Escaping from debt

Five years ago I was truly happy. I had it all: a wonderful decade-long relationship, a beautiful son, my own house, a job as a feature writer. Coming from a working-class background and a tough comprehensive school in Southampton I was proud of what I'd achieved. I'd left home at 16 and moved to London in search of a better life. And now I had it. With a bountiful salary I could afford to send my son to a private school in Hampstead, drive a BMW, have fabulous holidays and fill my wardrobe.

Then it all turned horribly wrong. I went from being a "successful" home-owning professional to a broke single parent of an autistic child living on benefits in rented accommodation. I'd had everything, and then I had nothing. Well, technically, I had less than nothing (£50,000 in the red, to be precise).

My reversal of fortune can be summed up in one word: debt. Debt doesn't happen overnight. It's a long and anguish-inducing chain of calamitous events over which you have little control. My debts were the first thing I thought about when I woke in the morning and the last thing on my mind before I fell asleep.

I had thought my lifestyle was secure. But, in reality, it was built like a house of cards. My misfortune started when I suffered a severe ankle injury after falling down a hole in the street, leaving me in plaster, and severe pain, for six months.

Then I split up with my partner. And just when I thought things couldn't get any worse, my son, who had suffered an adverse reaction to the MMR vaccination, was diagnosed with Asperger's syndrome (an autistic disorder) and permanently excluded from his prep school.

I had no choice but to resign from my job while I tried to find a placement to accommodate my son's needs. And, as any parent of a child with Asperger's syndrome will tell you, learning to understand and cope with their condition is in itself a fulltime job, physically and emotionally draining. I worked as a celebrity interviewer, the kind of job where you have to be mobile - stars don't come to you. But I wasn't going anywhere on one leg with a child with special needs in tow.

I didn't have any savings. In desperation, and with the bills and mortgage payments mounting, I started to borrow. I thought it was my only option until I got myself back on (both) my feet.

The first loan was swallowed up within minutes of landing in my account. Then came the loans from various money-lending institutions. I was bankrolled to the tune of tens of thousands, even though I didn't have any means of paying it back. Not that that bothered my lenders. Without exception, each offered me more than I'd asked for. My debts reached staggering proportions, bumped up by enormous interest payments.

Being in debt had a strange psychological effect - I became a deeply depressed Jekyll and Hyde character. One moment I'd be scrimping and saving, the next I'd blow my "borrowed" cash. Some weeks my son and I would survive on beans on toast, or the generosity of friends. Then I'd become so dejected I'd go to the supermarket and - racked with guilt - blow money I didn't have on a trolley full of food. I also put on a lot of weight.

With nowhere to turn I stuck my head in the sand. I couldn't face opening bank statements and letters from finance companies. Every time the postman delivered, my heart would stop and I'd scoop up the letters and stuff them into a drawer, never opening them. When one drawer filled up, I stored them in the next, until three were filled to capacity.

The shame was all-consuming. Where once I'd been more than happy to pick up the tab for supper, I now couldn't afford to buy a glass of mineral water. On a rare night out to meet a friend I was too embarrassed to confess I couldn't afford the Tube fare home and subsequently walked from Holborn to Kensal Rise.

Then, all of a sudden, the plug was pulled and the loan companies wanted their money back. All of it. Immediately. And so came the debt collectors. Their calls would start at 6am and go on until 11pm. I stopped answering the phone, leaving my machine to pick up their angry demands. Most nights I'd sit sobbing my heart out, despairing as to what to do next.

I'd thought my son was unaware of the problem. But one day he thrust a crumpled wad of bank notes into my hands and said, with a look of grave concern: "Don't worry, Mummy, we'll be okay, here's some money." It was his sixth birthday and he was trying to give me the money he'd received from relatives.

It broke my heart, but it was the wake-up call I needed. I knew there was only one option - selling my house. My home was the last security in my life. It was also supposed to secure my son's future. I'd worked so hard for my house ... But I didn't have a choice.

I knew that the equity would cover some of the debts, but not all, and once the sale was complete my son and I moved into a small rented flat where we spent a couple of years living on benefits - getting by on less per week than I used to spend on dry cleaning. The experience was soul-destroying. It is not a life, merely an exhausting and demoralising existence - like treading water.

However, I was lucky. Unlike most people who find themselves in debt, I got a break. I found an excellent school, Hillingdon Manor in west London, where my son, now nine, is thriving.

Then, out of the blue, I got a call from a publisher who offered me the job of writing Ruby Wax's autobiography. The advance allowed me finally to pay off all my debts. The day the cheque cleared I cried with joy. For the first time in many years I was actually in credit. I lost years of my life to debt and I know I will never borrow money again, whatever circumstances I find myself in. I still get letters from finance companies. Only now they are offering me loans as a "valued customer". Needless to say, they go straight in the bin.

Citizens Advice Bureaux, the National Debtline (0808 808 4000) and Consumer Credit Counselling Service (0800 138 1111) all offer free debt advice.

A Girl's Best Friend is Her Money, by Jasmine Birtles and Jane Mack, is published on 11 October by Boxtree, £12.99 (£6.50 at www.fool.co.uk until 30 November).