It was three years ago. I was completely fucked. In and out of hospital, barely able to haul my petrified body out of bed. Diagnoses of leptospirosis, post viral syndrome, chronic fatigue syndrome, postural hypotension, sensory intolerance, multiple food intolerances, oesophagitis, gastritis, peripheral neuropathy, neurological damage, histamine intolerance, anxiety, and ‘tropical disease unspecified’ attached themselves to my identity with more velocity than getting five different colours permanently streaked through my hair and buying baggy ripped jeans did when I was seventeen—who was I now? A medical anomaly. A sick person. Fucked....