Gerry Conlon still wakes up in the night, drenched in sweat and filled with dread, his mind ablaze with images of prison, writes Carl O'Brien, Social Affairs Correspondent
"In your head you hear keys rattling, or you're staring at a brick wall," he says. "You feel fear, disillusionment, pain, anguish, sorrow, grief. It's a whole multitude of things.
"Or you could be in a car with friends and a song comes on which might have been really important to my survival and it wallops you. The day I was sentenced Bob Dylan released Desire. The song Hurricane [ about a man jailed for a crime he did not commit], when I hear that - wallop - I'm back in my cell reading graffiti on the walls."
It is 16 years since he, along with other members of the Guildford Four, was released after wrongfully serving 15 years in prison. Yet he is still haunted by the past at every turn.
Now Gerry Conlon (53), along with Paddy Hill of the Birmingham Six and his Miscarriages of Justice Organisation (Mojo), have helped to produce a documentary highlighting the struggles of people coming to terms with having been wrongfully imprisoned. It is due to be screened at the Galway Film Fleadh next month.
Mojo is raising funds to establish a retreat to help victims access expert support, share experiences and prepare for their reintroduction into society.
There are no special measures to assist in the care of released miscarriage-of-justice victims, even though many are profoundly scarred and have difficulty coping with day-to-day life.
"There are supports there for guilty prisoners, but not for victims of miscarriages of justice," says Mr Conlon. "I look at people going on Big Brother, seeing a psychologist after spending two weeks on a programme, or Paris Hilton, who's getting help after her short stay in prison. Close your eyes and imagine the hostility towards the Birmingham Six, the Guildford Four and others, day after day after day."
Two years ago, the then British prime minister, Tony Blair, made an unprecedented public apology to the Guildford Four and pledged to ensure that their medical needs would be taken care of. It never happened, says Mr Conlon.
Only last year he began seeing a psychiatrist and trauma counsellor for the first time. The effects have been positive so far, although he does not know if he will ever escape his past.
"His team are used to dealing with soldiers and victims of crashes. Mostly it's post-traumatic stress brought on by a single moment of barbarity or savagery. But they haven't come up against someone like me before.
"I don't know what kind of recovery I'll have. You might never live a normal life, but the key thing is living in hope. It's funny, the things that serve you well in prison are still what serve you well outside, living in hope."