I’m a celebrity who was hooked on cocaine. You know about my partying – but nothing of the shocking health consequences I still live with this day

Each line of cocaine is a lightning bolt to my brain, electricity buzzing through my veins and for a few glorious moments, I am funnier, sharper, more confident, my heart pumping harder, faster, my laugh louder, my eyes sparkle.

I feel invincible, untouchable, powerful.

Then just moments later, the feeling is gone, the elation I am desperately chasing is ebbing away.

So I head to the toilets, dice up the white powder on the grimy toilet cistern, put a rolled ten dollar note to my nose… then feel the bitter drip slide down my throat, the chemical burn left lingering in my nostrils. Then another line, and another one…

You know how this story ends. Or maybe you don’t. Allow me to explain.

What comes next is thrashing around in bed in the early hours, alone, with regret, shame and anxiety swirling, staring at the ceiling feeling like I am going to die. Would that be such a bad idea? After all, with death comes peace and a way out to my private hell I have created.

The next few days, I am recovering, my eyes yellow, my skin sallow, my appetite vanished, until day three, when my spark comes back and so does the pull to go out again. ‘Just one drink?’ friends text. ‘Sure,’ I fire back, knowing deep down that never means one drink, it means a bottle of champagne, and invariably someone will pull out a bag, and the cycle goes on repeat.

I was a 35-year-old woman and addicted to cocaine. To make matters worse, I was famous.

I’m not telling you my name; you would recognise my face and you would definitely know my story; but no one wants to be famous for being a tragic cokehead, do they?

Behind my happy – filtered – Instagram posts, bikini shots, the walks with my dogs, my media fame, I was hiding a deadly secret to my hundreds of thousands of followers: my secret cocaine addiction was killing my body, my looks and my emotional well-being.

My privacy is important to my family and I. But I will tell you my story, because I want you to hear my message: to those of you who think a wine and a line at the weekend is harmless, my weekend cocaine habit nearly killed me.

I had an image to uphold, after all. I was supposed to be glamorous, sexy, successful. A nasty cocaine addiction was going to shatter the illusion. But I was dying on the inside. And take away the social media filters, I looked dead on the outside, too.

I was what you call a high-functioning addict. I wasn’t on the streets, I’d never been to rehab and while I was falling apart on the inside, I held it together on the outside. A slick of lip gloss, the fresh highlights in my hair, I went to the gym, ate well, and I owned a successful high-profile business. No one had any idea I was battling a secret battle against cocaine.

I started experimenting with drugs when I was 15, first as fun, or so I thought, then I realised getting high was the greatest form of escapism there is. Everything is numb when you take cocaine, especially emotional pain. But my addiction only really started in my thirties at a time when my career was taking off and I became a regular on the front pages.

Because with fame, money and success, came cocaine. And lots of it.

I’ve partied with sports stars, Hollywood actors, fitness influencers and school mums.

I now read interviews of certain celebrities talking about their love of fitness, or their kids, or their latest cookbook or fashion label. I know they’re hiding their addictions too.

Cocaine is everywhere, and it’s becoming socially acceptable, especially in the homes of the wealthy, the trendsetters and the famous.

But not just with the elite, I know plenty of mums and dads who use school functions as an excuse to get high too. And popping over for a cup of tea after school pick up often meant a wine and a line for them too.

I became obsessive over my next hit, not able to enjoy nights out with friends unless I had cocaine, even feeling restless at night at home without a little pep me up.

So I started buying, not every week, sometimes not every fortnight, but regularly enough to have a few dealers’ names and numbers in my contacts list. I was taking an enormous risk, being caught in a dealer’s car, with a media profile to uphold, yet I didn’t care. Addiction robs you of your smarts.

And before I knew it, I was doing lines to do the housework, or to give me energy to work on my business, or before a night out.

Cocaine addiction creeps up on you slowly. You think you have it under control, after all, everyone likes a line or two, don’t they? (I later found out that actually, no they don’t).

One evening out with friends, I felt my heart pump faster than usual. I had to lie down, I didn’t feel good.

The next thing I remember, I was waking up in a hospital, with a doctor standing over me. I had what they call a mini stroke, or a TIA (transient ischemic attack) caused by a brief blockage of blood flow to the brain, and was given blood thinners I needed to take long-term.

While doctors couldn’t confirm what caused my stroke, no doubt drugs were a factor. ‘You were lucky this time,’ the doctor warned. ‘But you can’t do drugs ever again.’

Did that stop me? For a few weeks, yes, but the addiction was greater than my willpower.

I can’t remember now what my rock bottom was. Losing my business, not being able to sustain an intimate relationship, wanting to die… possibly all three.

I decided to get sober and clean, and I knew I couldn’t do it alone. Sobriety is a personal thing, there are many ways to do it. I went to an outpatient’s rehab facility in Sydney and learnt that addiction is our way of masking trauma and pain.

I realised I craved a dopamine hit and found a way to numb my feelings of low self-worth and self-hatred and take me out of myself.

I started having therapy twice a week, deleted the dealers’ numbers and stopped seeing friends who liked to party. My circle became small but healthy. My relationships improved, I re-established my business, and the light in my eyes came back.

Recovery isn’t easy, but once you know you can live a happy sober life, you can’t unknow it. I got sober in my forties – quitting cocaine and booze – and have never felt better.

Another thing I’ve changed is my celebrity status. I’ve taken a step back from the spotlight, and deleted all my social media after realising the pressure was making me sick. And I’ve never felt more at peace.

I see all these social media influencers and reality stars who are desperately chasing fame, and it worries me. I know what can come with it.

My message is this: take my story as a warning.

There is a reason why half of Hollywood is sober. The high you feel from cocaine is the biggest fraud there is.

Stick to coffee instead.