My mental illness began in childhood, too. I remember, when I was seven, there was a report on television about a boy, not much older than me, who had leukaemia, and he wanted to go to Lourdes, hoping for a miracle. Sadly, he died one Thursday morning, not long after being on the television.

That same year, my grandfather had his leg amputated, and I remember being in a really dark place. I remember, the first Tuesday in the summer holidays, I mentioned to my mother about living so long without getting leukaemia, and she said, "There are people in their eighties who haven't experienced laukaemia. And not everybody gets leukaemia. It's Christmas time. Think happy things."

I developed some OCD at eleven after having gastroenteritis four times the previous year. Once in March, once in August, once in September and once in December. I didn't want to get sick again.