OneStory: First Days

Last Christmas, former TV reporter Ed Mitchell was discovered living as a homeless alcoholic. It was an amazing fall from grace after a 30-year career at the BBC, ITN and CNBC. Bankrupt and with his marriage over, Ed was sleeping on a bench in Hove, East Sussex. His story became front-page news and he appeared in a grim documentary. Then, exactly a year ago today, Ed had his last drink, checked into The Priory clinic in London - and began his battle to stay sober ...

"Like most people who arrive at The Priory, I was intoxicated. I took my last swig from a quarter-bottle of vodka and walked through the gates. Inside, a small group of staff welcomed me. I bent down to pick up my bag and the empty vodka bottle fell out of my pocket and smashed on the driveway. A perfect start to my new life of sobriety.

I knew all too well what the next 28 days would bring. It would be intense, emotional and unrelenting, but I would also have a warm bed, safety, three meals a day and a chance to turn my life around. I kept thinking: 'I'm so bloody lucky to escape from the black hole of life on the streets . . . I'd be a lunatic to mess this one up.' I was in the right place, of course. A psychiatric hospital.

My room, number 59, was in West Wing. Comfortable and basic, it had a shower, single bed, two chairs, a desk and portable television. There were two windows overlooking the lawns but they opened only an inch.

My first visitor was a pretty psychiatric nurse, who asked if she could help me unpack. My kit was pretty fetid from three months on the streets, so I declined. It soon became clear that her offer wasn't really a question. What she had to do was search my bag for hidden supplies of alcohol or drugs.

Next in was a doctor who asked a series of questions, took my blood pressure, felt my liver and explained the seven-day detox programme. The agony of 'cold turkey' is numbed with librium and you are taken away from the places and people feeding your addiction.

I strolled across the grounds to the Lodge, where the therapy sessions were held. The main building dates from 1811 but the rest was a plain two-storey structure built in the Seventies with six meeting rooms, lounge, kitchen and offices.

The Lodge was where I met my fellow inmates for the first time. It's an uncomfortable moment introducing yourself to strangers - even if they are addicts just like you. I had done this before, but I was still nervous. Then Don [all names have been changed] said: 'Hello, you must be new. Welcome. For what it's worth, I'm group leader this week. Good to see you - we need some fresh blood.'

I was relieved. Don was Scottish, ex-Army, and seemed the sort I could relate to. It's vital to get on with people when you are going to spend 14 hours of every day with them - and when your recovery is, to a large extent, in their hands and theirs is in yours.

Our group, a dozen or so people, was two-thirds male, aged from mid-20s to mid-40s and from a whole spread of occupations. At 54, I was the eldest. Some were near the end of their 28-day recovery programme, others just a few days in.

It was meal time. I hadn't eaten properly for months and my appetite was minimal, but having three meals a day is a key part of recovery and, I remembered from my previous visit to The Priory ten years before, it's a valuable part of group therapy. In the dining hall, there was a special table for those addicted to drugs and alcohol - we 'West Wingers'.

It's not that we were special, though we thought we were. Drunks and drug addicts have more in common with each other than with the 'glums' and the 'foodies' - those suffering from various psychiatric disorders - who shared other tables and tended to sit quietly.

We were noisy and tended to laugh a lot. I joined the table of about ten people, introduced myself and listened to their conversation. It was a reassuring mix of moans about therapy and the sharing of war stories - hilarious but frightening accounts of the depths addiction had taken them to. "

---

The preceding was excerpted by The Daily Mail (click to read more)from Ed Mitchell's new book From Headlines To Hard Times.