When I was around 10 years old my mother jumped in front of a truck one night. She was injured but not killed. Mama couldn't hide her injuries this time or keep her condition a secret any longer. She was sent to Petersburg, the state mental hospital.She was there for a few months and when she returned she was a completely different person. The doctors had her on high doses of Mellaril, an antipsychotic drug.
While the change was great as far as stopping her cutting, her promiscuity, her drunken rages, she was like a zombie. She would sit all day saying nothing, doing nothing, staring out the window.
She had no personality anymore. It was incredibly sad.
Occasionally though she would stop taking her meds and predictably she would buy herself a bottle of Vodka, her drink of choice, and the madness would ensue.
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