Rehab Scene Two

I had made a choice. I was to leave Warrington and I had set a deadline of Summer 2012 and there was no way I was changing my mind.

The plan wasn't just to start in a new town, it would be to start my life again, completely. A new home, a new family, new friends and even a new name.

I had done a bit of research about changing my name a few months before I started my rehabilitation. I wanted to disassociate myself from my biological family, I wanted nothing more to do with any of them. At first, even the mother was included in that, we still weren't getting along that well.

Michael Smith was the first name that I came up with. Basic, and to the point. It was when I had made up my mind to move to Northampton though that I came up with my new identity. Now I won't be revealing that name, as I want to be in control of my own anonymity when I do change it. I can tell you it's my current middle name as my new first name, my Dad's first name as my middle name and my Mum's maiden name as my surname.

I've actually started using my new name in social networking, just so I can get used to it. I'll also be getting a new tattoo, a phoenix, when I finally make the move. For those who don't know the link for me to a phoenix, have a quick Google search and you should find an answer.

I do have two tattoos already. One on my back is the word “WIRE”, coloured primrose and blue and the other is my fathers' initials on my arm. The second one is of course a tribute to Dad, along with the last two things he ever bought me. A watch, which has his initials engraved on the back and the 2009 Warrington home shirt, which has his initials printed on the back, along with the numbers 09, which commemorate the 1 year anniversary of his operation. Not bad for someone who was accused of not loving or respecting the old man, is it?

The next stage of my rehab was cognitive therapy. Basically it teaches you how to get yourself motivated, which by now, you all know has been a major issue for me. My therapist, Lynn, was the woman who first smiled and said hello at my assessment, some 3 months earlier. The first session or two, we discussed what my problems were. Why did I lack motivation? Why was getting out of bed so difficult? Why did nothing apart from the rugby or computers get my full attention for long periods of time?

I had homework to do each week aswell. I'd have to keep a diary of what I was doing each day, from waking, until going to bed. My second session with my psychiatrist a few weeks earlier had produced a second set of medication that I had to take. These were purely to cure my insomnia and were a drug that all humans have in their system, which regulates their sleep patterns. Insomniacs tend to have low levels of this chemical, or none at all. I was to take them every day for 3 months, then stop dead, with no more.

The effects of these new pills were almost immediate. I was sleeping for 8 hours a night, at night. This allowed me to have a proper working day, which meant my diary always had the same waking hours. That first weeks timetable was a mess though. The vast majority of it was filled up with hours of listening to music, watching Scrubs and playing on Football Manager. In fact, 90% of it was filled with just those three events.

When we analysed it the following week, the patterns were quite alarming. But now we knew what the patterns were, which meant we could change them.

One pattern that was there, or actually, wasn't there, was a social life. I was still a recluse at this point. I only went outside for medical appointments and the odd packet of smokes. Even as I write this post in December 2011, a year later, I probably spent around 70% of my time indoors, by myself. But compared to the 99% a year ago, that is a vast improvement.

My diet had also been an issue and that changed around the same time as I started my sessions with Lynn. My mother now knew about what was going on, what was wrong with me and why. We had had a few deep conversations about it and things between us steadily improved from then on. Before all this, she had bought my food. My large appetite forced her to buy one meal a day for me and I was forced to wait until she got home from work before I could eat. That system certainly contributed a great deal towards the bad depression of 2009/2010.

But after that, I bought my own food. I did a big shop. The mother still paid for it, but I slashed the cost of the weekly shop by going to Lidl and buying in bulk. She still paid for my meds aswell. Everything started improving in all parts of my life. I was feeling less tired, less depressed, less lethargic and less anxious. Motivation was still an issue though.

Through my therapy, I set up a timetable of things I had to do each day. From the basics of getting up and eating, to the improvement of my self image and tidying up on a regular basis. Before then, I was quite happy living in squalid conditions in my bedroom. My curtains would be drawn, window closed and my bedroom walls were a dark blue colour. It was a breeding ground for depression.

I started drinking decaf tea and coffee after 6pm. This meant it wasn't still running through me as I was trying to get to sleep. The new pills were working wonders and for the first time in nearly 20 years, I was sleeping normally and the knock-on effects were all positive. I had more energy for a start.

Just as I thought things couldn't be better, they got a lot better. Mum popped up on MSN one evening in early December. Turns out her and Samantha (her daughter, my sister) had been planning behind my back, the little minxes.

They knew I don't celebrate Xmas. With my religious beliefs, I'd be a hypocrite if I did. I was to spend the holiday period down there though. From the 23^rd until the first week in January. I'd stay at Samantha's and get to see the whole family. I'd be willing to put my beliefs aside for 2 weeks with them, no problem.

Lynn was fine with rearranging our sessions over that period, she was happy I was able to get away and socialise with people, especially people I cared for so much. It was on and I was going to enjoy the “festive” period for a change.

I couldn't have wished for a better holiday to be truthful. Even the coach journey on the way down there was more enjoyable than normal. Even the return of the snow and ice failed to dampen my spirits. National Express had to send 2 coaches as cover for the high passenger numbers and this meant the stopping service that I was on, was mostly empty the whole way to Birmingham and even on the second leg to Northampton I had the back 3 seats all to myself.

Because of the bad road conditions caused by the weather down there, I told Samantha I would make my own way to her house. I got to see her daughter, Isabel for only the third time in her short 5 years and got to meet her son Oliver for the first time. I barely know them even now, but I still love them as though they were biological nephews and nieces.

I got to spend a few hours catching up with Charli on Xmas eve aswell. Charli is the youngest sister and like her Mum, there is no one on Earth quite like her. She never runs out of energy. She's a dancer and I'd stake a fair bit of money on her even dancing in her sleep. She has a very addictive smile too and again, just like her Mum, everyone who meets her, loves her.

Mum, Samantha and Charli are 3 very different people. But together, form the perfect family for me. When I want to laugh, I go to Charli, when I want serious advice, I go to Samantha and when I want to feel loved, I go to Mum. They never fail in their respective areas of expertise either and I'm very lucky to have them in my life, never mind looking out for me. They do show the inadequacies of my biological family though. Not that that's a bad thing in my eyes, it just shows how lucky I am that I get the chance to start again.

It certainly blows the theory that you can't choose your family out of the water.

Therapy restarted when I returned to Warrington in January and I was making leaps and strides in my recovery. It was to be a couple of weeks before I got truly back into it though. I didn't actually want to come back after the Xmas break. If I could have, I would have stayed down there for good.

The therapy sessions were limited to 8 weeks though, so they had to come to an end. That was my cue to go out and get a job, To be fair to be, I was straight into town the second my final session had ended. It turned out I wasn't ready yet though. After a promising hour or two, one of the agencies told me they had a position open at a warehouse in Warrington. It wasn't just normal warehouse duties though, it included stock control. That actually meant a higher rate of pay and the chance to not just get back into work, but to get back into a higher level than I'd been outside of working for Dad.

So off home I went, thinking I was on for a job, and a damn good one at that. They were to call me back later that day with details. The phone call never came. Not that day, nor the next, nor the next week either.

It was a knock back, and a knock back my mind couldn't quite deal with yet. I suffered what I had been warned may come; a relapse.

My mood dipped. All the progress I had made in the previous months disappeared and I was a bit worried that I wouldn't be able to get out of it.

My friend network had disappeared entirely. My doing of course. A change of phone number, a deletion of Facebook and a change in e:mail address meant I could get rid of those who contributed to my unhappiness and keep around the ones who I wanted to be in my new life. I went from 500 Facebook friends to just 9 in the space of about 3 months. There's no denying that my life has less drama in it now. I still have an open channel in Twitter though, which I use in my current identity of Danny Ibbitson. Whether I keep that channel open once I move, hasn't been decided yet.

Spending so much time with the family, just strengthened my resolve to move down there once and for all. It turned out, I didn't really have much choice in the matter either and I had no choice but to pick myself up and steadily, at my own pace, start the process of starting my life again.

The death of Danny Ibbitson was about to start and from the ashes, would rise a new being.