I moved to Brighton in June last year, which means it’s our ultra romantic anniversary soon. I am happy. I moved to Brighton from the Midlands the second I finished University, in search of a little bit more health and happiness than I had back home. I had been suffering terribly with various sicknesses and trauma and family difficulties, and I thought that 150 miles and some sea air was what I needed. Whilst I am of course not completely recovered, I am an entirely different person than I was this time last year. I feel quite content. I still have no money, I still suffer from various maladies, I still fight with my family – but now I am here, and they are there, and I have a little life of my own.
When I arrived in Brighton we rented a shithole flat and I got a couple of shit jobs but I was pretty happy to see the sea everyday. I had left my entire life, everyone I had ever known behind. My partner had no job to speak of and I had no friends. But I started to make connections and then I flew to magical California for two weeks, which changed everything. The people I met out there imbued me with an entirely different attitude and whilst I was still sick and poor, I developed a much better outlook. When I came home I met the drummer of one of my favourite bands through a retail job and went jogging with him. It was weird. I then got a job in a bar that I really, really liked for a while. I started my course and I hated it, I felt like everyone at Sussex was a giant snob and I was wasting my time. Nobody seemed to understand where I was coming from with my work but I stuck with it.
In November I moved house, to a beautiful flat with an amazing landlady. Having a real home two minutes from the sea with a nice, sunny bedroom made things easier. I worked almost full time at my bar job, made some friends, drank with them once a week or so. I was back to being bar bitch and having lock-ins and working hard at uni. I loved it. Christmas came and went in a blur of hosting parties and events and cooking Christmas dinner. I had my first dinner in my own home, far from my family. With my own little family. We cooked and watched eight movies and stayed in our pyjamas and it was perfect. I went home in January to see everyone and saw in the New Year with my best friends. A few days later, my best friend came to me to look for a home. We found her a lovely one, two minutes from our house. Our friends moved in February, and Brighton became even sunnier. Our home and theirs was full of life and cups of tea and weekend fun. I made some more friends through work, took day trips, and really started to love Brighton even more.
In April I lost that bar job and I started to work on my uni projects solidly. I miss working and I miss the constant contact with people, but I am working on myself and my work. I am happy. I just booked flights to California. I spent last weekend drinking with my best friends in a bar and I realised that I would not want to be anywhere else in the world. I am so sincerely happy. i still get depressed, I still get sick, but I am not unhappy with my circumstances anymore. I really struggled for the first part of my life and I am proud of the little life I have carved out for myself. It was hard financially to move to the most expensive part of England virtually alone, but I wouldn’t change it for the world. I live seconds away from my friends in the most creative, colourful, beautiful place I have ever lived. I see the sea every day. There are weird theme nights for every interest I have at any time, somewhere in the city. Here’s to the next year in Brighton.