“I can’t stand this king treatment! It’s not good enough. [snaps fingers] Evelyn, get the social service involved so that someone can clean this flat. It’s a tip. I haven’t done a day’s work all week, and I’ve only had one massage.  I’ve got my gorgeous girlfriend waiting on me hand and foot, and I’m still miserable. I’ve only had one two-month excursion to Asia all year, so don’t get on my last nerves. My mental health condition is that I’m not handsome: it’s a painful and difficult disease, so give me some credit for my resilience. Get me the ritalin and the ketamine immediately.”

…

This has been a great work  of my imagination. I fell for it, and roped everyone else into believing it too, including two psychiatrists, my family, girlfriend, and friends, the NHS mental health team, the job centre, and a few Triratna Buddhists. The only issue that people have drawn the line on is the nose thing. They’re like,  “cosmetic surgery? No, you can keep that delusion to yourself, thanks.”