Nature Writing? Where Gylly Beach Took Me.
I cannot sail a boat, and I cannot swim very far. Yet I have to live near the water. I have to be able to feel like I can escape. Perhaps I wouldn’t be able to physically, but I can mentally. 3 years ago, amongst one of a few dark periods of my life, I got in my car and drove. My starting point was my flat on the Quay in Exeter. I didn’t have a plan. I just had to go. Before I knew it, I had crossed the bridge from Plymouth to Saltash, and in a blur of nothingness, I had been transported to a far but familiar place. Sat in my car, I was overlooking Gyllyngvase Beach. I had never made the most of the beach, the first time I was at University in Falmouth, yet after I dropped out, it was the place I pictured running away to regularly. That day I did it. A temporary escape from what felt like eternal darkness. I was called there; my body had to be there in that moment. I slept in my car that night, with a duvet I bought from Asda alongside a garish floral swimming costume, the only option that was left. When the sun rose that morning, I entered the sea. I can’t say I did much swimming. I did float around, feel the icy water take the weight of my body, the weight of my thoughts, away from me, for a moment. I can’t remember the feelings. I didn’t really know how to feel much at that point in time.
3 years, 2 months and 1 week later.
I still cannot sail a boat or swim very far. Sometimes I wish I could tell the past Jessica how it would have turned out. That I came back for good, that I am working towards my degree, that I feel like I finally fit into my life. When I stand in the same place she was compelled to visit, I can see her in the sea. I can transport back in time to be a guardian angel to her from the future. Today I can feel everything. I take it all in. The biscuit crumb sand that becomes firmer but less trustworthy the closer you get to the sea. I don’t just hear the crash of the waves, but the hiss as it retreats into itself. There is a spot on the horizon that is blurred. The sky smudges into the sea, and I can’t tell where one begins and the other ends. The air here is the easiest air to breathe, light and crisp. I wonder if she thought the same.
*Written in November 2024.
