The Move, part 3: Rush
Nervously, I told Sarah, who had only moved to join me in Sheffield 11 months before. She sat for a bit. Silent. Overwhelmed. Scared. I knew that there was a downside here; I’d be leaving my oldest and closest friend behind and embarking on this adventure without her. She’d only just got settled. She loved her job.
“You mean August 24th that’s only a month away?” She asked. I nodded.
I don’t quite remember how, but I know that over the next week it started to become a no-brainer. I had no choice but to leave. I didn’t want “safe” to be a luxury to me anymore. I wanted to be able to breathe again. And Sarah wasn’t about to let her best friend leave for an exciting new life without her, almost exactly a decade after the first time I’d gone.
Before I knew it, we had house viewings booked, we were telling my (very excited and elated) Dad and trying desperately to make a plan that we only had 4 weeks to execute. It was chaos.
We were both emotional, sick, stressed, tired, overwhelmed and fed up. We scrolled through properties, rang around job vacancies, cleaned, packed and tried to squeeze in brief moments with the people we loved.
Our plan was thrown briefly off-track by the realisation that we’d now have to actually go and attend the house viewings we’d booked, so we made the long-ass journey down to South Wales with Doug (and the help of our friend Macs, who kindly drove us all the way there from Sheffield). We had cleverly planned our agenda so that the first house we were viewing was the one we really wanted, and we knew that it was perfect from the moment we walked through the door.
Relieved that we’d ticked “find somewhere to live” off our list, with just 2 weeks to go until the day we’d have to leave Sheffield, we abandoned Doug at Dad’s and headed back home; returning to a sort of half-life that we knew was almost over.
While Sarah was running around dental nursing people, my days were spent methodically building my own personal cardboard hell of boxes, bubble wrap and tape. I also found myself experiencing panic attacks and hallucinations again, the emotional impact of leaving Sheffield was going to be bigger than I thought.
This blog post might seem chaotic to you, but I promise it’s nothing compared to the turmoil that was our lives at the time and I’m exhausted at the idea of even trying to convey it adequately. Imagine an endless to-do list of things you hate doing, a constant stream of questions, obstacles and emotional conversations, submitting an application for a house 200 miles away, several large and terrifying spiders akin to Aragog AND being occasionally hit in the face by rolls of duct tape. Got it? Then you’ve got it.
Now crucially, we did it. Somehow, we actually managed to pull it off and make it down to Carmarthen, where we stayed with my dad for 2 weeks.