"Turning My Life Around"

Five years ago, my life looked completely different. Every morning, I’d wake up, take the short bus ride into Swansea city centre, pick up a bag of heroin, and head back to my flat. It was just part of my daily routine. It seemed normal at the time.

I’d been using heroin for nearly 20 years by then—since I was a teenager. Now, I work as a peer mentor at Kaleidoscope’s Cyfle Cymru in Newport, helping people struggling with addiction and mental health. But the road to getting here wasn’t easy.

Growing up, life was unsettled. My mum, my sister, and I moved around a lot, trying to find somewhere stable. We ended up in a bed and breakfast in Taunton, but it was a disaster—people using drugs, fighting all the time, serious mental health issues. It wasn’t safe for us, so Mum moved us to Bristol, found work, and for a while, we were okay.

That’s when I started messing around with drugs. Mushrooms at first. I’d smoked heroin once at a warehouse rave but didn’t even know what it was at the time. Then I met new people in Bristol, started smoking weed more, drinking, and before I knew it, I was taking heroin properly.

I still didn’t even realise what it was because the older boys called it “brown.” The word “heroin” was never used. Before long, I was taking it as much as I could—two, three, four times a day. If we had money, we’d spend it on gear and a cheap bottle of cider. It just became normal.

“I Thought I’d Never Go Back to It”

My mum knew something was wrong. My mates at work did too. One day, after scaffolding, my family tried to intervene—they sent me to a caravan in Brean Sands to detox. But as soon as I got back to Bristol, I was using again.

Mum eventually moved me back to Swansea to stay with my gran, and I tried to get clean. At first, she thought I just had the flu, but she quickly realised something else was going on. I was sweating, vomiting, shaking—hot one minute, freezing the next. It was horrible, the most uncomfortable experience of my life.

After a few weeks, I managed to stay off it, got a landscaping job, and thought I’d sorted everything out. I was doing normal things—having a drink at the weekend, playing pool, fishing. I didn’t really understand addiction back then. I thought I could just leave it alone.

I settled down, had a child, and life was good for a while. But then our second baby didn’t survive birth, and everything changed. My partner had a breakdown and ended up in a psychiatric hospital.

I was left alone with our son, and I lost the plot.

Every day, I’d drop him off at nursery, go home, and get high with my mate. Then I’d clean up, pick my son up, and act like everything was fine. I hid it from everyone—my partner, my family. No one knew.

When my partner got out of hospital, she started using too. We fed off each other’s addictions. I was gutted—I really thought I’d never go back to heroin. It just goes to show how easily addiction pulls you back in.

“Of Everything That Happened, the Hardest Thing Was Telling My Kids”

The drugs, the psychosis, the toxic relationship—it all spiraled out of control. Then, in 2012, my partner took her own life. That broke me.

The hardest thing I’ve ever had to do was tell my kids their mum was gone. My son was 13, our daughter was about five or six. I sat them down and told them, “Mum was ill and she’s passed away.” I couldn’t say more than that. They were too young.

They’re older now, and we’ve had more honest conversations. They understand more about mental health, addiction, and how some people just can’t cope. But at the time, it shattered them.

“If I Could Get Off My Face on It, I Would”

After she died, I completely lost control. I wasn’t sleeping. PTSD had me wired all the time. I started stealing—sheds, cars, selling anything I could get my hands on. I’d take anything—pills, powders, drink, medication. If it got me off my face, I wanted it.

I got into another relationship, but my life was still chaos. And that’s how I ended up in prison.

I got three years and four months for robbery and was sent to Swansea Prison. Withdrawal inside was brutal—aching legs, sweats, stomach cramps, no sleep. It felt like my calf muscles were peeling off my bones. I wouldn’t wish it on anyone.

But weirdly, prison saved my life.

“I Knew This Was What I Wanted to Do”

While I was inside, I started volunteering with the prison’s education service, teaching other inmates to read and write. That’s when I realised—I wanted to help people.

At first, I thought my past would stop me from ever getting a job. Who’s going to hire someone with my record? But then I found Kaleidoscope, and they saw my lived experience as something valuable.

I took a mental health course, joined volunteer groups, and was eventually moved to Prescoed Prison. By then, I’d already helped one guy learn to read properly. Seeing him read his own letters for the first time, I knew—this was what I wanted to do. I wanted to change my life.

Working with Kaleidoscope changed everything for me. It’s helped me in my own recovery and given me purpose.

Seeing people walk through our doors with the same struggles I had reminds me how lucky I am. If I hadn’t gone to prison, I’d probably be dead from an overdose by now.

I know it sounds strange, but prison saved my life. And now, I get to help others find a way out too.