A letter from an ex-patient

Dear Robert

Two years ago I crawled out of a crack den and had a look at what was left of my life: not much. My marriage was gone, my job, many of my friends, I had no money and had just watched my father die in hospital.

By some extraordinary stroke of luck I still knew one very special person who, no matter how badly I behaved, remained on my side. She found out about PROMIS and send me down to meet someone. I took one look at the serenity prayer on the walls and fled.

A few weeks later I had sunk even lower. I felt as though I was dissolving into a thing of the night. I wondered whether or not I would die soon; not because I wanted to, but because I just couldnt stop my addiction.

With grave forebodings I gave in and agreed to try just a couple of weeks at PROMIS in Kent. When I arrived there I was like a man coming up for air after a very long time under water. This was my last chance and I couldnt get enough of what people at PROMIS had to offer.

I soaked up as much as I could and listened to everything I was told, no matter how crazy it sounded. Gradually I realised that actually it was me who was mad; and not bad. I learned about addiction and, for the first time in my life, learned something about me. I stayed a little longer than the original two weeks, though less time than I would have liked.

It was Christmas 2002 when I got back to London to start the business of picking up the fragments of my life and trying to reassemble them in a workable form. I had debts up to my eyeballs, two teenage kids who were scared and emotionally bruised by what they'd witnessed so early in life, no money, no job, a wife who wanted revenge and Michelle – who seems to be my own personal angel.

The first year was painful, miserable, scary and littered with mistakes – including a relapse. The one thing I did, a thing I have continued to do, is carry on coming back to the rooms. I went to NA, AA, CA – any bloody A you can mention. I was offered support and love (which initially I found frightening) and I met others in messes similar to my own. I also kept up regular attendance at PROMIS aftercare.

I intermittently prayed to and railed against God, depending on how I felt he was doing on my behalf. I learned the recovery game with mule-like slowness.

As I got more clean time under my belt, my relationship with the world and its inhabitants began to improve. I got my relationship back with my kids – thank God. In fact I think it is deeper and stronger now than it ever was. I love them more than I can find the words to explain.

I decided that I wouldnt go back to advertising where I had previously been moderately successful as a creative director. I chose to take up writing. I had always wanted to be a writer and now I had nothing to lose. In fact, I discovered, having nothing can be very empowering.

I wrote a screenplay and submitted it to an agent recommended by a friend. I did not realise at the time what a senior figure he is in the industry. By some miracle (one of many over the last two years) he liked what I had written and took me on. A month or two later I was lucky enough to have a short film made which has gone on to win some awards.

In the middle of this year I decided to write a book. I finished it this month and it is now with agents. I am also hard at work on a feature film.

But the most extraordinary miracle by far is that Michelle and I are now expecting a baby.

Life, the life that I did not think worth living, is just extraordinary.

The brilliant support and love I was shown at PROMIS underpins everything I have today. I cannot thank all of you enough. If this letter would bring hope to any other bewildered soul struggling to make sense of the car crash that their life has become, please feel free to let them read it.

No-one should give up. There is hope, health and happiness for all who seek it. Take it from me.

Have a very happy Christmas Robert.

Yours

SF