My chaotic alter ego

So I was having a little seizure in Soho. And you'd think that in a free country you could have a seizure in the centre of London on a Monday night without attracting the attention of The Law - but soon enough, a police car pulls up and out of it pour three policemen, and they're asking my friend Alex if he's with me. And he's saying "Well, I'm not with her; I mean, we're not together."

Alex!, I wanted to say, this is not a Woody Allen film! Just say yes. But I'm thrashing about on the pavement so I can't do any of this ... and although I'm conscious, the world's gone Cubist, everything's in bits and it's not a good moment to be asked for ID. Which is what happens next. I'd assumed that the police had arrived to check I wasn't being assaulted. But no, they want my driving licence. Would you give me a driving licence? Do I look like I have a driving licence?

Alex gives them my wallet and I'm starting to get marginally more coherent. They ask for my name and birth date, and I ask them to turn the flashing lights off because there's a reason I haven't got up yet. But the lights stay on (and off, and on, and off) and finally they explain that they're checking I haven't "walked out of a hospital". And part of me is hugely offended! These trousers come from Ghost! Do I look like an escapee in pyjamas?

Finally they're gone, leaving me with the uneasy feeling I've done something wrong and should have stayed at home.

Having a seizure is already surreal - I don't black out, but I get visual disturbances, my experience and memory shatter, and I can't make sense. I don't understand what they want and I'd recover a lot quicker if they stopped asking questions. How do I know if they are who they say they are? I'm in an altered state. And I've had sinister encounters with people who pretend to be Official when I'm in this altered state, so I'm wary.

There was the dishevelled Antipodean who found me thrashing in a tunnel at Green Park tube station. "Trust me, I'm a doctor," he said. "And to heal you, I need to touch your centre." And then he tried to get my skirt off. Luckily the zip stuck, some other people turned up and he legged it.

But real Officials don't help much either. Once, I tumbled out of a tube train and onto the platform at Camden Town and another passenger pulled the emergency cord. A station officer appeared, asking "Where's the problem?" It's me. I'm The Problem. And they pointed me out, flailing at his feet. His response? "If the problem's not on the train, don't pull the cord." He gave the green signal and vanished, leaving me utterly bewildered and comprehensively unhelped.

Another time, a policeman gave me the choice of getting in an ambulance or going to a police station. I went with the ambulance, thinking the paramedics would understand and let me go home. But they wanted to take blood, they wanted me to drink water, and when I then refused to go to hospital, I had to sign a form saying I refused medical care. I don't refuse medical care, but if I went to hospital every time I had a seizure I'd never be out of there.

After I signed the form, I got out of the ambulance to find the skies had opened. Apparently it was against regulations to drop me off at home on the way back to the hospital, so off I went into the rain, still woozy, still disorientated, holding onto walls and bushes like a toddler at the cruising stage.

Sometimes I think the rules, the procedures, the forms and the legalese are just a cover for their bafflement. And I feel like saying, it's chaotic for me too, you know. In fact this is exactly how it feels, as though I'm Chaos up against the System, and the System isn't helping. And certainly I think they'd rather I'd just stayed home and not launched myself on London, but I don't want to get stuck. I want to be not merely independent but sometimes maybe a little bit reckless. Isn't that what we all want?