My illness is an inextricable part of me. It doesn’t define me, but it’s part of my definition; I wouldn’t be the person I am without it. And it’s not a blessing or some sort of magical thing, as many people seem to think with mental illness and creative people—my mental illness doesn’t make me any more creative than eating lentils for dinner does. It’s just a thing that I live with, and something I manage to make sure it doesn’t eat me alive, which it often very much wants to do—I’ve compared it to a monster inside me, but it’s also like a tiger in my living room.