When I woke up the morning after that vote and saw the result, I was despondent, I was angry, but I genuinely believed I would get over it. I thought time would be a healer, that the country would coalesce around a reasonable Brexit compromise, and we would all move on.
It hasn’t happened. Three years on, and I’m still furious.
Furious at the needless waste of money and effort that is being expended to try and protect us from the impact of this decision.
Furious at the lack of action to solve other serious problems while Westminster obsesses over the minutiae of Brexit.
Furious at the loss of opportunity to live and work freely in 26 other countries.
Furious that millions of young people, who didn’t get to vote because they were under 18 at the time, will have to live for the rest of their lives with a decision that was out of their hands.
Furious that a politician was murdered.
Furious at the liars and cheaters in the campaign who got away with it.
Furious at the media who failed to give the arguments any proper scrutiny.
Furious at the politicians who are too cowardly to stand up and ask for a rethink.
Furious that my patriotism and belief in democracy has been called into question because I want to stop a damaging Brexit.
Furious that bigotry and xenophobia is now being treated as a legitimate political position.
Check back in with me in three years. Maybe by then I’ll be over it. But I doubt it.
I spent the weekend in Hamburg with some friends, enjoying all the sights and sounds that Germany’s second city has to offer. If you follow me on Twitter or Instagram, you’ll have got a flavour of my trip. I will try and get a longer blog post up at the weekend detailing the shenanigans.
In the meantime, I wanted to mention one thing. A change in my mood, for reasons that I couldn’t quite put my finger on. When I got home, it hit me: for the 72 hours I was away, I didn’t hear anything about Brexit.
Maybe Brexit was being discussed on all of Germany’s news channels, but if it was, I didn’t see it. I was busy exploring the city so I wasn’t on Twitter as much as usual. And I was much happier.
I’ve always prided myself on keeping up with the issues, but when everything is just so grim, it’s wonderful to get away for a few days. I got back home at lunchtime on Monday. By that evening, all my anxieties and worries had returned.
And, whatever happens, the source of stress is going to go on for years. If the deal fails, we may leave without a deal, with severe long-term consequences that we will all experience. If May’s deal goes through, we have many years of wrangling about our future trading relationship which will dominate the agenda. There’s a tiny chance of a second referendum, which will probably be even more rancorous and unpleasant than the first. We will have a new Tory leader, probably a much more right-wing one (and given how right-wing May has been, that is a scary prospect). Frankly, I’m not sure I can cope.
Someone please write something in the comments to cheer me up.