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From Glamour to Rock Bottom: A Celebrity’s Journey to Sobriety

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My skull throbs intensely, a queasy sensation twists within me, and my parched throat is unable to moisten. Straining to open just one eye causes pain. Everything feels painful. Some sounds filter through, like a hum of voices, but I shut my eyes once more as the room spins uncontrollably. It’s all too harsh, too deafening…

‘Mummy! We’re going to be late for school!’

My head is really pounding this time.

‘Mummy!’ the voice is louder now, shrill and urgent.

I flick my eyes open, I try to sit, using my shaking hands to help prop me up, the room spinning.

Pondering over my vibrating phone, I struggle to gather my thoughts. What hour is it? What’s the date? I can’t recall how I ended up here. There are bruises on me, many of them. Where is my bag? And most urgently, did anyone witness my arrival?

In a hurry, I glance through The Daily Mail to find any unflattering paparazzi images of me appearing disheveled or off-balance. Luckily, I didn’t find anything – phew! For the moment, it seems like I managed to avoid any unwanted attention.

I don’t feel like discussing how I got up and ready this morning. To be honest, it’s a bit of a mystery to me. However, before I knew it, I found myself driving my kids to school with a death grip on the steering wheel, trying to keep down whatever was left in a plastic bag, and definitely still under the influence after another night of ‘just one drink’.

At a swanky fashion gathering, two glasses of white wine turned into three, and since my stomach was empty, that made for quite a lot. Somehow, I managed to get home at an ungodly hour, ending up in bed, still clad in my figure-hugging dress with its plunging neckline and heels.

On the third occasion that week, I found myself doing it. I’m grateful I don’t work in breakfast radio; otherwise, my career could have met an untimely end.

Before passing judgment on me, keep in mind that I’m not a reality TV star from shows like Love Island, nor have I been a girlfriend of a famous football player, or someone who stumbled into the spotlight as an adult content creator on platforms like OnlyFans.

In simpler terms, I managed to achieve success, but ended up getting divorced. My children stayed with me half of the time, while dealing with no help from my family and a difficult legal dispute on the horizon. Additionally, I had to contend with the challenge of maintaining a public image as well.

It seems clear now. Perhaps you might not empathize with someone such as myself, considering my life may appear glamorous or charmed from afar. However, let me clarify that beneath the glitz and glamour, when the makeup was removed, the door closed, and the stage lights dimmed, I was just another woman, alone, sad, and battling depression – often drowning my sorrows in wine.

At launch events and premieres, I used to enjoy the free champagne. However, once my children stayed with their dad, I found myself drinking wine on my own instead, at home.

After going through a divorce, invites from past friends seemed to dwindle, and my phone grew unusually quiet. So, who could blame me for jumping at the opportunity when a notification from a publicist popped up in my inbox? Even if it was just the launch of an influencer’s dull salon, I’d be there without hesitation.

Attending those events seemed to bring about a transformation in me. With each occasion, I found myself arriving looking well-groomed, only to exit several hours later, sniffling and hailing an Uber – all the while feeling increasingly isolated.

What made me engage in this action? It’s important to note that both myself and my former partner were quite popular. However, since he was adored by many, it was I who was left behind following our split.

Since dinner dates with other couples became scarce (even though they might not openly admit it, many women worry their divorced friends may be interested in their husbands), I found myself needing to make new acquaintances – a challenge that grows harder as we age. So, when invitations to lesser-known social events arrived, I eagerly accepted. The bar was always open for me.

After receiving invitations to several afternoon parties during summer, I found myself developing an affection for daytime beverages – a concept that hadn’t intrigued me previously. Some days, I would attend a fancy party in the early afternoon and then proceed for a night-long spree later on. In reality, this happened as many as three to four times per week at the peak of my drinking habit.

My life was a whirlwind of bars, fancy restaurants, nightclubs and fashion runways.

To be honest, initially, it was quite enjoyable. After all, who wouldn’t enjoy the attention of a crowd, the gaze of many appreciative eyes upon them, and the constant flash of cameras capturing each of their moments?

I was skilled at mastering the artful paparazzi grin, the practiced chuckle, and the feigned humility (you might recognize some of those images – they can be either spontaneous or posed).

In my profession, I’d put in a lot of effort and felt it was only fair that I received recognition. However, what they didn’t prepare me for was the immense pressure that comes with fame – the expectation to excel not just professionally, but also in appearance, humor, intelligence, and parenting. This pressure is present not only at work, but also in how you look, dress, and raise your children.

The constant stress has been unyielding. It’s no surprise that I turned to alcohol. Initially, my drinking was a social affair, but over time, it morphed into an unhealthy habit, eventually becoming an addiction.

Absolutely, and let me rephrase that in a more conversational and personal tone:

Hey there! You know, the term that often carries a stigma – ‘alcoholic.’ These days, you seldom hear it from the limelight. Instead, celebrities opt for terms like ‘alcohol dependency,’ ‘my harmful attachment to alcohol,’ or even ‘my toxic bond with alcohol’ – as if it were an unfortunate lover rather than a relentless and potentially fatal condition.

Well, I became an alcoholic. I make no secret of that.

I didn’t consume alcohol in parks concealed in brown paper bags. Instead, I imbibed large amounts of white wine, which led to prolonged, painful hangovers. My days were filled with remorse, anxiety, and humiliation, often spent lying on the bathroom floor crying, wondering how I ended up in such a state.

On the days I had my children, the shame was unfathomable.

People are often curious about the rock bottom point for someone struggling with alcohol addiction. Here’s my story: I’ve been kicked out of numerous bars, and had public breakdowns. Under the influence of alcohol, which clouded my judgment and removed my reservations, I have committed actions that I deeply regret.

This version aims to maintain the original’s tone and content while making it more accessible and easier to read for a wider audience.

On one bustling afternoon during Fashion Week, an initially casual gathering unexpectedly stretched into the entire day. To ensure I was well-composed for my evening school pick-ups, I hailed an Uber ride to return home and let time pass so I could regain my composure.

Instead of dwelling on specifics and my recall being unclear, let me share that I gestured for the youthful driver to sit with me at the back, and he appeared to pull up my gown.

Moments passed, and there I stood, solitary, shedding tears within the confines of my shower. I had reached the lowest ebb. In just thirty minutes, I’d be embracing my children. Yet, how could I muster a strong front for them when my heart was shattered?

After hitting my lowest point, I realized I needed change. A few days passed, and I reached out to my physician for assistance. They prescribed a daily medication named Antabuse, the ingestion of which would cause vomiting if I consumed alcohol.

From my perspective as a lifestyle advisor, I’ve found that this particular substance, while potent and not universally suitable, served as an effective turning point for me. Some have likened it to the alcohol-alternative Ozempic, but it falls short of that comparison in many ways. Nonetheless, for my personal journey, it acted as a much-needed reset button.

Additionally, I’ve delved into a book titled “This Naked Mind” penned by Annie Grace. It sparked an insight for me that alcohol isn’t a companion; rather, it’s a toxin.

Apart from attending these meetings as well, I’ve been going three times a week now after maintaining sobriety for several years following my daily attendance. Opening up about my struggles with alcohol to fellow recoverees has proven transformative for me. Realizing I am not isolated in this issue, understanding that problem drinking is prevalent among women my age, and recognizing the help available has been instrumental in saving my life.

Initially, I believed that giving up wine each day would make my life dull and uninteresting. Contrarily, I have discovered a wealth of new experiences instead. As they say, sobriety delivers on the promises alcohol makes. In my case, this statement has proven entirely accurate.

Should you find yourself reading this and suspecting that your alcohol consumption may be more than just a casual habit, I strongly encourage you to reach out for help before it develops into a full-blown addiction.

Breaking free from the grip of alcohol is tough – but the alternative is far, far worse.

In this piece, you won’t find photos of me as the model; instead, it uses stock images that don’t look like me at all.

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2025-02-11 17:08

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