When John Stone opened his eyes, he found himself in an outlandishly unusual scenario. His limbs were bound, a pacifier gagged his mouth, and a thick, pungent diaper was strapped around him.

Panicked, he tried to move, but his body felt unusually heavy. His surroundings were strange – he seemed to be in a giant baby crib, the bars reaching high above his head.

Suddenly, a woman appeared. Dressed entirely in white, she looked down at him and cooed, "Good morning, baby boy." Her voice was soft, yet held a firmness that sent chills down John's spine.

The woman reached into the crib and began to unbuckle John's bindings. She was surprisingly strong for her age, and John could do nothing but watch, trapped in a state of utter confusion.

Once free, she helped him sit up and offered him a bottle of milk. John, still gagged by the pacifier, simply stared at her, his mind desperate for answers.

Finally, she pulled the pacifier out of John's mouth. "What is happening?" he croaked, his voice hoarse from disuse. She simply patted his head and pushed the bottle of milk towards him.

Over the following days, John was forced to adapt to his new, bizarre reality. The woman fed him, bathed him, changed his diaper - all as if he were truly an infant.

Each day, she read him children's stories, sang lullabies, and even played peek-a-boo. Her smiles were maternally comforting, but her eyes held an intensity that kept John on edge.

"Who are you?" John asked one day. The woman looked at him and said, "I am your guardian, your caretaker. You can call me Mother."

Trying to stay sane, John started to recall his past, before this imprisonment. He remembered being a business analyst, living in a bustling city, having friends.

Each memory of his past felt like a beacon of hope. But the more he remembered, the more he felt a sense of despair. His old life seemed like a distant dream now.

One day, while Mother was away, John decided to look for a way out. He noticed a peculiar candle stand by his crib, and an idea sparked in his mind.

Using all his strength, he managed to pull the stand closer, and with its sharp edge, cut through his restraints. As the bindings fell away, he felt a wave of relief.

John waited for the perfect moment to escape. It took a few more days, for Mother was always watching, but at last, the opportunity presented itself.

One night, while Mother was engrossed in her favorite soap opera, John quietly slipped out of his cage. Fear and adrenaline pulsed through his veins as he moved stealthily towards the exit.

He managed to reach the front door. His heart pounded as he slowly turned the handle. As the door creaked open, a rush of cool, fresh air filled his lungs.

But before he could step out, a firm hand grabbed his arm. He turned around to find Mother standing there, her eyes filled with a strange mix of sadness and anger.

"Going somewhere, baby boy?" She asked, her voice icy. John could only stammer in fear as she dragged him back towards his crib.

He was back in his crib, the bindings even tighter than before. But this time, he was not just confined physically, but emotionally too. He had tasted freedom and had it ripped away.

As days turned into weeks, John slowly began to lose hope. It was as if he was fading away and becoming the "baby boy" Mother wanted him to be.

Mother's warm lullabies now lulled him to sleep, the children's stories engaged him, the bottle of milk no longer revolted him. He was accepting his fate.

But as he spiraled further into regression, a glimmer of his old self remained. He still held onto his memories, his identity, his humanity.

He started writing - at first, on the walls of his crib, then on any scrap of paper he could find. He poured out his fears, his traumas, his hopes. Writing was his escape.

Gradually, he planned another escape, meticulously charting out every detail. He waited patiently for the right moment, his resolve stronger than ever.

And at last, the day arrived. With renewed vigor, John made his move. This time, he had prepared for every contingency. And this time, he was ready to face any obstacle.

He outwitted Mother, ducked past her and sprinted towards the door. It swung open and he dashed into the night. The feeling of the cold night air on his face was exhilarating.

Finally free, John vowed to reclaim his life. Despite the trauma he endured, he was determined to rebuild, to find his way back to the world he was ripped from.

He found help, got rehabilitated and gradually reintegrated into society. His experiences had changed him, made him hardened, yet they had also made him stronger and more resilient.

John Stone was no longer just an analyst, but a survivor. He lived his life with a newfound appreciation, his tale a testament to his indomitable spirit.

Lost in a Regression, he redefined himself, found his courage and reclaimed his life. His ordeal had been a nightmare, but it had also imbued him with a resolution that would guide his life henceforth.

The trauma had shaped him, but it did not define him. John Stone, once a captive, was now free, not just from his physical chains, but from his mental ones too.

As he walked into the sunset of his life, he was not just the man who had woken up in a crib, but the man who had survived it and fought back. This was his story and he was proud of it.

Lost in a Regression, he had found himself. And in the process, John Stone had become not just a symbol of resilience but an emblem of hope, proving that even in the face of adversity, the human spirit could triumph.

As he closed the chapter of his rebirth, he opened a new one - a chapter of redemption, survival, and strength. After all, he was John Stone, a man who had defied all odds.

His tale was one of resilience and courage, a testament to the power of human will. After waking up in terrifying confines, John Stone had risen, stronger and more determined than ever.