TO my great relief Lara told me she wanted to leave Sam and come home, so we arranged to collect her things the following day.

On our arrival she pushed passed Sam's father who had opened the door, ran up the stairs into Sam's bedroom, and then locked herself in the bathroom. I ran after her and banged on the door demanding her to open it. When she finally did, I found her looking confused. She was staring at the contents of the syringe in her hand which had solidified, making injecting heroin impossible.

When Sam's father realised what was happening he demanded to be told if there was any more heroin in the house. Sam denied there was, but Lara showed him some hidden in a bed knob. Then we watched Sam and Lara fight each other for it. I could not believe my eyes — they were both acting like animals.

Sam's father threw Sam out of the house, threatening to shoot him if he came back and we quickly gathered Lara's things together and ran for our lives. As we drove home I was becoming increasingly mad at Lara for putting me through this awful experience.

That night Lara seemed drunk and unsteady and she said it was due to her sleeping tablets. But I did not believe her — I didn't know what to believe anymore. In the morning she admitted she had taken a full bottle of Sam's diazapan tablets, which she had stolen just before she left his place. I immediately made an appointment with her doctor who arranged for her to be admitted to Cedars, the psychiatric hospital in Exeter, for detox.

Life soon became increasingly stressful as I never knew what to expect next. Heroin had turned my beautiful daughter into a mumbling, introspective bore who was unable to get a grip on what was going on around her. I caught her injecting all sorts of things into her veins including vodka and ground tablets. One moment she would be in high spirits and the next moment she would suddenly plunge into the depths of despondency.

In her mental state we would often find her binge eating, which increased her weight and subsequently made her even more depressed. To my horror this resulted in her cutting herself to relieve the pain and I would often find her sitting on top of the stairs holding out her bloody arms and wrists, crying, saying how sorry she was.

As I bandaged the wounds I would pray that one day this nightmare would come to an end, not only for her, but for me and my family.

During this time I developed a chest condition called pleurisy, which added to the strain I was already under. Lara seemed to delight in making me feel small and stupid and my self-confidence in doing simple every day tasks soon evaporated.

Although I found it hard to be around people the focus of my week was attending church, which became my support group. I am also indebted to my dear friend, Annie, who was always available to listen to me when I needed to escape from the stressful atmosphere at home.

I was glad that Ross was at university rather than being at home as it was evident that he was ashamed of his sister's behaviour.

He often told me that he worried she would overdose and not realise her true potential.

I heard Gordon shouting at God from time to time, when he thought no one was listening, asking why he was being put through his hell. He will tell you that playing golf once a week helped him to keep sane. I coped by searching through books and relevant website as I was anxious to find out more about my daughter's addictions.

From increasing my understanding I soon recalled some factors that could have triggered her condition, including when a teacher forced her to eat a piece of cake (aged five), when boys in the playground were nasty to her (aged eight), and when she complained of continual stomach pains (aged nine).

Couple these with her lack of self-esteem, sensitivity, mood changes, rebellious nature, and wearing sloppy jumpers and baggy trousers, a picture of what might have caused her addiction slowly formed.

During the next couple of years Lara attended seven rehabilitation centres and was disruptive at each one. This usually involved her flying off the handle during group sessions and leaving in a fit of temper and foul language. This resulted in her returning home once again. In desperation, Gordon and I had her assessed by a psychiatric consultant at The Priory, Roehampton. He advised treatment for at least a year.

Until such a placement was found, I watched her weight fall below five stone as well as her beautiful face darken, her bright blue eyes dim, her shiny hair turn dull and her body become emaciated and lifeless.

I would often sit by her bed and look at her as she lay there, totally unaware of her surroundings, and wonder how my firstborn child had ended up like this.

During this waiting period, I decided it was time to look after myself, and ironically it was Lara herself who suggested that I enrol on a computer course.

As a result of my efforts I found a part-time job at our local pharmacy and this gave me the focus I needed. Part of my job was to oversee the addicts' needle exchange, and as many of the addicts knew I was Lara's mother, I had a special understanding with them. The pharmacist would smile as he watched me give them a hug.