The Truth About My Mental Health Hospital Stay

Many of you have reached out to me on Instagram to share your stories about living with bipolar disorder. I don’t take that lightly. Your trust means everything to me.

Today, I’m sharing one of the most painful moments of my life: my mental health hospital stay.

This isn’t a polished success story. It’s the raw beginning of realizing I was not okay—and that I couldn’t keep surviving the way I was.

If you’re new here, I recommend starting with my first post,
Bipolar Disorder: The Best Club Ever

December 18, 2019: The Start of My Mental Health Hospital Stay

I’m going to tell this story as if I’m reliving it—because that’s how it still exists in my body. It was December 18, 2019. Two months before my 30th birthday. I felt crushing pressure to hurry up in life and become the version of myself I thought I was “supposed” to be.

At the time, I had three young children:
a 7-year-old, a 4-year-old, and a 2-year-old.

I was exhausted beyond words.

My youngest needed me constantly. My middle child did everything right, always trying to keep the peace. My oldest was violent and aggressive, and my days were spent trying to protect my younger children while meeting needs I didn’t understand how to manage.

Our home was loud, chaotic, and emotionally overwhelming. I woke up every day and went through the motions, feeling disconnected from myself and my life.

I wasn’t living. I was surviving.

Parenting While in a Mental Health Breakdown

My oldest frequently hurt his siblings. Every single day felt like crisis mode. We had countless appointments trying to understand what was happening, but answers never came.

I felt like a failure as a mother.

I doubted every decision I made. I didn’t have support nearby, and the support I did have came with judgment instead of compassion.

If you’ve ever felt this crushing self-blame, or you’re tired of all the things that no one wants to talk about pertaining to bipolar disorder, you may relate to
Bipolar Disorder Taboo Topics .

The Day I Called the Crisis Line

December 18 was the last day of school before Christmas break. If you need resources to support yourself please check out Bipolar Disorder Resources.

That morning, my oldest repeatedly tried to attack my youngest. We locked ourselves in the bathroom while he attempted to break down the door. I sat on the floor, sobbing, holding my child and wondering how I had reached this point.

I called the crisis line.

Instead of support, I was met with judgment.

“How bad can it really be?”
“They’re your children.”

I already knew those things. I already believed I was failing.

I hung up and tried a text-based crisis line instead. My son was throwing objects around the house. I was crouched over my youngest, shaking, crying, and spiraling.

I told them I was thinking about taking all my pills.

If you’ve experienced racing thoughts and emotional overwhelm like this, you may find comfort in
Bipolar Podcasts That Actually Help .

When Everything Felt Out of Control

I felt completely alone.

My husband worked long hours. Outside of him, I had no one. I tried to hold on by looking into my youngest’s eyes and reminding myself of the mother he believed I was.

But with Christmas break starting, the loss of structure felt suffocating.
If routine loss is a trigger for you too, I explore this deeply in
Routine Loss Is a Bipolar Trigger — Here’s Why

I didn’t know how I was going to survive two unstructured weeks.

“Are You Natasha?” — Before the Hospital

My husband came home around 8 p.m., and we went to the grocery store. I wanted comfort food, a warm bath, and sleep. My body ached from being kicked, hit, punched, and bitten all day.

As we walked out of the store, two police SUVs pulled into the parking lot.

“Are you Natasha?” one officer asked.

My heart dropped.

We were separated. I was questioned about suicidal thoughts. I was asked what my children would think—despite the fact that everything I had done was to protect them.

I was asked if I had anyone I could call for help.

I didn’t.

After sitting in the police vehicle, it was decided: I had to go to the hospital. I didn’t want to be there. I didn’t want to explain myself again. I didn’t want more questions that felt like accusations. But that night marked the beginning of my mental health hospital stay—and the moment I could no longer pretend I was okay.

To be continued. Part 2 can be read – What It’s Like To Be In A Mental Health Hospital

Love always,
Bipolar Babes Club

Disclaimer:
The content on Bipolar Babes Club is based on personal experience, research, and lived perspective. I am not a medical professional, therapist, or psychiatrist. The information shared on this website is not intended to replace professional medical advice, diagnosis, or treatment. Always seek the guidance of a qualified healthcare provider with any questions you may have regarding your mental health, medications, or treatment plan. Never disregard professional medical advice or delay seeking it because of something you have read here.

If you are experiencing a mental health crisis or are in immediate danger, please contact your local emergency services or a crisis support line right away.

For more information about mental illness visit the following:

• National Institute of Mental Health
• The Mayo Clinic
• The Cleveland Clinic
• Depression and Bipolar Support Alliance
• The Sleep Foundation