over the pond.

These two photos were taken in August 2019, a year after moving to Brighton. One is from a walk to Saltdean, another is from a walk up to Chattri Memorial. I was not in a good place. It had just been Brighton Pride, but I hadn't felt up for it. I hadn't coped with the crowds of people or drinking or messy group dynamics. I found myself overwhelmed and swallowed up. I was so wretched and lost, four months post break up but still messaging Connor, still feeling new to Brighton, still struggling without solid friends who just get you. So I walked. Angry, agitated, upset, spiralling. Not safe to be on my own in my flat, I forced myself out. Headphones firmly plugged in I walked and walked and walked, reaching the edges of Brighton. I wanted to scream, I wanted to throw myself into the sea, I wanted to be blown away. I didn't know that soon I would be assaulted and would spiral further. I didn't know that I would face someone difficult from my past alone at Lucy's wedding. I didn't know that my placement would be less than ideal, or that the world would fall into a rollercoaster pandemic and I would be thrown into a proper social work job without a break.

It may seem odd to bring this moment up now as I am on the cusp of leaving Brighton and starting a new life in Canada. But I was looking through photos (like the overly sentimental memory hoarder that I am) and stopped when I saw them. These days were some of the lowest I have had in this city and I wanted to remember them. I wanted to feel the wretchedness and then shout out on this little space on the internet that I survived. I survived! I forced myself out the house, pushed my feet to take each step, feeling my shoulders get slowly further away from my ears and my breathing steady. I danced on that hill to Jamie T, spinning around in wobbly loops and starting to smile. And after those days I did so much. I built up the relationships I needed that Summer, let go of Connor and some of the pain that he caused, made it through my Masters, lent into my glorious queerness, became a bloody good social worker.

I wanted this written down for when things slip in Canada. When the slog of building a new life gets too much and I feel disconnected and foggy. When I am a year in and friendships still feel shallow without years of memories behind us. When anxiety rises and words feel cloying and uncomfortable in my mouth. When the Winter and rain comes and the Spring feels so far away. I want to remember that I've got through it before and I will get through it again.

My last weekend in Brighton will be Pride 2022, camped out on my friend's sofa, four years after I first camped out in my unfurnished flat. How things have changed! I have roots and friends and a beautiful life here now. I shouldn't spiral with social interaction. I shouldn't need to walk until I feel real.

I have come so far.

And I have so far to go.