I don't want people to feel sorry for me or pity me - I want people to know that what got me through was human spirit and everyone has that in them.

I still have difficult days when I lose hours to anxiety, feeling my throat swell and my mind race with paranoid thoughts. But - thanks in part to ongoing therapy - they're happening less and less.

I have an older brother and younger sister and for the first few years I was quite a tomboy. We lived in a small village in Hampshire and my brother and I would climb trees and make dens.

I like to tell myself people look at me for all sorts of reasons. Maybe they're staring because they're shocked or maybe they recognise me from TV, or maybe they just like my shoes - especially women, because we all look at each other's clothes and hair.

My dad and sister are vegetarian and I was brought up as one, but I ate a bit of fish and meat. After the attack my oesophagus melted and I had to have plastic stents put into my throat to rebuild it, so I couldn't swallow and I was fed via a high-calorie drip through my stomach.

But if I go for a run somewhere, I feel the benefits of the endorphin release.

It's one thing for your mum to tell you that you look OK, but she's your mum and she has to tell you you're beautiful. It's not the same as a stranger telling you.

I enjoy social media, but I don't take it as gospel. Yes, it can make me feel insecure if I see my peers doing more than me. You have to remind yourself it's a marketing tool, a facade, but that's easier when you are older.

Another good rule for social media, I find, is to never type and post. Instead, be sure to type, pause, think, and then post.

If I'm feeling down or depressed, working up a sweat will make me feel like I can really do this - that, in fact, I can do anything. It's like a therapy for me.

You are always bigger than the problem, the problem can never be bigger than you.

I will continue to need operations and therapy for life. For acid attack survivors, the aftermath is a life sentence.

I was a torch carrier in the 2012 Paralympics and every time I thought 'I can't do this' I would look at the blade runners and the athletes and wheelchairs think, okay, I can run.

I don't want to be an ambassador for too many charities, because it's a far stronger message to be a person with a disfigurement going about their life doing everyday things.

There are so many things that can happen to us in life where you think, 'I can't cope. I can't deal with it,' but you probably can.

Try to remember that every action you take in life will have a consequence and a reaction for other people, and that it's the same on social.

I have managed to conquer my fear of fire one fish at a time. I've gone from eating sushi to prawns, to baking sea bass fillets.

There were times after the accident when I felt very lonely - burns survivors can feel terrible isolation. I wanted to create something that connects us all together, so that was the idea behind the Katie Piper Foundation.

My biggest hope for the future is that we're successful in delivering the treatment to people through the charity and that burns just become something that happens in people's lives but doesn't make them a misfit in society and exclude them and stop all their dreams and ambitions.

I feel like I've lived two or three completely different lives. At 33, I'm quite reflective and have the perspective you get in your old age when you have been through the losses of life.

Anywhere, you're going to get people who are ignorant or rude but it's not the whole of society. I don't think my life is doomed because I look like this.

The world is more competitive and social media drives this. It's woman against woman when it comes to appearance, possessions and friendship circles.

I've come to the conclusion that we're all responsible for our own happiness and the happiness in your life depends on the quality of your thoughts. I'm a big believer in positive thinking.

One thing is clear: Our governments have too many laws.