Rehab Scene One

I didn't have to wait long to get onto the second step of the ladder and since that appointment with Dr Wrong, my mood improved a hell of a lot.

First up was an assessment, which was quite nerve racking. I had walked to the appointment, but you can't tell the mother that, she gave me bus fare. The bus fare was spent on a packet of smokes though and with my nerves, I needed the smokes more than I needed to get the bus. It was only at the hospital in Warrington anyway, not so much of an issue.

The first sign that I was in the right place for getting the help I need was while I was sat in the waiting room. It was fairly early in the morning, so not all the staff were in and one of those members of staff entered the building as I was waiting. This person would become my therapist some months later, but at the time, she didn't know me from Adam, whoever Adam was.

It was a simple smile and hello. She didn't need to do it, I could have been a plumber for all she knew. I don't know if they're trained to be that welcoming to everybody they see, but that simple three second encounter gave me a great sense of positivity as to the journey I was about to take part in. It wasn't the only one either.

It actually relaxed me a bit for the assessment, in which I had to spend around 45 minutes explaining to the assessor what my life was like. How I felt, my daily routines, what I did, what had my life been like up to that point. There was even a quick pop quiz I had to take, with questions ranging from self-harm to self-esteem issues. I scored very low that first time, very low indeed. My earlier blog about cyclothymia in which I list the symptoms was very similar to the test. The more boxes you ticked, the lower you scored.

I think I scored 2 out of 48. I'm almost certain those 2 were gained in the waiting room aswell. There was no escaping it now, there was something medically wrong with me. But that's what makes mental illness so messed up. Any other serious illnesses and you wouldn't come away from a diagnosis unable to hide a smile. I mean I was skipping, literally, back to town. Positive thought leads to positive action leads to positive thought.

It wasn't going to be easy. I knew that, in fact I was still scared that the treatment wouldn't work and my mind had already decided that this was my last chance. If this failed, I'd be done.

Since I read that forum post describing bi-polar disorder, I had wanted to get better. But I had wanted to do it by myself. I didn't want to be on medication for the rest of my years, just so I could live a normal life. That is actually a very normal reaction to people who suffer from depression, or depression related mental illness. They want to be free of the meds, want their brains to be normal by themselves. My “Everest to Mariana” blog detailed how that usually ends up. Your positive thought gets you into a high for a while, but then eventually, you take a big hit and back comes the depression.

By the time of the assessment, I had decided that I would my mind in the hands of the professionals and if that meant being on meds the rest of my life, then so be it. A medicated normal life is better than no life at all.

Up next was an appointment with a shrink, a psychiatrist. I hadn't told the mother about where I was going, she had no clue I had sought help. We still weren't on the best of terms at that point. As I got better, so did our relationship. I had to blag some money out of her so I could get up to Hollins Park to see the shrink.

As I sat waiting for my turn, the same thing happened. All of the healthcare professionals who walked past me smiled and said hello. Now don't forget, I was still unmedicated at this point and actions as simple as that made the nerves drop considerably. The one issue this friendliness did have was it made the normal GP services look awful. You're just another number to them. But I was enjoying this side of the NHS. My confidence that I would get better was increasing with every appointment.

The first time I saw the psychiatrist, it was pretty much just a repeat of the assessment, although it delved a bit deeper into the hows and whys of it all. I had mentioned the post about bi-polar and told her I had spent the last couple of years believing I had bi-polar. I also told her about the bad experiences with my doctors. She was quite unhappy with that, but wasn't entirely shocked.

She did say it was unlikely that it was full on bi-polar, the periods of ups and downs were too long. Weeks and months rather than hours and days. It would be a year until I had an exact name for what I had, but I knew there was a medical term for it.

To go 16 years being told, and eventually believing that you were a lazy embarrassment and failure, hearing that it was a medical issue was one hell of a relief. It also answered many questions I had about myself. Most of all, to realise a lot of the mistakes I had made were not my fault was life changing. I wasn't a bad person, I wasn't intentionally hurting all of these people that were turning their backs on me. I wasn't to blame.

I was prescribed some medication. They'd control my anxiety and my depression, both at the same time. I skipped away from Hollins Park, smile on my face and having a major giraffe to myself. It probably looked like I'd escaped from Hollins Park, not walked out of there.

I had to return in a month, just to see how things were going. There were a few issues brought up by these highs though, mainly the finances. All of my biological family were obsessed with finances. Or to be more precise, they always complained how much they didn't have, rather than what they did have. A small relief would come from a source that was unexpected, but not in the least bit surprising.

It was Mum. Not Mother Mum, but Mum Mum, Northampton Mum, not Step-mother from Northampton Mum, but Mum Mum. Confused? Try explaining that every time.

I hope saying this on here doesn't get her into trouble, but I need to express just how much of a saint Mum is.

I had been expressing my worry about finances on my Facebook, especially about getting meds at £7 a go and getting to the other side of Warrington for my appointments. Now Mum didn't say anything, not a word. One Morning a week or so before my return trip to the shrink, I spotted an envelope on the door mat. Now, people won't believe me here, but I swear to Tony Smith that this is true; I knew exactly what was in that envelope and exactly where it had come from.

Mum will tell you it was Jesus or God telling me what it was. To be honest, that's probably more likely than any explanation I could come up with. I had always had mini-premonitions like that and never had been able to explain them. I know, Hollins Park is exactly where I should be with that kind of thinking.

In the envelope was a £20 note and a small note (the contents of which will remain private). But Mum had reached out and given me a gift that would pay for three months of meds and bus fare to see the shrink. For those who know Jacqui, you'll realise trying to get her to take credit for a king thought, a gift or even a prayer is like trying to get your feelings out on a single Twitter status. Not even a little bit possible. This is why anyone who meets Mum instantly loves the woman. If every person in the world was like her, there would be no wars, no fights and 6 billion beautiful children in the world.

The meds started helping almost immediately and the second session with my shrink turned out to be my last. She was happy with her diagnosis and prognosis and was willing to refer me onto the next step of the ladder. She even arranged a home visit from the Citizens Advice Bureau so I could see if I was entitled to any benefits. I experienced the same welcoming nature during that session aswell. I wasn't just treated as another number, I was being treated by someone who seemed to care about what happened to me once I left her office.

The only problem I did have leaving the office is that I went away not knowing what the next step was, although it wasn't too long before the letter came through the post confirming that and the meds controlled the anxiety during this period.

Then came another selfless act from Mum (no, not that one Jacqui). Due to her husband working for a long time on the railways, Mum was entitled to free rail travel and one Thursday during a week off from work, she made the trip up to see me. Aye, that's right, my biological family wouldn't even make the trip across the Pennines to see me for 20 years, but this woman, this super saint of a woman who owes me nothing, was willing to make a 300 mile round trip just to keep me company for a few hours. See what I mean about how great she is?

I tried to keep her entertained with a history lesson of the town. Anyone else would have been bored to tears but Mum showed none of that. Those few hours with her picked me up no end and I really didn't want her to leave.

But leave she must. A saint has lots of people to help and has a family of her own to be the best Mum in the world to. But it was a visit that did it's job and it was a visit that would change the direction of my future.

My future didn't lay In Warrington anymore, it lay with Mum and my two wonderful sisters, Samantha and Charli. One blog won't be enough for those three, but I'll do my best once I get round to that part.