For the next six months or so, I continued living in the bus beside the old morgue. By then, I had become accustomed to many of the strange realities of living where I did. The bus was home, whether it looked like one to anyone else or not, and I had learned to make do with what I had.

Some things, however, were becoming increasingly difficult to manage. Going to the toilet and having somewhere to shower were two of the biggest problems. These are simple things when you live in a normal house. You wake up, walk into the bathroom, turn on the tap and hot water comes out. When you don't have those things, basic hygiene suddenly becomes something you have to plan around.

I would sometimes go several days without having a shower. I certainly wasn't taking particularly good care of myself, and gradually I think I just became used to it. When your life becomes unconventional enough, things that would once have bothered you can quickly become normal.

Eventually, I decided to clean up the old toilet and shower area attached to the outside of the morgue. It had been sitting neglected and wasn't exactly inviting, but I wasn't in a position to be fussy. I cleared it out, cleaned it up as best I could and eventually managed to get the shower working somewhat.

There was no hot water. Every shower was absolutely freezing, especially during the colder months, but it was better than having nowhere to wash at all. Having a toilet and a functioning shower only a short walk from the bus made life considerably easier. It wasn't much, but when you're living with very little, even basic things can feel like an improvement.

The physical side of living there was one thing. The loneliness was another.

I was feeling increasingly isolated during those months. Zara would stay with me from time to time, but she came and went when she pleased. I never really knew how long she was going to be around, and that uncertainty caused me a lot of anxiety. When she was there, at least I had company. When she disappeared again, the bus could suddenly feel very empty.

I wasn't particularly good at dealing with any of it. I cried a lot during that period. There were times when the isolation would get on top of me and I would simply sit there wondering what I was doing with myself.

Jake made those nights easier. He didn't come and go. Wherever I was, Jake wanted to be there too. He had become my constant companion, and having him around made an enormous difference. Dogs don't care what your bank account looks like, where you live or whether your life makes sense to anybody else. Jake just wanted to be beside me. There was something comforting about that kind of loyalty.

The property itself could be an eerie place at night. During the day, the old buildings were simply old buildings, but darkness changed the atmosphere completely. The valley became quiet, the surrounding bush disappeared into blackness and the old hospital buildings took on a very different character. On foggy nights, it could feel like the rest of the world had disappeared altogether.

I had lived there long enough that most of it didn't bother me anymore. Strange noises were simply part of the place. Old buildings creaked, things moved in the wind, and wildlife had a habit of making noises that sounded far more sinister at two o'clock in the morning than they did during daylight.

Then one night, a massive storm rolled through the valley. The weather became wild. Wind tore through the trees while heavy rain hammered against the metal roof of the bus. Thunder rolled overhead, followed by flashes of lightning that briefly lit up the buildings around me.

I was lying in bed with Jake beside me, listening to it all, when another sound began to stand out amongst the wind, rain and thunder.

A door was slamming.

At first, I ignored it. With weather like that, something banging around outside wasn't exactly surprising. I had no intention of leaving the bus to investigate, so I tried to put it out of my mind. But it kept going. The wind would catch the door, throw it open and slam it shut. Sometimes there would be a short gap, giving me just enough time to think it might finally have stopped before it started again.

After several hours, I'd had enough. There was clearly going to be no sleep until somebody dealt with it, and there wasn't anybody else volunteering for the job.

I got out of bed and headed outside. I didn't bother putting shoes on. I just ran barefoot through the belting rain towards the morgue, trying to work out which door was causing the problem. Within seconds I was soaked.

When I rounded the corner of the building, I found it. It was the toilet door, being repeatedly thrown backwards and forwards by the wind. I ran into the shower area to get out of the rain and reached for the light switch.

There was a flash.

An enormous electrical shock went straight through my body.

After that, everything disappeared.

I don't know how long I was unconscious. The next thing I remember clearly was opening my eyes and finding myself lying flat on my back outside in the pouring rain. For a few moments, I didn't really understand where I was or what had happened. Rain was falling directly onto my face, I was completely soaked, and my body hurt.

There was a burn on my finger and burns on the soles of my feet.

The old Bakelite light fitting had several cracks through it and had come loose during the storm, exposing the 240-volt wiring behind it. I had run into the shower area soaking wet and barefoot, reached for the switch and made contact with the live electricity.

How I survived it, I don't know.

There wasn't anybody standing nearby to help me. Nobody had seen what happened. I had simply woken up alone in the rain.

Eventually, I managed to get myself upright. I was sore and shaken, and walking wasn't particularly pleasant with burns on the bottoms of my feet. I hobbled back around the morgue, through the rain and towards the bus.

When I finally got inside, I collapsed onto the couch. Jake was there beside me. I lay there wet, hurting and feeling very sorry for myself. It had been a fairly spectacular way to deal with a banging door, and at that moment I was mainly grateful that I was still alive.

Then, as I lay there, I became aware of something unusual.

Nothing was happening.

My body was still.

The jolting had stopped.

I waited for the familiar movement to come, but it didn't. For months, those violent jolts had been part of virtually every waking moment. I had become so accustomed to them that their absence felt strange. Now I was lying on the couch after being electrocuted, and there was suddenly nothing.

No involuntary movement. Just stillness.

I didn't know what to make of it. I had no medical explanation for what had happened, and I certainly wasn't going to pretend I understood it. All I knew was what I could feel in my own body.

For the first time in months, it was quiet.

Whatever happened that night could very easily have ended differently. Instead, I survived, and as strange as it sounds, the most powerful electrical shock of my life seemed to leave me with something I hadn't expected.

Stillness.

It really was the belt of a lifetime.