Back At Home

I've come to the conclusion that I need to fill in the basics first, then once that is done, I can delve deeper into each part of my life in further posts. This post will cover the basics from 2005 until October 2008 when the biggest fall of my life occurred. It may be another long one like yesterdays, please be patient.

I left off having made the decision that I wanted to come home. I made that decision on the Thursday and was moving back in on the Sunday. It was January 2005 and although I didn't know it yet, it was going to be the beginning of the end for me. Which ending, was not certain for 6 years.

As with all of my situations, it started off quite well. By March, I had a full time job in a petrol station 100 feet from my front door, an increasing circle of friends and thanks to that, a new girlfriend. This would turn out to be my longest relationship to date, a whole 9 months (ignoring the obvious breaking up and getting back together in the middle).

Sarah was a lovely girl, only 16, I was her first real boyfriend. If she thought relationships were easy, I certainly woke her up. Not on purpose of course. I was blamed for a bad showing in her GCSE's by her parents. After a bad, hay fever hit, holiday with her parents, they started not to like me one jot. I guess I can see it from their point of view now, with the benefit of hindsight.

I quit my job at the garage, making up lies to account for my days off and ultimately using this lie as an excuse to quit, blaming the management for unfair treatment. Half of you may judge me here, but bear with me, future blogs will make everything a bit clearer. Almost every job ended the same way. My motivation would bugger off out the door, leaving me in bed, unwilling to get up and go to work. It wasn't my fault. Nobody ever saw my side of it though.

So her parents didn't like me anymore, I had lost my job and a new one wasn't approaching in any great hurry. Then I made a massive error, one that still confuses me and scares me to this day.

Sarah had gone on holiday with her parents. I wasn't invited of course, so decided to go out clubbing with friends. I bet you've already realised what happened. I'd had a fair few bevvies, but I certainly wasn't drunk. My alcohol resistance in those days was still quite strong, 10 pints wouldn't even have me slurring my words. That's what makes what happened next even stranger. I wasn't drunk, I know I wasn't drunk and being drunk isn't an excuse anyway, you still have control of your brain, even when totalled.

She was 39, had recently had her chesticulararea lifted, she had to tell me, I wasn't looking. She had a son the same age as me and a younger daughter. The whole time though, in the club, on the way back to her digs, the whole night and the following morning.....I was on autopilot, or at least that's what it felt like. If you've ever seen the film Click, with Adam Sandler, you may remember the parts where he fast forwards through his life, but reviewing it, they see he's there, he's functioning, but he's not living it. That's exactly what it felt like. You may think I'm just making an excuse. I wish I was, but that's really what happened. I still can't get my head around it to this day.

The reprisals happened far more quickly than I wanted them to. I still hadn't come to terms with what I had done and Sarah was still on holiday for the next week or so. I knew I had to tell her what I had done, hoping against hope she didn't damage by ability to father children in the future. I wasn't allowed that choice though. Being out with a large group of friends meant everyone knew and then those who weren't there, knew the following day. I told them to keep their mouths shut. I wanted to tell Sarah, face to face, when she got back from holiday. I didn't want to ruin her holiday, not one little bit.

My so-called friends threatened to tell her though. They wanted to see me suffer for the mistake I had made. To be blunt, it had bugger all to do with them. They just had so little entertainment in their lives, they had to stir up a hornet's nest at every available opportunity. I had to tell her over the phone in the end, while she was still on holiday. It was a caravan holiday on the Welsh border and after a few days of I'm sure being devastated, she returned home to confront me.

We broke up for a while and although we got back together, she never really got over what I had done to her. I can't blame her and I've always accepted full responsibility for what I did. The events of that night still confuse me though and I don't think I'll ever get any answers as to what happened that night.

Motivation was an issue in job seeking, it always had been. I was out of work more than I was in work. Dad was being a stand out father, hundreds of miles away. He'd send me money for the things he knew I enjoyed, the rugby for example. His support for me never wavered and it was only him that kept the wolves at bay, as I would find out later. His 50^th birthday in 2005 should have been one to remember. Turns out it was one to forget, one that would break us apart for a while, before bringing us even closer. I don't regret what I did that night, just the timing of it.

I'd been having a discussion with the mother a few months earlier about my family history and she let slip something big. She thought I knew. Who could blame her, everybody else in the family knew apart from me. I'd always wanted a sister, someone I could protect with my life. Rare in those days, but a common trend today, my Dad had fathered a young girl at the age of 17. He paid her mother every month until the girl turned 18. He wasn't allowed to be part of her life though and I never found out how that made him feel. After later events, it turns out I never will find out.

I sat on that news for 3 months, trying to push it aside. It just dug into me though and it was on his birthday, over in Leeds when it finally came out. I was going through a really bad stage in the preceding weeks. I hadn't slept for 2 days prior to the party, with the entire family there. Then I started drinking. The inevitable happened.

I had discussed the issue with my cousin in the pub, prior to the party. She assured me I had the right to know and I should ask my Dad about it. I don't think she realised I'd do it later that night. I was quiet, depressed and everyone noticed. Dad wanted to know why and after he followed me outside and we had a bit of an argument, I broke. Well it all kicked off. The rest of the family hated me that night, Dad was heartbroken that I'd kicked up a storm and ruined his birthday. I don't blame him though. The family however, well that was the start of the end for them as far as I was concerned. They felt the same way about me aswell. My brother was the biggest dick of all about it, but I wasn't surprised by that.

Dad and me didn't talk for a few weeks. We used to talk every day online while he was at work and I was sat at home. He finally sent me an e:mail, expressing his concerns and we got to talking again. I apologised for the timing of it, but not bringing it up. He understood the way I had behaved and gave me a snippet of information about my half-sister, but nothing more. I wasn't to try and contact her. I've lived up to that promise.

After a short while, we were closer than ever. Talking every day about allsorts. He'd keep me informed of what he was doing at work, something he knew I loved to hear. I said in my first blog that I took after Dad in many ways. My career direction followed him like a puppy to a new owner. Logistics was his business and it was mine too. Transport in general was a love we shared. Travel, geography, road maps, sense of direction. I have never gotten lost in my life and I would stake money on him being the same.

My life at home had a familiar feel to it though. I'd have short periods of highs, where motivation and jobs weren't an issue. Then came the inevitable low, which would last at least 3 times aslong as the high. Relationships would come and go, as would friendships. People tended to offer support to me, help me get through my problems. But when push came to shove, they'd bottle it just like the rest when it got too difficult for them.

The rugby was pretty much keeping me alive most of the time. I had 3 or 4 hours on a match day to look forward to every week, which meant my depressive stages were lifted just enough to keep me going. Off season was the worst. No rugby and bad weather, I was miserable. I remember being sat on the coach on the way home after the Wire had been knocked out of the play offs in 2006. The depression set in immediately, I was in abject misery and I knew it was going to get worse before it got better. Getting through the off season became a matter of survival and I hadn't even hit the bottom yet.

I had made a very good set of friends in a married couple from the rugby. They had 3 kids, the middle of which treated me as his hero. He was my little dude and I enjoyed having a good giggle with him. He'll be a little charmer when he gets older, that'll be between quoting Achmed the Dead Terrorist while he's in the shower. Not my doing......honest.

This friendship lasted 3 or 4 years and I was always grateful for what they did for me. They'd take me to away games, pay for tickets for quite a few aswell. I couldn't offer them money in return, but I did offer them friendship, support, free babysitting and free computer repairs. It wasn't much, but it's all I could do, especially in the depressive stages.

The end of this friendship hit me quite hard and I'll go into more details in future blogs. Luckily they were still there when I started my relationship with Kirsty. How this relationship didn't actually kill me will always remain a mystery. It certainly came close.

Spoiler alert here, there will be a cliffhanger at the end of this blog, just to keep you interested. The start of my next blog will be eventful though.

I'd been to the rugby the day it all started. Huddersfield away, which was always fun. I'd had a fair few bevvies and was plodding along quite happily, even making the telly at the end of the game while banging my drum in celebration of the win. I was in a chipper mood and dancing and singing the whole way home in the car, my little dude joining in on the final leg of the journey once we had picked him up from his nan's. I'd promised to attend a friends engagement party in town when I returned from Yarkshire and I did just that. It moved to a second venue a few hours after my arrival and when we arrived, there was Kirsty playing pool. I'd known her for a while, but wasn't really good friends with her. If I'd have known what I was in for.....

I did something that I never did, I just stared at her, made it obvious of my interest and within hours we were in a relationship. I don't think I went home for 2 weeks after that day. She had inherited a house, which she shared with her sister and I rarely left her side the entire time.

Along with the house, she inherited £10k and wanted to spend every penny in record time and she didn't disappoint herself in that challenge. The problem was, people thought I was only with her for the money. Truth is, I hated that money and hated what it brought out in her. We'd go out into town, she'd buy a drink for herself with a £20 note and put all the change in my back pocket to fund my drinking for the night. The problem was, she did this 4 or 5 times a night, so she was putting about £60 in my pocket each night. Saying no to her was not an option, that was more trouble than it was worth. Believe me, I tried, every time, but it never worked.

I introduced her to my life and brought her into it. That meant the rugby. She was brought to games, introduced to my friends from not only Warrington but from other clubs aswell. Everyone welcomed her because she was part of my life. She abused that welcome though.

We were at a barbecue at my friends house, was lots of fun and all my friends treated her like one of their own, like they always did. It took hours to get her to even get her arse out of bed and show up though. She only stayed about an hour before getting bored and going home. That was the start of the decline that would come to a climax at the worst possible time for me.

We went for a night out in Manchester, Canal St and the like. We got the train, along with her housemate (who used Kirsty and her sister for their inheritance money). It was the usual routine, one round of drinks, change in my back pocket. We spent a whole 2 hours in Manchester before we became bored and Kirsty then forked out £50 on a taxi back to Warrington, where we went to the same old mosher/emo club that we attended normally of a weekend. I think it was that night that a barmaid was tipped £20 for one round of drinks. Kirsty wanted to be a rebel and she was very good at it.

She did take drugs, at the time it was mostly just cannabis. I couldn't complain about it because I had smoked the stuff for a year when I was 16, before giving up cold turkey, with no issues. I did ask her however, that during my birthday party at the mothers' house, she didn't bring any drugs onto the property. She couldn't even do that. After a couple of hours, she was off to meet her dealer for a spliff or 3, which she brought back to the house. I was livid when I found out. She also started throwing a strop that night when I was concentrating too much on being a good host and not paying her enough attention. Mental illness clouds the mind so obvious warnings aren't heeded.

One Saturday in early October I was actually making a rare appearance in my own bedroom for a weekend. I was still struggling with my sleep though. I don't remember where I was exactly when I received a text from my step-mother, telling me Dad was really quite ill and was in hospital. That text gave nothing away as to what was about to happen. I was awoken later that day to another text, this time from Kirsty, telling me she had come off her motorbike and was at hospital with an ankle injury. Being the best boyfriend that I could be, I was up, dressed and at the hospital 25 minutes later, to be by her side.

She tried to lay the blame of the crash on me.

Yes, you read that right. Me. I was at home asleep, but it was somehow my fault. She said she had been thinking about me while turning a corner in slippery conditions. It was bollocks of course, she had just been reckless in going round the corner at high speed.

I wasn't myself, sat there in the waiting room in A&E. My mind was on my Dad. I didn't know it was as bad as it turned out to be at that point, but I was still worried about him. Kirsty and her relatives were bitching and moaning at me though for being so quiet. Then once they had had enough of that, they started bitching at me for Kirsty's lack of a social life. She wanted to be sat in a pub with her friends. Sadly for her, we had no money between us. She had blown her £10,000 inheritance in a little over 2 months and I wasn't working. I'm not sitting in a pub for 4 or 5 hours a day with no money, thankyou very much. She had her own house, a perfect place for her friends to come to her where she wouldn't have to spend more than a quid on tea bags and milk to keep them entertained. It turned out she'd just turned her ankle, so off home we went and stayed at hers that night.

It was the following Monday my whole life fell apart. My phone rang. It was Amanda. My step-mother never rang me. If she wanted something, she'd text. Something was wrong. Oh boy something was wrong.

Dad would be lucky to make it through the night and even if he did, his brain as we knew it had been pretty much destroyed.