“Suture Cut. In pieces on the pavement, brain over the kerb, my blood oozing under the ambulance’s lights. Cut, cut. A mattress on the floor, single bulb, cardboard box of belongings. I have cleared the walls of posters, emptied away most of my things. That was the old me, the one I left on the operating table. Now it’s just the other me here, with this head and this camera. Cut, cut, cut. Nothing to see. Just my own body. Heal, heal, heal. It hurts. It all hurts. My heart, my head, my joints, my extremities burn. I can’t stop moving, trying to find a way to lie down without pain. I stretch, press and pull, but nothing works. Teeth clamped over my lip, back arch clicking and groaning and…