When people find out I am known as Pixie, I always get asked why… The story behind this nickname is an explicit one but it all boils down to this.
I used to be a brave extroverted, sexual creature who didn’t care what people thought of them.
The birth of Pixie occurred one night on Brighton beach. At a time in my life when I loved my body, I felt attractive, and I flaunted it to get what I wanted. Pixie was cheeky and mischievous and those who came along with her did things they would never had dared to fantasise about. She oozed confidence, knew what she wanted and exactly how to get it. She was, of course, unstable borderline personality disorder. She took risks, was manipulative, and feared nothing. She had a particular group of young men who became enamoured by her and she was precious to them, and they felt the need to protect her from herself.
The night in question however, was no different to any other. A few beers, a couple JD’s, and a hit of whatever drug was being offered resulted in sitting on the beach at night and staring at the moon with two of my favoured male accomplices. That night it was the section of beach in Kemp Town. It was dark, the beach was quiet and I indulged in some debauchery with my friends and may have ended up in the water minus my t-shirt, killing my mobile phone. My fellow mischief makers started shouting, stating that I should be called Pixie for wherever I went, mischief and magic followed. I adopted the name. I became my alter ego Pixie and got lost in her world for most of that year.
This kind of night was not unusual. I was bored, so it happened. I had to keep my pulse racing, I had to feel alive, and, though I didn’t know it at the time, it was a full-steam-ahead journey into self destruction. At the time I loved it. I’m glad I got to experience it, but also glad that I learnt when to stop after my third or fourth attendance at A&E for alcohol poisoning and drug abuse. This was over a period of four to six months.
My Brighton life was a lot of sex, drugs and rock and roll. There were some good influences though, one of them being a wonderful friend who I am not afraid to admit I love dearly. We speak most days. We had him to stay for Christmas 2020 as he was alone and vulnerable due to the Covid Pandemic, we wanted to make sure he was safe.
For most of my time in Brighton I was flitting from hotels, hostels, friends sofas, being a short term flat mate, sneaking into council youth accommodation and sleeping on friends floors. I had no fixed abode but somehow always had a roof over my head and a steady stream of money from various odd jobs. I was always surrounded by people. Never alone, but still lonely. Losing myself yet still, at the root of it, looking for somewhere to belong. I was lost, but somehow found at the same time.
I will always be Pixie. I struggle to connect with my real name. Pixie has always been a part of me and she will stay. I have not imprisoned her, I have given her boundaries. She comes out to play sometimes and we have a great time, but she always knows when it’s enough. People where I live now don’t call me Pixie. I miss hearing it being yelled at me from a distance. I am Pixie and she is me.
That’s all for now!!
Stay safe!
Love,
The Anxious Pixie xx
The Anxious Pixie 