Zosa's Bear Egg

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11-7-22 Home From Home

Route One

I've been working on what feels like an impossible plan for a long time now. Or at least an impossible plan for someone in my position; firmly below the poverty line, ill, a minority - on paper all the social mobility of a damp waffle. But just a few days ago I got some news that takes the plan from the fantasy of someone clinging to any hope they can dream up, to something that is an almost certainty.

At present I live in one of the poorest parts of my country. I feel like the majority of people that are unfortunate enough to be born here, die here. Most probably don't care about this, happy to live in a city that is somehow 50 years behind the rest of the country. But for me I've wanted to escape for as long as I can remember; cliche I guess, the young girl dreaming of running away to a better life, yet it's who I've been and what I felt I needed to do as long as I've been able to think for myself. As I got older the reasons might have matured slightly but that desire to escape is stronger than ever. As an adult not only do I see my home as poison but the country itself too, sliding head first into fascism as it seems content to do.

I have attempted a few times over the years to escape to a neighbouring country where the politics are slightly more progressive and the future seems a little brighter. But there's always been a issue making it impossible, usually money. Sick students who prefer to work for charities don't have country-fleeing money. A while ago I registered with a social housing provider in the place I feel I need to move to as a final gambit before giving up hope completely. The slim chance I was chasing was that I could convince them I had a medical need to move. Seven or so weeks from submitting my application, having attempted to chase it up a couple of times - I completely gave up the morsel of hope I'd given myself in applying, then I get a missed call while in the bath.

This was the day that the British Prime Minister finally had to announce he was stepping down, so I watch his 'resignation' speech while avoiding what I expected to be terrible news - a confirmation that my dream was dead and I was trapped indefinitely in the 1970's. When it was over I grit my teeth and call my answerphone only to be completely floored when I'm told my application was successful, I couldn't believe it, I think I could have had a heart attack right then my heart rate accelerated so much. A stranger had looked at my evidence, considered the quality of my life at present and decided that yes, my health would be improved by fleeing the country and as such I should be given the priority needed to help me do so.

My long held dream of escape and the belief in its necessity was both validated and made reality in the span of a few seconds. Most likely I will not see the end of another year in this country. A sentence I never thought I could say and believe to be true.

True Brew

It's been four days since the news I think. I believe I'm still in shock. I thought all the major events of my life were behind me, that all that awaited me now was a slow decay as I wished things could have been better if only for X Y and Z. But I apparently have at least one more impossible feat within me waiting. It feels completely unreal, but the last impossible thing did too, which oddly has started to help me find my feet.

Things can still go wrong, things out of my control at that. But this is my chance, now or never. And now or never is a better chance than I ever thought I'd get, so I'm going to take it no matter what. Maybe things won't be better on the other side, but I know for sure they won't get better here.

I'm sorry if it feels like I'm typing for my own benefit more than I usually do. I guess I was hoping that writing a letter would help me process my thoughts. It's such an unexpected and huge development that I been in a daze, while I'm not the sort to get outwardly excited I would like to at least be drawing energy from this opening door - something I haven't managed just yet.

Battery Check

So, after the news sinks in and the shock passes. I guess the preparation needs to ramp up. I have been saving money for as long as I've been able to; since there's nothing really that I want, all excess money has always gone into a theoretical moving fund. With the cost of accommodation itself side-stepped thanks to the mechanics of social housing, my minuscule savings should actually cover the cost of the move.

Mechanically I believe I understand and am prepared to organise a move. I think the biggest hurdle for me is going to be the mental aspect. I dislike where I am, I know that I don't have a future here, I know that my surroundings exacerbate my illness. But I've been here, in this rotten ten or so kilometre square city for the entirety of my life. When I let my guard down I wonder if I'm doing the right thing, if running away will solidify the fact that I'm a fool and nothing else. I tell myself that these thoughts are nothing but some kind of Stockholm Syndrome I've developed towards the city, often as it is that I have personified it as an additional abuser. I know that I can't stay here and have a future, but I guess part of me is sad that this is where my life has led me - to a move that I term 'fleeing'.

I have time to work through these feelings over this next month or two as I inch closer to my escape. But I feel like I have let myself down in a way just by having doubts.

I feel better for having wrote this I think, rambling as it is. Hopefully I can write again about this over the coming weeks and show you that I'm combating my doubts and moving forward with my impossible plan.