You start a website, a kind of blog, to explain your illness, then after a couple of months you find you’re too sick to keep up with it. The gaps between each post lengthen. It becomes another format in which you can watch life and time pass you by. A diary full of empty spaces. A life full of holes.

But I’m okay. I can still message friends. I’m still writing notes in my journal, notes to prove that I’m still here.

In 2014, when I was at my worst, for five months I wrote only two words in my journal.

Gruelling.

Birdsong.