I remember the first guy I dated with my ostomy bag.
It was five months post recovery from the biggest surgery of my life after a six-year battle with an autoimmune disease, and just four months after leaving my fiancé of seven years.
I had zero idea how to date in this ever-growing world of social media, where validation is found through likes and swipes right.
But I also had a new contender to add to this already confusing equation; a bag of poo stuck to my stomach.
Watch: We share our relationship deal breakers. Post continues after video.
From the age of 18 to 24, I was a total recluse from the world. Diagnosed with one of the worst cases of Ulcerative Colitis my specialist had ever seen, I not only almost lost my life - I also lost my entire large intestine and half-a-dozen vital years of my youth. As a first-year university student, I was forced to put previous priorities aside in gut-wrenching bid to save my life.
I spent most of my days in and out of hospitals, crying in agonising pain on the toilet with bloody diarrhoea pouring from my rear end. I suffered with overwhelming anxiety whenever leaving my house from the sheer terror of sh*tting myself - which I did every time.
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