Before I moved down to the coast permanently, I spent a couple of weekends here and there sorting out my flat and getting to know the city whilst trying, and failing, to imagine what my life in Brighton would look like.
The weekend of Brighton Pride was one of those weekends.
On Friday night, waiting for Ellie to arrive the next day, sitting in my bare room, I freaked out. I was on the phone to Connor and I just couldn't stop crying, worrying about everything, scared of this place and the thought of moving to a new city where I knew no one. It felt stupid to be crying when I was where I wanted to be, in a lovely little studio that I had worked and searched so hard for, but I was almost inconsolable.
Fast forward to the first of November, today, three months later, and sometimes I still get scared.
This stage of my life in Brighton is slowly unfurling, beautiful and purposeful, and I am pushing myself to do the things I've always wanted to do and put down the roots I need to feel safe and secure. I can finally do all the things I hoped and wished to do that final year in Kent before my dad left and I got ill, things like date whoever I want, create whatever I want, find the right church for me, find the art scene that my zines and writing fit into, find a community. And, without the anxiety that curled around my throat, I find myself able to talk to people without shrinking into myself. I can finally be me.
But it is exhausting to build a life, to put yourself out there again and again, to pour your energy into new friendships and networks.
Sometimes I come back to my little flat and curl up in bed and find myself drained and lost.
But I am doing better than I ever expected, and, in the most part, the dips don't drag out into the next day. When the sun rises I get up again, start to tick off the many things on my list, get myself to class, reach out to that person in my small group or my cohort, make time for the sea, try to cook and eat each day. I keep going. I keep going.
And I am slowly building a life here. This place is slowly becoming my home. Slowly becoming mine.
I am so, so proud of what I have achieved by moving here and for pushing myself to make this a life I want to live. And I do.
I have two years here and I am determined to keep pushing, keep learning, keep moving forward.
I think this is where I was meant to be, in this slip of a room in this city by the sea. After the quiet lull of last year, I needed somewhere that felt alive. And oh, Brighton, you feel alive. And so do I.
