I went into the jungle for I'm A Celebrity and learnt some uncomfortable truths about myself

We were kept busy in there, boiling water from the creek to drink, washing beetles off our clothes and trying not to say anything racist or homophobic. Not that I tend to, but you never know if something might slip out when you’re covered in snakes

‘I had to be sure I could keep it together under pressure before I agreed to do this show. Money can’t be the deciding factor as to whether or not to take part’ (Rex)

Who exactly are you when you have no contact with the outside world, your loved ones, your job, music, books, or even your own clothes? How would you get on living in a jungle camp with complete strangers who hold wildly differing values to yours, without all the things that make you “you”?

I thought I’d find out on my little adventure as a contestant on I’m a Celebrity… Get Me Out Of Here! or, as I affectionately call it, “I Wanna Be A Celebrity… Get Me In There!”

Who would have known that having cameras hanging from every tree, filming 24 hours a day, would make it somewhat tricky to be yourself?

If you’ve ever had a drink with me, you’ll know I don’t do small talk. I won’t ask about your job in IT; I want to know how you get on with your siblings or why you got divorced. In return, I will tell you about my post-traumatic stress and the agony of piles. But in the jungle, it was tough to be nosy.

We were kept busy in there, boiling water from the creek to drink, washing beetles off our clothes and trying not to say anything racist or homophobic. Not that I tend to, but you never know if something might slip out when you’re covered in snakes.

Every gruesome trial and challenge was to get longed-for food. So absorbed did we become in the day-to-day that it was easy to forget this was a game show – an elaborate, clever, psychological drama of a game show, and one I had no idea how to play.

The hardest part was missing my children. In the jungle, missing them came in huge waves. I had to ride those waves and not slip under. When I did, there was a great deal of snot and hiccups to deal with which thankfully never made the edit.

The camp was smaller than I thought. Our hammocks almost touched. Luckily, I am used to sharing a close space with lots of different people. When I was growing up, our little two-bedroom London flat was a free B&B for relatives, friends and friends of friends who were escaping the Iran-Iraq war or fleeing the regime. My bedroom floor was covered with mattresses to accommodate the temporary refugees in our home. As a result, I am an expert at bottling up frustration in a crowd.

I had to be sure I could keep it together under pressure before I agreed to do this show. Money can’t be the deciding factor as to whether or not to take part; I’d said no to it several times in previous years.

It’s daunting to step into such a mainstream arena. It’s a risk. Editors skilfully carve storylines and create characters. I am a recovering addict and have PTSD so would I be risking a public meltdown? I hoped not – I only look good crying from the left side of my face and you simply had no idea where the camera would be.

This year my recovery was strong enough to trust myself to cope with red ants being poured on my head and living with personality types who tend not to let you finish a sentence.

I enjoyed being out of my comfort zone even though I was in unflattering trousers and damp pants. The experience showed me that without the security net of the job I love and the people who love me, I’m back to being the same shy 14-year-old I used to be who couldn’t be herself in a gang.

The feeling of being drowned out and not being in the “in crowd” was as familiar as a grotty old pair of socks. But are any of us really any different to our 14-year-old selves? Or do we mask it with all the paraphernalia of the grown-up world: our jobs, our bills, our pilates classes? Strip all that away and nothing has changed. We are in the playground again – and I was never one of the kids who fit effortlessly in.

The glorious difference is that nowadays I know it’s perfectly all right to feel like this. Being popular looks exhausting and leaves very little time for daydreaming.

It was a relief to realise I no longer fight against feeling like an outsider. This feeling is what made me want to write and perform in the first place. Without that feeling, I might have ended up working in IT, or becoming a boxer.

I wouldn’t change a thing about my time as Jungle Jane. I jumped out of a helicopter, started a fire from scratch and dried my pants over a fire with Fiz from Coronation Street. If these things aren’t on your bucket list, you need to write a new one.