Farmer helps CMH Foundation, inspires others

My name is John, and I drove my first tractor at age 12 then the combine by myself at 15. My dad gave me the best compliment of my life while talking to his friends in the shade of a grain elevator. When they asked who he was going to hire he said, “John is my hired man and will take over the farm.” I was only 12 at the time.

I would consider myself “normal” until about age 21 while studying Agricultural Production with a minor in Agronomy. I knew something was really wrong when I went on an Ag Spring Trip to visit farms California, Nevada and New Mexico. My Montana State University teachers and friends noticed that something was really different with me, but I finished the quarter anyway.

Later I was doing research on soil samples, and I have to say I was a wreck. I was so sick, and I didn’t even know it. I thank the Good Lord and my Guardian Angel drove my 1957 Ford back from Bozeman on a break. When I got home there was a bunch of cars there because my mom invited everyone over for a big dinner. I was angry and asked why there was no place to park. That just wasn’t like me.

Soon after that I was diagnosed paranoid schizophrenic. That summer I was hospitalized twice and had 9 shock treatments. I couldn’t harvest, and I had a terrible time. But I did get well enough to go back to school and finished my senior thesis and graduated.

I kept my second episode to myself. I didn’t see a doctor, I toughed it out, lost a lot of weight and I through it. The next year I worked as a hired hand for my dad and was feeling good. I even ran for public office on the Soils Conservation Board for Teton County. But it was too much for me, and I knew it. Then, I was selected with a neighbor to attend the Cenex convention in Minneapolis. I never should have went. I can’t even tell you how awful it was. It was that awful.

When I came back I was hospitalized again with my third episode. My crop hailed out in 1977, and I didn’t have enough capital to make it until the next year. So, I decided to end it by taking a whole bottle of my antidepressants. I stood on my back porch on a clear night, and I prayed I’d wake up and never do this again. It was then I met Dr. James Day who saved me. I honestly don’t know where I’d be without Dr. Day and Dick Wimmers from Golden Triangle Community Mental Health Center. I didn’t tell my folks about the attempt, and until I spoke at a mental health dinner a few years ago, nobody knew but me and my wife Susan.

As you can tell I lived to tell about it, but Dr. Day told me I took enough to die. I thanked my stars, and I knew then I had a purpose in my life. I got a new diagnosis of bipolar disorder, and got on the right meds. My therapist told me not to just feel sorry for myself and start living again. So, I planned a meal with my mom that day, and little by little I got better. Then, Dr. Day asked if I would represent consumers of mental health on the Governing Board. It was an honor I held for 20 years, and I’m very proud of that volunteer job.

Stigma was a problem for me, but I had a neighbor with mental problems so I saw what she went through. At times I took myself off medications and thought, “I must be cured. I’m going to be normal.” That just isn’t true for people living with organic mental illnesses like schizophrenia, bipolar disorder and major depression. My family physician in Conrad told me, “You did not bring this on yourself. It runs in all family bloodlines. You are one of those unfortunate folks whose genes line up so you have it.”

At times I was manic, cranky, owly and out of control. Once I got on meds that worked for me, my life was very different. I had 10 good years before another episode. I was taking a muscle relaxer that causes poor vision, a throat infection, and I got my medications mixed up because I couldn’t see them. I was staggering around in the middle of the night, and I ended up in the security room at the hospital. I had “schizoid” tendencies like seeing things like my sister on a game show on TV. I knew I was getting bad because it was hard to make simple decisions like where to park the truck during harvest. The tractor’s swamp cooler needed rewiring, and a 30 minute job lasted all day because I couldn’t concentrate. With a medication adjustment, I have worked hard to help others.

Almost 40 years later, I am still working on myself with the Center for Mental Health. Mental illness is treatable, and I’m living proof. I’ve had a wonderful life, and it’s even better since I met the love of my life Susan. I’m living on dialysis four times a week now, but I stay positive and am surrounded by the love and support of my family. We live on our 100-year old family farm and carry on traditions like making homemade sausage. I still love old cars, and we’re members of the Montana Skunk Wagon car club. Mental illness is only part of my life. It isn’t my whole life. People who are battling mental illness need to know that they need to be good to themselves, stay busy, and ask for help. It’s hard to ask for help, but they were really there for me.

I have been giving contributions to the Center for many years because I want to give back to help others. I ask you to join me too. Please consider a gift of any size to help 6,000 beautiful minds in Central Montana just like me.

In health and gratitude,

John Kultgen

To make a secure online gift click here. Or you may make a check out to CMHF and mail to PO Box 1653, Great Falls, MT 59403. Be sure to indicate whether it is in honor (living) or in memory (deceased) of someone special.