Sarah never shat with the door shut. The whole time we dated it was a debate. Well, I say debate, but it was just another grain in the shifting sands of unease and argument. ‘I get claustrophobic,’ she’d say from her seat. ‘What if there’s a fire and I still need to wipe? An open door saves time and lives.’ She had some kind of condition, multiple unlabelled and laboured conditions, really. In some ways I admired her neurosis, I always prioritise insecurity over my insanity. It must be hellishly freeing to let yourself be governed by those voices.

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