My fall from grace was a hard one and when I fell, I fell fast.

I grew up in South Wales and had a good childhood. I moved around a lot in my younger years and spent some time as a DJ abroad, which I loved.

In my early twenties I was offered the opportunity to be on the board of directors of an international production and distribution company in London in the video game, film and music industry. I suddenly found myself on an immense salary, in a city that never sleeps. I would take clients out to lunch and would have a couple of glasses of wine.

I later met my (now ex) wife and we bought a beautiful place together in Cambridgeshire. We decided to set up our own business, so I suddenly found myself going from working 60-hour weeks to not doing very much as we had a staff team to do everything. I found myself at home, on my own, bored with not a lot to do, so I started popping to our local pub for a drink. This would be the slippery slope that eventually led to my wife and I divorcing, however at the time, I didn’t recognise that my drinking was a problem.

After the divorce I left our business and bought a house Cardiff. I dedicated the next two years to writing a book about the rise and fall of civilisations and then, when that was published, I found myself alone once again and bored. I turned back to drinking quite heavily.

I ran out of money more quickly than I thought I would, and in order to sustain my drinking I sold my house and moved back in with my parents. I managed to hide my drinking from them and refused to drink at home in front of them, but it all became too much, and I ended up living in the porch of a church in Port Talbot.

I couldn’t bring myself to beg for money, and there was still some left over from the sale of my house. I started drinking tins of cider. I remember sitting in a public library one day to get in out of the street and stay warm, and all I kept thinking was “I shouldn’t be this sober, I have just had 14 tins of cider”.

I made a friend on the streets. Sort of. He would beg for money for heroin and one night, when it was so cold and the cider couldn’t keep me warm, he invited me back to his squat. The minute I walked through the front door I knew it was a mistake to be there. There was used needles on the floor, rubbish, rotting food, dirty sheets. It was exactly how you see crack dens on TV. I made my excuses and went back to my church porch. The cold was better than that.

That was the turning point for me. That moment, right there. I knew I had to get sober so I opened my last can, drank it to help me sleep and when I woke up, I refused to drink another drop. I spent the next week on the streets drying out. I had the shakes, I was sick, but I didn’t want to be like this anymore.

When I was sober enough, and strong enough, I went to get help. A lovely chap at Crisis recommended Emmaus as a long-term placement for me. I had never heard of Emmaus before and had no idea what it was about. In fact, I was led (wrongly) to believe it was a religious organisation. I never thought in a million years they would accept me, but they did and now I have a bedroom of my own, a job in one of the shops and a purpose. I am so glad that there is no alcohol allowed in here, it would have been a real struggle if I had been surrounded by it constantly, but for now it is just one day at a time. If I hadn’t found Emmaus when I did, I don’t know what would have happened. I’m only glad that I have.