Before I get into this part of the story, don’t forget to go back and read part 1—the time I was sent to the hospital. That way you have a better idea of what’s going on, because I’m just going to pick up right where we left off last week. I’m sharing my story of being sent to the mental hospital and how I felt about it.
The Police Made The Call
I exited the police cruiser feeling absolutely defeated. The consensus was that my husband was to take me in to the hospital and report back to the police after I was checked in, confirming that I did in fact make it and was being seen to.
I’ve spent a lot of time thinking about what this moment in time must have felt like for my husband. He jumped into action, and we took the kids to my mom’s house. I felt so ashamed, I couldn’t bear to see anyone. My husband took the kids inside and quickly came back.
Then we made our way over to the hospital. The entire time I sobbed, “Please don’t make me go, please don’t make me go.”. I was so terrified. I didn’t want to be away from my babies, and I didn’t want to have to talk to anyone else. I was exhausted.
The drive was roughly 45 minutes, and we spent about 2 hours in the waiting room. The entire time, I begged my husband to please let me go home. I pleaded. I swore I would do better. I’d try harder. I’d figure it out. But I had no concept that how I felt wasn’t my fault.
I had no compassion for myself in that I was struggling with being a mom to three small children with little support. When I look back on this time, I can really see that I didn’t let myself be human and give my feelings space and permission to exist.
The Mental Hospital Called My Name
Once my name was finally called from the waiting room, I made my husband leave and go pick up the kids. I felt really anxious that they were away and I didn’t know what they were being told. I knew I’d feel better if they were with him at home.
I slowly walked towards the nurse who called my name. All of me hurt by this point. My body was under so much stress, and I felt so afraid. I longed for someone to be with me, but the only person I had was my husband, and he had to be with our children.
I’ve spent a lot of time wondering why my mom and dad weren’t there for me during this time in my life. Mental health wasn’t something that was talked about, and unaliving yourself was considered the coward’s way out. I knew I was disappointing everyone. I quietly followed the nurse to the empty room as I wished I wasn’t alone.
I sat on the bed and noticed immediately how empty the room was. The walls were white, there was one chair near the foot of the bed, and the bed was empty. There weren’t any blankets, pillows, or anything. The room didn’t have any windows. It was freezing cold and unwelcoming.
I sat there quietly with my thoughts whirling until another nurse came in and asked me all the same questions I had answered 100 times by this point. Why. Why did I want to unalive myself? Had I thought of my children. What would they think? I felt so alone.
Answering the Questions
I quietly answered the questions to the best that I could. At this point I felt so tired, it was hard to even talk. It was hard to keep saying the same thing over and over only to be met with judgment about being a mother. I was already judging myself. When I think about this now, I know and recognise that everyone was just doing their job, but I still can’t help but wonder if there’s a better way to do it.
It felt like they lacked empathy. And when I look back and reflect on this time, I still feel that. I was just a lost mother really struggling. I wasn’t aiming to hurt my children; I just needed everything to stop for just a couple of minutes even.
I spent the night in the hospital. Or, rather, I lay there awake in the hospital throughout the night hours. I remember being really cold and uncomfortable. I was so alone and felt so unbearably sad.
I couldn’t believe that I was in the hospital. The entire experience felt surreal. I can remember the whole experience as if I’m sitting on that bed once again. Answering the same questions over and over. Left feeling stupid and isolated.
“What Would My Children Think?”
“What would my children think?”. That’s the question that get’s me. I was in that position because of my children. Because I was trying so hard and felt so lost.
The thought of unaliving myself happened because I thought my children would be better off. It wasn’t because I was trying to be selfish and a bad mother, which is what I felt like everyone was saying.
I was trying to look out for them. I thought that unaliving myself would finally bring peace, and maybe they would be better off.
It makes me sad when I think of this. The deep hopelessness that I felt was never-ending. I saw no light at the end of the tunnel. I felt like I was in a deep, dark hole rather than travelling through a tunnel.
I wish I could go back and hug her. I wish I could go back and tell her she would be okay. I wish I could hold her, wipe her tears, and let her know that she could make it through.
Lonely In The Mental Hospital
I cried throughout the night. I wasn’t allowed my meds. I couldn’t sleep. I was hungry, thirsty, and felt like I was being treated like a criminal. Looking back, I try to remind myself that they were just doing their jobs. And that not everyone knows how to talk to people in a crisis. That while I deserved compassion and kindness, the people who dealt with me also deserve that same thing.
What They Asked Me & How It Hurt
I answered the same questions at least a thousand times. Over and over. Why would I think of unaliving myself? Had I thought of my children. What would they think? I didn’t feel like I was even a human. Like my only purpose was to be alive because what would my children think?
I’m not saying that I shouldn’t care about my children. Of course I love them, and I’m in a healthier mindset and see things differently. But I still don’t feel that these are the best things to say to someone in a struggle.
The night felt like it wouldn’t ever end. The next morning I had to talk to the psychiatrist before I was allowed to be released. I was so tired I did something I’d never recommend. I answered the questions the right way. I didn’t answer fully honestly. I just wanted to go home and close my eyes. (Again, not something you should do. Talk with your mental health professional honestly.
Going Home From The Mental Hospital
The next morning, my husband came to pick me up with our children. I was exhausted and wanted to sleep forever. I was given a card with some crisis numbers on it and told to schedule a follow-up with my doctor.
There are many things I think the system got wrong, but some things that my opinion has changed over the years a little bit. Keep an eye out for another post about this exactly!
For some additional reading on what mental hospitals are like, consider reading some of the articles at the links below.
Are Hospitals Good For Mental Health?
What It’s Like To Stay In Hospital
So, I’m curious. Have you ever had a hospital stay due to mental health? What was your experience like? Please share your experiences with any mental hospital below.
Love always
Bipolar Babes Club