MILLIE MACKINTOSH breaks silence on how drinking nearly ruined her: I blacked out at 14 and was violated. When my marriage ended, I tried to stop but took prescription pills instead. Then I was humiliated… and knew things HAD to change

The very first occasion I experienced extreme intoxication was when I was 14 years old, returning home for the weekend from boarding school and spending time with my boyfriend who attended another institution. Our relationship was still in its infancy, so when he extended an invitation to a party, I felt both excited and apprehensive, wanting to leave a positive impact on all of his peers.

At the gathering, there weren’t many elders present, allowing us to manage ourselves. During dinner, there was an abundance of wine available. Determined to be the ideal partner and eager to please, I hesitated when my boyfriend’s companion persistently refilled my glass, even as I began to feel slightly intoxicated. Rather than refusing, I convinced myself, ‘I can handle this, I drink wine at home, I’m responsible.’ I didn’t wish to create a fuss.

It became apparent that something had significantly gone awry when, after leaving the dining table, I unfortunately ended up vomiting all over the place.

Instead of being the cool girl like I’d planned, I was the totally wasted girl.

As I awaited the arrival of my parents following an incident where I vomited everywhere, I fainted. When I came to, I was extremely perplexed about finding myself in a bedroom and, shortly after, I realized that a boy, not my boyfriend, who had been pouring drinks for me all night, was on top of me. This wasn’t my usual situation.

Despite being inebriated, an innate sense of self-preservation compelled me to disentangle myself from him. As I struggled, I realized my shirt was unbuttoned, my bra was unfastened, and my jeans were undone. With great effort, I eventually broke free as he uttered vile words. Overwhelmed with fear, I quickly gathered myself and fled the room hastily.

Despite him being the perpetrator of a despicable act against an innocent, unconscious girl, what I recall most vividly is a sense of embarrassment or humiliation.

I instantly thought: ‘Oh God, what have I done? This must be my fault.’

In the aftermath of inappropriately touching incident, I found myself feeling both humiliated and apprehensive about damaging our relationship with my partner. Simultaneously, I was taken aback by the violation of my personal boundaries. Unfortunately, before I could explain what transpired, he ended things via text message and barred my calls, leaving me without an opportunity to discuss the situation.

Reflecting on the past, I regret that I didn’t feel comfortable enough to share my experiences with my parents. However, as a 14-year-old girl, finding the right words to express something so complex and confusing was challenging.

Reflecting on that fateful night, what still haunts me is the prolonged feeling of guilt I harbored, thinking I was responsible for the events that transpired. Looking back now, it’s clear that I had consumed too much alcohol to understand that the incident was an act of sexual assault. It wasn’t until therapy in recent years that I was able to accurately identify what happened, show compassion towards my younger self, and release the burden of shame I’d been carrying for decades.

For the first time, I found myself in a state of blackout from alcohol consumption, an experience I never shared with anyone. If only I could travel back in time to speak to my younger self during that incident, I would tell her that she was not responsible for what transpired. ‘Nothing you experienced then is your fault.’

Instead, I carried an additional burden of hidden embarrassment and remorse for quite some time following that evening. This secret weight often pushed me towards excessive drinking, seeking solace in its numbing effects. I yearned to escape the pain, to be devoid of any feelings.

My time at school was a source of great distress. I had been subjected to severe bullying after moving multiple times prior, and when I joined an all-girls boarding school midway through term, the established friendship groups made things even more difficult for me. The relentless teasing, mockery, and pranks, some of which were embarrassing or even physically harmful, extinguished any trace of self-confidence that I had initially harbored. This marked the start of my unhealthy pursuit of instant acceptance through relationships with boys and excessive drinking. The only way I could gain acceptance from the popular crowd was by feigning indifference to their cruel behavior and, inevitably, partying – which meant getting drunk every weekend. To be accepted and receive the attention I craved, I adopted a wild persona.

Others often encouraged me to engage in reckless behaviors, such as provocative dancing, consuming large amounts of alcohol, and flirting with guys I barely knew, for their entertainment purposes.

I’d accept their tests to join their exclusive group, believing that success would grant me entry into the popular circle. However, it never came to pass; instead, I faced derogatory remarks and insults – ironically, they were the ones who had suggested the ideas and motivated my unruly behavior under the influence of alcohol in the beginning.

Over time, I found myself regularly losing consciousness due to alcohol consumption. I developed a habit of excessive drinking, which led people to describe me as a problematic drinker. I began to identify with this behavior, thinking it defined my identity.

At eighteen years old, I relocated to London with the goal of building a career as a makeup artist. While in school, I limited my alcohol consumption to weekends; however, living in a bustling metropolis gave me the opportunity to socialize and party every day of the week – an experience that didn’t necessarily lead to any valuable insights.

What stands out most from those times was the relentless socializing, marked by late-night revelries. My companions and I would initiate festivities over vodka tonics at our residence before attempting to navigate the night without purchasing any beverages. We’d carry on partying until dawn, returning home via the subway, still adorned in mini dresses and heels, with smeared makeup, as others were setting off for their workday commute.

Despite their frequent partying, my friends’ hangovers seemed mild compared to mine, which were characterized by intense shaking, vomiting, and debilitating anxiety. To cope with a hangover, I often resorted to consuming more alcohol. In an attempt not to miss out on the festivities, I would quickly drink five drinks in succession, hoping to feel better. Once my level of intoxication reached a certain point, the pain would subside, and I’d continue drinking without pause.

Once I took a sip, I found myself yearning for countless more. At that moment, I failed to recognize any warning signs – instead, I convinced myself I was living in my Sex and the City phase.

Reflecting on the past, I’m deeply saddened for the young woman who surrendered her power so effortlessly. I allowed men, alcohol, and false friends to dominate my life, succumbing to their influence. Peer pressure to conform to a specific image controlled me as well. To feel desired and accepted, I found myself in numerous questionable situations with men, night after night. What I truly yearned for was love. However, each sexual encounter failed to provide the affection or connection I sought, leaving me feeling even more hollow. This emptiness drove me to abuse alcohol to numb the emotional pain.

As I stepped up my social life, darker periods began to occur more often. Amidst chaos and distress, fortune called – and my life took on an even wilder, unpredictable course.

At age twenty-one, I secured a role in Made in Chelsea. I believed that fame and recognition could help mend my damaged self-worth and rebuild my lost self-assurance. And indeed, the show provided me with some remarkable experiences – truly unforgettable moments – which I continue to hold dear.

Initially, I had anticipated that fame would prove beneficial; however, it turned out differently. During the first series, we used to gather on Monday nights for screenings with the cast and crew. This was when we’d discover which footage made it into the episode. I was always anxious during these sessions, often finding solace in a glass of wine while monitoring the influx of tweets.

A significant number of the posts I saw were delightful, while others fell short. This experience with online trolling took me by surprise as I had always aimed to be authentic during filming. The comments from viewers – their admiration or criticism – reflected the genuine me. Admittedly, some storylines were slightly fictionalized, but the events portrayed on screen mirrored what was happening in my real life.

It turned out that what I believed would bring me joy – fancy designer clothing, glamorous events with celebrities, free goods, and partnerships with brands – actually didn’t. In fact, as my public profile expanded and I encountered more opportunities, my anxiety levels increased significantly.

As I navigated uncharted territories that made me feel more anxious, I began to rely on prescribed tranquilizers to calm my nerves. I struggled with the belief that everyone would eventually discover I was just as awkward and uncool as I always felt inside. Being under the influence of a few drinks and Xanax helped me pretend to be someone more confident and cool.

On two separate occasions during this period, I overindulged in alcohol, leading to instances of severe intoxication. The first incident occurred after a Christmas party, where I consumed an excessive amount of various drinks despite suffering from a hangover. The next day, my condition was so grave and nauseating that I searched online: ‘Is death possible due to a hangover?’ The second instance happened at a dinner hosted by a whisky brand, but the details are fuzzy; since then, I have been unable to consume whisky without discomfort.

At age 23, following nearly two years of filming that left me utterly vulnerable, I found it necessary to extricate myself from Made in Chelsea, to distance myself personally and detach from the bubble I was enveloped in. Consequently, when my former partner proposed a date, I pondered: ‘What’s the harm in trying?’

Being with rapper Professor Green, who was often in the limelight but worked in an alternative sector of entertainment, allowed me to escape from the monotonous life I felt trapped in and introduced me to fresh ideas, people, and destinations. The numerous parties, festivals, and events we attended filled me with optimism for a promising future.

Looking back now, it’s clear I was merely escaping my own problems. The allure of a fresh romance, providing a sense of safety, warmth, and constancy, drew me in. Regrettably, this union would prove harmful for both parties. The rapid escalation of our relationship only added to the intrigue, as it seemed like the tale of a high-society girl from Chelsea dating an East End rapper. The public’s fascination didn’t make things any easier.

Without much forewarning, our relationship escalated to an engagement and subsequent wedding plans. The speed at which events unfolded felt unnaturally fast. In retrospect, we were still quite young, and I lacked a clear understanding of the lifestyle that came with being a recording artist.

Initially, attending concerts appeared thrilling; however, I found the actual experience to involve significantly more partying and harmful behavior than expected.

Typically, our social evenings would unfold in a consistent manner: An evening out might commence with a couple of drinks, followed by dinner accompanied by additional beverages, then moving on to a bar, subsequently a nightclub, and occasionally an after-party, which could extend back to our place. Quite frequently, I’d find myself waking up the following morning with guests still celebrating, as I navigated around them to prepare my cup of hot water and lemon tea.

Love may not always triumph, especially when it leads to a harmful pattern of behavior for both parties. In such cases, the end result is typically heartbreaking. By the time I turned 26, we had mutually agreed to part ways and eventually file for divorce.

During the separation, I decided to maintain my composure by abstaining from alcohol for several weeks. However, this only led me to replace alcohol with sedatives as a form of self-medication. My bag would frequently make a rattling noise due to the presence of those prescription pills.

Over time, as I continued to use them, I found that the level of relief I initially experienced decreased. Consequently, I started taking significantly larger amounts than recommended to manage my feelings. Regrettably, what began as an alternative to alcohol had evolved into a dependence on highly addictive prescription medication.

And my resolve not to drink didn’t last long, either.

A few months following my split, I found myself dating Hugo Taylor, who I had a past connection with on Made in Chelsea back in 2010. We were preparing to attend the 2016 Monaco Grand Prix together, and I was eagerly anticipating our journey, as well as meeting friends there for what promised to be a fantastic long weekend celebrating his 30th birthday.

For the upcoming Grand Prix, a renowned fashion brand was providing me with outfits, and I knew it was crucial to maintain composure and appear well-groomed since this would be my first time attending such an event. I had limited my alcohol consumption – or so I assumed – believing I had it handled appropriately.

I wasn’t expecting the ambiance at the dockside, where our yacht accommodation was located.

A row of camera-wielding individuals sat, eagerly poised to capture passersby on the dock. The atmosphere was buzzing with commotion and vitality – the hum of vehicles, the chatter, the throngs of people.

Realizing that Hugo and I might appear together in photos due to the attention-grabbing nature of our reunion following my separation from my soon-to-be ex-husband, and after our controversial breakup on Made in Chelsea, I found myself growing quite apprehensive about the potential comments and articles that might follow.

Instead of addressing my anxiety appropriately, I chose an unhealthy route – overindulging in alcohol and using Xanax excessively.

On our second evening, we dined at a charming restaurant, but our day had started with drinking since midday in the scorching sun. Dressed head-to-toe in high-end attire, I, under the influence of alcohol, unsteadily tripped on the pier as photographers looked on. By then, I was so intoxicated that I couldn’t hide it, and there was nothing left to do about it. The remainder of the night slipped away from me. I had no idea how badly things were – I was too drunk to comprehend it myself.

Upon waking up the following day, it seemed as though I’d endured a severe hangover after presumably another extended bout of drinking. My hand instinctively grabbed for my phone, revealing missed calls and messages inquiring: ‘Are you alright?’

Overwhelmed with apprehension about the search results of my name online, I was horrified to discover images of myself – looking displeased, leaning on Hugo, my hair unkempt, struggling to stay upright. These images were scattered across the web, and I found it unbearable to even glance at them. I wished for a giant chasm to open up beneath me, a hole deep enough for me to disappear into the ground.

Overwhelmed and filled with embarrassment by the thought of their reaction, I found myself avoiding any contact with my parents for weeks on end. It wasn’t until the raw emotions of that personal ordeal began to subside that the professional implications of the situation truly hit home.

1) Am I at risk of being dismissed from my current position? What happens to the various brands and collaborations we had planned for future projects? And what about the high-end fashion house that recognized me in Monaco by dressing me – could these opportunities be lost because of my recent actions, despite their initial kindness, they never reached out to me again?

It was clear to me that I needed to halt this situation, required self-honesty, and undergo change for the better. This damaging pattern was jeopardizing my prospects of joy, wellbeing, and career success. I recognized that reality. However, it wasn’t until six more years had passed before I could finally bring about the change.

• Adapted from Bad Drunk by Millie Mackintosh (Piatkus, £18.99). © Millie Mackintosh 2025. To order a copy for £17.09 (offer valid to February 2; UK P&P free on orders over £25) go to www.mailshop.co.uk/books or call 020 3176 2937

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2025-01-10 20:24