The problems started with hiding wine bottles under my bed as a teenager. At university, I started dabbling with drugs. A few lines on nights out turned into a crutch of a coping mechanism as I entered my mid-twenties: I believed that any inconvenience, every negative feeling, could be solved by downing booze or taking another bump.

When I went through a breakup and lost my job in quick succession, I self-medicated the only way I knew how: drinking and taking all the MDMA, coke, ketamine and speed I could get my hands on. I told myself that my lifestyle was wild and fun, but in reality I wasn’t having fun at all; instead, I was agitated, anxious and paranoid. I took drugs to deal with feelings of anxiety, which built up to a peak, and then took prescription sleeping pills when it was time to wind down.

When psychosis arrived, I didn’t recognise it for what it was. Hallucinations began small; I’d hear someone say my name or respond to questions that hadn’t been asked. I remember sitting with a friend one night and he suddenly asked what I was talking about. I’d been talking about how I’d lost my job – I’d hallucinated him asking me about it – but we’d been having an entirely different conversation. At the time, we laughed it off.

“Addiction sent me into a spiral of psychosis and suicide – I’m so glad I survived”