This essay is a little different in that I didn't write it. It's reprinted, with permission from the author. I didn't have to go far for permission; my mother wrote it.

This is a talk she gave at a TOPS (Take Off Pounds Sensibly) class, touching on how depression and bipolar disorder may affect a person's weight. It's strong stuff, and the kind of thing they usually don't discuss. But it's a subject that requires further exploration.

I did, with Mom's approval (and prompting) some editing here, but one particular part of this is uncut -- the email dialogues between Mom and her 50-year-old son. I don't mind telling you that I am that son.

Mom still feels badly that I "inherited" this mental disorder called depression. I did, however, inherit something else from her -- the willingness to write about it, and the feeling that mental-health advocacy has become a job of mine.

On a side note, I'm proud of Mom. She's turned out well ...

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Before I begin, there are a couple of things to mention:

Every normal person has periods of being depressed. This discussion is not about that problem.

Also, the following is Dr. Donohue's description of this disease. "Bipolar disorder (also known as manic depression) causes extreme shifts in mood, characterized by recurring episodes of mania (elated or angry moods, impulsivity, increased activity and energy) and depression (prolonged sadness, loss of energy, inability to concentrate, feelings of guilt, thoughts of suicide).

"Treatment includes medication along with therapy and support. Your doctor can refer you to a psychiatrist, or you can contact the American Psychiatric Association (psych.org) for a recommendation. If you are diagnosed as bipolar, you can find support through the National Alliance on Mental Illness (nami.org) at 1-800-950-NAMI (1-800-950-6264) or the Depression and Bipolar Support Alliance (dbsalliance.org) at 1-800-826-3632."

There are several things this piece is not. It is not current........and it certainly isn't "scientific". What it is, though, is personal. This is about me.

The reason I thought that this subject was of interest to our group is that "depression" and "overweight" often go hand in hand.

Back in the Dark Ages, when I was a young woman, mental or emotional illness was not discussed. And if a family included one so afflicted, they were ignored or hidden. A lot of people had a "crazy old Aunt Minnie", up in the bedroom at the back of the house on the top floor. Everybody knew she was there, but nobody discussed it. She became the well-known "elephant in the room".

When I was about 20, I was gainfully employed at fulfilling work, had a pleasant, well meaning young husband, and lots of friends, a good family. No problems, except that times were not particularly easy.

Then I began to realize that my moods were beginning to swing from happy, elated, giddy almost ... to sad, down, teary ... what we now know is "depression". Or in my case, manic depression. Now referred to as "bipolar".

Whoever looks after these things drew me to my physician, who had the instinct and integrity to refer me to a psychiatrist! This in the day and age where that just wasn't done! After several sessions with the doctor, it became clear that more help was needed, so I voluntarily admitted myself to the psychiatric department of a local hospital. Although I wasn't living at home at the time, my father was LIVID! Even though he was an "enlightened" individual, this still just wasn't done.....actually admitting you had a "problem". To his credit, he got over that attitude rather quickly when he realized how sick I really was!

At that time in the Dark Ages, there were no tranquilizers or other psychotic drugs. There was "electric shock" (a scary thing!) and "lobotomy" (brain operation that pretty much neutralized independent thought on the part of the patient).

Since my case was much less severe, thankfully, my psychiatrist chose another option, called "insulin treatment". In this, each morning I was given a large dose of insulin. This was intended to push me right to the brink of insulin reaction (and unconsciousness), but not quite. The purpose, apparently, was to dilate the blood vessels and arteries to the brain, supposedly very beneficial. After five weeks in the hospital, I was declared well enough to resume life on the "outside".

While hospitalized, I had a roommate, a real-life "crazy Aunt Minnie" who was receiving electric shock. Sometimes they gave her Sodium Pentathol, or "Truth Serum". They had to search our room often, since she tended to hide razor blades around the premises, so that she could easily commit suicide when the mood called for it.

Down the hall were the alcoholics, who were receiving "Antabuse" treatment, for their drinking problem. The function of the medication was that as long as you actually TOOK the Antabuse, it would make you deathly ill if you took a drink. These folks had related problems, and would steal drugs from the drug cart whenever the nurses became too lax, but pretty much they had free rein of the "psych ward", as I did.

Around the corner from my room was the "locked ward" where they put the patients with severe illnesses, who were at risk for harming themselves or others. Once in a while one of these people would wander out of their section of the hospital, and staff would quietly panic until they located the subject.

The real point to this discussion is, when I delivered myself to the hospital, I sort of sat back and said, OK, here I am! Fix me! After a brief time, it occurred to me that that wasn't the ticket to wellness! The "fixing" had to come the other way around! Even though I hadn't yet read "The Power of Positive Thinking", that concept had to come into play. I literally had to fix myself, with help and direction from the doctors! Once I figured that out, I was on my way to recovery.

That was many years ago ... 57? I've led a fairly normal life since then, and a very happy one, with normal highs and lows. I had made up my mind that nobody, nor no outside influence was going to play with my mind so that I couldn't control my own life. And it has pretty much worked, all these years. There are times that being a stubborn hard-head pays off!

As the recipient of good care (for the time), I always felt it is my JOB to be an advocate for mental health, and have tried to do so at any opportunity.

There is one down-side to this story. We who are depressive, or manic-depressive, or bipolar, seem to carry a gene or a trait or a tendency, and this tendency is often passed on to our children. I wasn't aware of inheriting this trait from my forbears, but that is not impossible, due to the secrecy mentioned earlier. My Aunt Maud always was a little peculiar!

This is an excerpt of a letter I wrote to a close relative when she was suffering an episode of Bipolar Disease a few years ago. I informed her that we were really "sisters under the skin" due to our common disorder, depression.

"There were a couple of really important things I learned during my hospital stay, and in the 50 years since," I began.

I told her about figuring out that healing is a do-it-yourself project, with help, of course. "I had to work really hard to get my mind, and my life back to whatever 'normal' was at the time. I finally figured out that I hadn't gotten that way overnight, and probably wouldn't get 'well' overnight.

"I even survived a very abusive marriage pretty much intact. I didn't learn easily, mind you, but I made it! This period included physical abuse, threats, adultery (not by me!), not near enough money to live on, and not being near my family ... and a young child to take care of and a house I couldn't afford, and a job. It was very tough, but I came through in one piece.

"Then I got lucky, and married my husband. And he's pretty much taken care of me and put up with me since. And as they say, the rest is history.

"Hope this helps you to understand that you aren't alone in this. Your doctors and especially your folks are doing the best they can to help you. But the real work comes from inside."

Another unfortunate recipient of the Depression "gene" is our son, who is now 50 years old....Told you it was hereditary! At the moment he is living through yet another session of this debilitating disorder. I'll let you "listen in" on some correspondence between us, with his specific permission (and I will note that this part is hard for a mother to read):

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(ME) "It's so amazing to me that as you described, 'low esteem/lack of ego' is exactly why we sent you to the psychologist all those years ago. (Early elementary school.) Apparently we were on the right track, but didn't get it fixed!"

(SON) "I was obviously quite interested in your choice of subject matter for TOPS. You are correct in that depression has a bearing on weight, one way or another. Many of the folks in my 'network' find food to be the only source of comfort, so the pounds come on. It's almost a form of self-medication, a hallmark of full-blown depression. Yeah, put it right there with the booze, drugs, impulsive behavior, and anything else to ease the pain. In my case I go the opposite direction. I don't eat because a) I have no appetite, b) even if I had the appetite I can't scrape together the energy required to make a peanut butter sandwich, c) even if I had the appetite and the energy, the self-esteem is shot to hell, to the point that maybe I don't deserve a good meal. Forget exercise at a time like that. By the way, feel free to use this info, plus whatever else I may have passed on to you, for your topic."

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Now thankfully, great strides have been made in the treatment of depression, although it's clear more research needs to be done. Each individual has to work his way through his own set of circumstances. Now between the medical help available and mental toughness on the part of the patient, it seems that eventually most can live normal lives.

The obvious lessons learned for us here today are two.

-- The connection between depression and overweight.

-- The need to take control of our situation and our diet to reach the goals we wish to reach.

Within my own limitations, I'll be happy to comment to questions.

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Postscript: As I edited this, it was ... well, a little hard for me to read. It does cut awfully close to the bone. But hey ... Mom's OK. As a matter of fact, so am I.