With a slight sense of deja vu, I am preparing for a month back in Bethlehem and then a move to a new city and a new apartment and the start of a school year. The familiarity of this situation is terrifying.
To say my final year at Kent didn't go well is an understatement. And that summer was the start of it all.
Somehow, by the grace of god and some very, very good friends I got through it.
I have now spent a year slowly coming to terms with all that happened, slowly learning how much better I deserved and trying to work out who I actually want to be and started making steps to become that person.
Being a student never really suited me. The long gaps between classes filled with aimless netflix shows and trips into town I couldn't actually afford, the smothering essay periods where my body clock shifted to nocturnal followed by weeks of nothing; it wasn't a lifestyle that I enjoyed.
And now I'm going back to school. I'm going to be a student again.
And I find time and time again that I'm having to reassure myself that it's going to be okay, that this time I'm not going to break, that this time things are different.
Because although I arrive back in the UK a week before freshers, just as I did two years ago, the city I'm moving to is not filled with memories of the past, I have not yet met the people I will love and learn alongside, I will not have a conversation, a week into the school year, when my father tells me he is leaving.
I am going to university to learn solid, practical skills on how to practice as a social worker, not theories and concepts that slip through your fingers when you try to pin down why exactly you are learning them.
And, perhaps most importantly, this time around I know who I am and who I want to become. And that girl is coming with me, she will grow in the time in Brighton, she will be scared and shy but she knows she is strong.
The year still starts in September. I will still have essays, and homework, and long nights before deadlines. But this time I also want to be happy. Enjoying not enduring. Reaching out not curling up.
And this time, I am excited.
