom as perhaps the first perfectly hidden depressed person I knew. The makeup, the hair she wore in the same style for years, her immaculate clothes, her extremely thin waist — all were coverups, masks for tremendous anxiety and insecurity. I never saw tears. I never heard her voice raised in anger. She could be disapproving, yes. But not angry. She was controlled.
In her late 60’s, she realized she had a problem. She could no longer metabolize the medication. She was irritable. Acting irrationally. Driving erratically.
I remember a long conversation.. She still needed to remind me that everything she’d taken were prescriptions from doctors. There was no pill that could help her now. She’d been trying to wean herself off, and she could barely walk by herself. We were sitting side by side on the love seat in their den, when she decided she would go for help. It was the last time she would seem emotionally present to me ever again.
She got off almost all the drugs. leaving only an antidepressant and a very mild, non-addictive anti-anxiety med. It took several months.
But she disappeared.
Without the mix of sedatives, painkillers, and benzodiazepines, Betty was no longer Betty.
She was a shell of herself, and had aged 20 years. There was evidence of neurological damage – whether or not that occurred independently of the multiple medications she used, we will never know.
For the last fifteen years of her life, she remained almost mute. She would speak when spoken to — smile only when something inside of her remembered that that was the socially appropriate thing to do. She walked hesitatingly, and as the years went by, almost as if she had Parkinson’s.
Prescription drug addiction is more than physiological.
My mother had forgotten how to live without it.
I might catch a glimpse of her old self if I called at just the right time, around 7:30 at night. Her rituals for the day would be over. She would ask a question or two. There would be a slight lilt in her voice. Maybe she would laugh.
It was welcome, but painful to hear. Because I knew it would be a fleeting moment. And then gone.
I’m far from the only person whose relationship with her mother was problematic. She stayed way too involved in my life for way too long, and I allowed that to happen. I know now that she wasn’t all that happy living her life, so mine was perhaps more exciting to live with me. Other mothers don’t give the time of day to their children, or even worse, make those days horrific. Mother’s Day becomes a day to get through, try to avoid the myriad of places where moms and daughters walk seamlessly hand in hand.
If you do share a loving relationship with your mom, and do things together that continue to build a sense of trust and intimacy, relish that time you have together.
But maybe you also have a mom or dad that you’re watching disappear with alcohol. With drugs. Maybe they are in denial. “I need it to sleep.” “It’s prescription.” “I get up and work everyday – it’s not like I’m an alcoholic.”
But you see the changes in them. You aren’t in denial of their problem. Only they are. I’d strongly recommend Alanon or Narc-anon. It helps to hear other people’s wisdom and how they’re staying in relationship, but with detachment.
We live in a culture glorifying escape. We don’t know how many people are actually using benzodiazepines, drugs that immediately soothe severe anxiety. But it’s a lot. People share them with their friends. Kids steal them from their parents.
What my mom would wish for you… and me…
Escape can be very easy to justify. Yet my mother’s world was far from glorious.
She whispered to me, maybe two years before her death, using the halting, breathy voice that became all I would hear, “I wish I had known what I was doing to myself.”
You’ve heard her story. She would want you to know that there is another way.
And to my Mother. Whether you knew it or not, you were beautiful. And talented. And smart.
I missed you then. I miss you now.
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This must have been difficult for you to write, Margaret, but it will be helpful to so many people who suffer, or whose loved ones suffer, from any ailment affecting their mental health.
I heart you today and on Mother’s Day, and I know your mom would be proud of the wonderful woman you have become.
I am glad I met you (although it was too short a time!) and felt your sweetness. Big hugs are coming your way. Do you feel them?
Yes it was Cathy. Checked with family and we talked about it before doing so. Thank you for your “hearts” – I will take them and do feel them. Thank you so much.
Excellent piece on an important topic. Thanks for sharing your personal story as well as the conclusions that you can now draw from professional experience.
I appreciate you writing Joy. It is important. A rampant problem in our culture. And has been for decades.
Yes it was Cathy. Checked with family and we talked about it before doing so. Thank you for your “hearts” – I will take them and do feel them. Thank you so much.
Oh Margaret, this is so touching. I never knew these things about your beautiful mother, always so gracious and lovely. I’m so sorry for this double loss in your life. Thank you for sharing. We think our lives are stressful now, so hustle and bustle, but the old southern ways had their encroachment on people also. Not to mention the lack of knowledge around anxiety and depression. Oh my. Thanks again
I love your word “encroachment” Deborah. Really great word. No one knew. No one knows about so many people with these addictions as I have learned professionally now. We have more information but some doctors are still handing out this drugs without asking the patient to try other means. It’s tragic. Thank you so much for writing.
Excellent piece on an important topic. Thanks for sharing your personal story as well as the conclusions that you can now draw from professional experience.
That story touched me deeply – my father was an alcoholic for most of my life but in a “manageable” kind of way – then it caught up with him and he now has full blown dementia. Such a sad end for him and for your mum. I try to remember the good times (few and far between) and I’m sure you have many of them that you can think back on too.
I do Leanne. I know there are many many families in a similar “boat” as ours was. And so much of it remains hidden. Partners enable. Excuses are made. Or families just make the best of it. Thank you for writing.
Thanks for sharing. It’s odd how your mom probably thought “this is the right thing to do” based on then-current social pressures. But there help to her to get out of it was just not there. I know this was tough for you to share; thanks.
It was tough. What… I have been blogging over two years and haven’t until now. I realized she took a lot of medications but didn’t know what they were until I got into graduate school and studied them. I remember calling her and talking about it. That was about three or four years before she actually got off. I do think she thought it was “right”. It helped her maintain. Do what she was supposed to do. And there is the cultural implication of all that as well – the way women were treated by doctors when it all got started. Thanks for lending your support Fred. It means a lot.
Beautiful and touching story Margaret. It must have been so hard to see your mom disappear.I’ve suffered from anxiety attacks for over 25 years. They can be terrifying if you don’t understand what’s happening physically.
I have them as well Jennifer. That’s why I sought therapy years ago and probably why I am a psychologist myself. Thanks so much for your comment.
My heart goes out to you and you poor mom. Thanks for sharing this very difficult and sad story Margaret. I hope you have a wonderful Mother’s Day my friend.
What kind words Nancy. Thank you. We had a lot of wonderful times. I tell the story to try to wake others up to what they might be doing. Or watching. I didn’t know what I was watching perhaps until too late to really help.
Margaret, so heartrending a testimony. thank you for sharing in the hope that others gain in understanding. It’s no wonder you chose the profession you did and you must be very good at it. Hugs and blessings to you.
That’s funny Carol. I did feel like at times I was Mom’s ‘therapist’. But I did not recognize what was going on with her medications until I was in graduate school. And that was a few years before she ultimately chose to get off. The drugs had already done their damage. I hope that even if this changes one person’s mind, that it will be worth it. Thank you, as you often have done, for your comment.
Margaret! In so many ways, our mothers were alike. While I know my mother had self-esteem issues and insecurity, my father’s death accelerated her panic attacks. Like your mother, my mother took various medications that only made things worse. This week, I chose to write about that as well. You might find some similarities. xoxoxo, Brenda
Thanks for letting me know Brenda – will take a look. I can certainly understand that a loss such as that could make her condition far worse.
My mother also has had a diffcult life but I haven’t been able to write about it yet in fear of hurting her. Life isn’t easy and I am proud of you for being vocal about reality.
My mom has died and this was hard to write Holly. I get it believe me. Thank you for sending the post out to your Twitter followers. I am hoping that it wakes a few people up to what they or someone they love may be creating in their lives.
It is epidemic in our society and doctors frequently still contribute. Thank you for sharing your personal perspective. It is poignant and honors your mother by empathizing. Obviously her life enriched yours and enables you to make a difference for others.
You are right Vickie. She did indeed. I am very concerned about this issue and appreciate you reading and commenting. Thank you so much.