I don't blame my parents

When I was 17, I was literally living in a ball of hell. I had moved into a boyfriend's huge, beautiful house in Chelsea. He was a businessman who was much older than me, and he was also a serious cocaine user. He gave me a credit card and carte blanche to spend as much as I wanted.

I had used cocaine socially before, but my drug habit escalated until I was spending around £1,000 a day. I had three or four dealers who would come to the house, collect my credit card and withdraw the cash I needed to pay for my drugs. If I'd slept at all, I would wake late and shaking.

Cleaning my teeth could take as long as an hour. I had absolutely no energy - I couldn't even put the kettle on to make a cup of tea.

I would lie in bed, trying to plan what to do, knowing that running a bath would take all day. My weight dropped to seven stone and I needed a line of coke just to get out of bed. It had long stopped giving me any pleasure. I needed it to function.

I know I shouldn't blame my parents for my addiction, but I did grow up without any boundaries. On the surface, we had a very glamorous life - my dad managed the Rolling Stones in the 1960s and 1970s and my mum was a model.

Our house was constantly filled with pop stars and models, and my parents were always throwing parties. It was a colourful, noisy childhood - I had a succession of lovely nannies and I adored my parents. But even when I was very young, I was aware of an awful tension at home and remember witnessing the most horrible arguments.

My parents eventually divorced when I was 10 and that hit me hard. I was sent to board at Hurst Lodge in Berkshire. I wasn't unhappy but after a couple of years, I was desperate to live at home. My mum wanted me to live with her, but she was too strict.

Dad, on the other hand, let me do whatever I wanted - so I decided to move into his house in Belgravia. We used to go on regular shopping trips on Sundays, blowing hundreds of pounds on Armani and Gucci.

I had an allowance of £100 a week, but often I'd spend another £500 a week on clothes and going out. I had my own bedroom and sitting room, and could come and go as I pleased. I was in teenage heaven.

I slipped into a lifestyle of clubbing until 1am, drinking and smoking. I was 14 when I had my first line of cocaine. I saw a friend of my father's - a model who was about 28 - snorting it in our house. I asked her what it was for and she told me it gave her lots of energy, and cut me a line; I thought it was great.

For the next three years I was out every night, partying and taking drugs. I moved in a very moneyed circle of friends, and we'd be eating at top restaurants and then clubbing. I was spending a fortune. When my father rang my mobile and demanded to know where I was, I'd lie, so he'd trawl every club until he found me. My mother was furious. But I was out of control. They had no idea I was taking drugs, and my father never knew it was a friend of his who introduced me to coke.

One day I was staying with my mum when she asked me to make my bed. I went wild - I was extremely irrational, and often had temper outbursts.

She guessed what was the matter with me, but I wasn't ready to face up to it. It was shortly afterwards that I met the older man and moved in with him. My parents were hysterical, but they could do nothing . I quickly became an addict.

I would sell anything to get drugs - my father bought me a £400 Gucci bag, which I sold the next day for £200. My life fell apart - all my friends got fed up with me because I couldn't go out, and I just lived to take drugs.

My mother would ring me every day saying that she wanted to arrange treatment, but I had to make the decision myself. It took an overdose to bring me to my senses. I was 19. I knew I didn't want to feel like this any more. I wanted to go out to work like a normal person.

My mum collected me and drove me to the Priory. I had no idea what it would be like - I thought maybe I'd have a massage, a manicure and be given some miracle pill that would cure me. I didn't realise I'd have to do it myself.

The drugs in my system stayed there for 10 to 14 days, then I began to withdraw. I was sitting in the smoking room, sweating and shaking, my whole body screaming: "I have to have drugs." I was ripping out my hair, running my nails down my arms, and it was only the nurses who kept me going.

I stayed there for a month, and at the end of it I was clean. I was very weak and shaky, but I could get out of bed in the morning and make coffee. I could get through the day without taking drugs and not die. But when my mother came to pick me up and take me back home to west London I was terrified. I thought, "I'm not in the Priory and I can't take drugs. What on earth am I going to do?"

Then a friend called and offered to take me to a Narcotics Anonymous meeting, and said we could stop for a coffee on the way. It was bizarre, to be doing normal things. Now I love all the little things I do, like shopping, cooking, going to the supermarket.

After the Priory I realised my life would have to change utterly. I could no longer drink - when I drank I'd think, "Just one line". I've had four relapses, and they've all come after I had a drink. It can be hard thinking I'm only 21 and I can never have a drink again.

Now, I've been clean for just over a year, and I'm starting a course in public relations in September. I have a fabulous boyfriend, Ian, who runs a water sports company. He's stuck by me and we have this amazing life together - we play tennis and go swimming. I take one day at a time, because to look too far into the future would be scary.

If anyone thinks that taking coke is glamorous they should take a good long look at me. I was lucky to survive.

The government drugs helpline "Talk to Frank" can be reached on 0800 776600.