My poll card for the local elections, which take place across England in May, arrived in the post this week. The last one came in April 2016, for London’s mayoral election, and receiving it made me jump for joy. EU law gives every European citizen a vote in local and European elections wherever they live in the European Union. In April 2016 I had just moved to the UK, which I always dreamed of calling home, and was so proud that I took a selfie with my card. Two more UK polls came after that – a referendum that changed everything, and a general election that changed very little – but I could not vote in either, because I am a European national.

And now, with Brexit looming, the polling card is just another gloomy reminder of how different things were for EU citizens just two years ago.

About 3.7 million EU citizens live in the UK. After 23 June 2016, they experienced loss in various ways. Some were verbally abused, some fell out with leave-voting friends, or struggled to answer their children’s questions about having to leave the country. Many tell me about their constant anxiety over their situation. All speak of anger – at the government, at the leave campaign, at a country they don’t recognise.

EU citizens don’t want to think about Brexit all the time, but it pollutes our lives in insidious ways

After the referendum, it took a year for the UK government to announce the “settled status” for EU citizens, and another year has passed since without the guarantee that it will be implemented smoothly (3.7 million applications is an awful lot to process) and equally (according to the 3 Million rights group, the registration system has “an error rate of 10% and a rejection rate of 27%”). And of course, “nothing is agreed until everything is agreed”, which means losing everything overnight if the deal falls apart.

EU citizens don’t want to think about Brexit all the time, but it pollutes our lives in insidious ways. I have received leaflets targeted at “bargaining chips”. I open Department for Work and Pensions letters with a knot in my stomach, because they may ask for an update about my situation after 2019. I’ve caught myself anticipating questions about Brexit with jokes like, “I’m probably going to get deported anyway!” I visit France more often, because it’s relaxing to know there will be no Brexit talk on the radio that may question my presence there. I say “I’m going home” when flying from, and not to, Stansted.

This week, an advert sponsored by the UK government showed up on my Facebook feed. It read: “EU citizens in the UK. Stay informed.” It keeps popping up, more often than ads for contraceptives, which bombard women my age online. I suppose Facebook’s algorithm considers me EU citizen first and woman second.

In such a climate, EU nationals cannot afford not to have a contingency plan. Tens of thousands have already left the country, with net EU migration falling to its lowest levels since 2012.

A year from now, many more will be gone, and I may be one of them. I do not meet the five-year threshold for settled status, so I can only apply for a temporary permit until I have been here five years, and apply again. I will have to pay, and may be rejected, both times.

No EU citizen is relaxed about the year ahead. Some, like me, don’t meet that threshold. Or they may not qualify because they cannot prove five consecutive years of employment, like carers, stay-at-home parents and freelancers. Some have non-EU partners whose UK visas depend on them. Some have family who could not move abroad because of language barriers, or would have to apply for another EU citizenship before doing so. Some don’t have transferable jobs, or own a business in the UK, or can’t afford to leave the country. Some have ageing family here. Some don’t have access to a computer to register when the process opens or simply don’t know that they have to do it.

My poll card is the first tangible proof of the rights I still enjoy in the UK, since the referendum result that gave them an expiry date. On 3 May, I will exercise my right to participate in this democracy, and then, eventually, I will leave to regain that right somewhere else. Because nothing is agreed until everything is, and enough is enough.

• Pauline Bock is a French freelance journalist based in the UK. She writes for the New Statesman