I had my first seizure at 17. As if foaming at the mouth and wetting myself wasn’t embarrassing enough, it happened in my sixth-form common room. Crushes, mean
bullies and friends watched me collapse on to the floor, shaking.

When I came around I had a suspicious wet patch on my bum and I was chatting to my sister and my friends, who were sitting on the floor with me. But my speech was slurred, my balance lost and I couldn’t remember a thing I’d said or done in the past 30 minutes. One teacher had the audacity to ask my sister if I had been drinking.