This Used to Be Me... (and between you and me, sometimes still is)

"There's a club if you'd like to go. You could meet somebody who really loves you. So you go and you stand on your own. And you leave on your own. And you go home, and you cry and you want to die."

Etc etc and so forth and so on.

The Truth of It

Last term my boyfriend and I tried to open our relationship to other people. It was my suggestion, and he agreed because we both hoped it might make the distance and loneliness a little softer. Long story short, it was a short-lived disaster that nearly ended the relationship. It became a source of heartache and incredible anger. It amplified the loneliness instead of softening it.

When we agreed to close the relationship, it was because we remembered that the drive behind this venture was love; was wanting to make sure the other person was happy and taken care of, even if it was someone else who was giving them that happiness for the time being. We opted to try an open relationship because we thought it would make loneliness of the long distance relationship easier to bear. And when it seemed that it was in fact making the loneliness even less tolerable, the answer became clear. Choosing to end the experiment was simple because we remembered why we began it in the first place.



So why am I in London?

I am in London because I wanted to be my own person. I am in London because I wanted to grow and change and evolve into the woman I want to be, instead of shuffling down the more comfortable path I was on. I came to London because I wanted to grow a spine. I wanted to stand on my own two feet. I wanted to make something of myself and come back to the US with an honest understanding of who I am and what I am made of. I wanted to have grounding in myself, trust in myself, and maybe a tiny bit of confidence, however small. I came to London because I needed something bigger, something more than San Francisco in order to do all of this. I needed to see what life was like without the safety net.

None of that has anything to do with the university that is going to kick me out.

I finally remembered that CSM was not my reason for coming to London. It was the means of getting me here.

I forgot that somewhere along the way. Like the open relationship experiment, I had to remember why I began this venture in the first place. I had to realize that this trip was never about becoming the next McQueen or Galliano. It was about becoming more of myself. The hope was that the challenges presented by CSM would facilitate that, but perhaps CSM is a small and insignificant test of my will when you really think about it.

There is so much more to fashion, to London, to England, to Europe, to the world, to my own story than CSM and the year I spent struggling to please people who could never be pleased. There is so much more to life than this. And I spent this weekend remembering that.

Looking back on this last year I can begin to see that Central St Martins was never the reason I came to London. It was the catalyst that allowed me to begin my own life. It was the carrot I dangled in front of my own nose so that I would continue walking ahead.

Of course with the carrot unfairly snatched away from me, I am hysterically running in circles in blind panic. "What do I do now? What do I do now? What do I do now? The carrot is gone, I have nothing to live for."

I am slowly beginning to see that I need to stop spinning and look at the race I am running. The carrot got me here, but "here" is what was truly important.

The truth of it all is that I came to London to learn. Not to learn to sew and not to learn how to make pretty sketchbooks. The truth of it is that I came to London to learn about life and who I am. And frankly CSM was keeping me from that. I moved half way around the planet to be here and face myself. To face my weaknesses and grow stronger. To face my insecurities and learn to stand solidly in the space I occupy in this world. To face my strengths and learn how to use them.

The decision to stay in Europe and seek out life despite CSM is an easy one to make when I remember the reasons I began this adventure in the first place. The truth of it is that I came here to face myself, change myself, and hopefully become myself.

Love + Distance + Confusion = Shitty Shitty Situations

The boy and I are both ridiculously busy and so I am not going to get to see him this term.

After term ends I need to stay in London for a while because I have to see what happens with moving on to 2nd year and my potential internship and all that stuff. I don't think the school will tell me about my position there until late June or early July, and I believe I have to be present at a meeting at that time.

Whatever the outcome of that meeting, I have to then sit down and decide what I'm going to do next. Here is where the situation gets shitty. If school does in fact want me gone, then I have to make my own way in the fashion world. At some point I would like to go back to San Francisco, but I think that when I am starting out it would be wise to stay in London where there are far more opportunities to do that.

But that means that I am now choosing my career over my boyfriend. And I can no longer point to school and say, "I have to stay here because of that." If I have to leave school then I must make the decision every single day to stay in London and not be with my boyfriend, because there won't be anything but my own choices keeping me away from him. And that's a shitty thing to have to deal with.

Every single time I have to decide something about my life in London, I am going to be having to decide between whatever my options are here, and my boyfriend. Good opportunities will feel like heartbreak. And how shitty would it be to feel that all the good things that happen to me are bad for my relationship?

My boyfriend thinks I should stay here and sort things out. But he is a much stronger person I am. He can't move here with me, and so I have to choose to be here alone but focused on my future, or with him in San Francisco. If I want to be in fashion and make my own way, I need to be somewhere where I can get opportunities. And there are far more of those available to me here in London.

On the other hand, maybe staying here is just plain stupid. Maybe it's just my ego talking. Maybe it's simply that I don't want to go home and admit defeat by CSM. Maybe I should just give this up and go back to SF. But if I did that, I probably wouldn't ever have the sort of chances I'd have here. And I don't know if I would ever forgive myself for giving up so fast.

Fuck, this is so confusing.

Early Hunting

For the past two days, despite all my homework and stress, I have suddenly become obsessed with apartment hunting. I'm toying with the idea of living alone. Might be too lonely, might be a nice change.

I could live by myself in San Francisco, no problem. But I worried for a while that living alone in London would just highlight how lonely this city can be. But I can safely say that sometimes I want to be lonely. I would love to come home to my own little place after a full day of working around other people.

But financially, that might not be in the cards. So for now, I'll keep myself busy dreaming and searching every rental agency website I can find.

Empty

The flat is empty.

Tumbleweeds are rolling down my windy hallway.

A lone banjo plays a few dramatic notes. (Actually, it's Gary Numan you're hearing, but let's just pretend shall we?)

I draw my... well, I'm trying to draw a new collection actually. Utterly lost in the feverish haze I've been stuck in the last two days. But I propped up on good strong drugs, and hoping that when my flatmates return they will come bearing Ben and Jerry's. Healthy? No. Tasty? Oh my yes.

When I leave my room, and Mr Numan's musical repertoire can no longer be heard, the only sound breaking the complete silence is my oh-so-sexy coughing and hacking. *snifl *kaffkaff *groan

I am considering making a dress out of hair. Not in a creepy way, so much as a Hedwig/fabulous way. But much bigger. And couture-ish. I am not sure if this is an unwise and incredibly difficult route to go down. So I might reconsider, given my time restraints. But how fabulous would it be to have a hairstyle that becomes your dress? I know a few drag queens back in SF who would give their left fake breast to have something like that. And if I made matching shoes... They'd have to cross their legs and stay seated for a while. (Oh and I am actually working a way to incorporate magnificent fake lashes into the dress too. Down boy. Down.)

Still no news on the marks for the Westwood-ish shirt. We are all very irritated about the two week wait. Nothing to calm a stressed student down like having no idea how they are doing on their work, eh?

Now, back to work. Will keep you posted on all fronts.

Room Mates to the Rescue

It's funny how you find friends in the least expected places. The room mate I thought I would get along with best has turned out to be very illusive and rarely home and the room mates I thought I would not get along with at all have become the people I am most comfortable with.

We are all very different people. They are not normally the type of person I would pick out to be my friends. Really, we have almost nothing in common. But when I flew back to London, one of those room mates met me at Paddington station to help me manage my suitcases back to the flat. They fed me and hugged me when I spent the whole evening in body-shaking sobs over leaving my boyfriend behind.

On my first night back, terrified of being alone, I fell asleep in a room mate's room watching a movie. I crawled back into my own room later that night, only to wake at 3am missing my boyfriend with every part of my being. I felt like my heart was breaking, and I was terrified of being alone. I broke out into tears, miserable and feeling completely and utterly lost. But it so happened that one of my room mates was awake, heard me crying, and despite being the most sarcastic and distant girl in the flat, made me tea and listened to me for an hour. She then invited me into her room (she is very private usually) and put on some stupid TV show, knowing it was stupidly dramatic enough to distract me from my real drama.

At 6am I crawled back into bed and fell asleep again. I woke up feeling exhausted but much better. I felt like I had gone to the flat mates at my worst and they had offered hugs and sympathy when I needed it most. I am usually very hesitant about sharing my real feelings with people, but I braved it because I couldn't bear the thought of feeling so alone.

This morning we all woke up and made pancakes and bacon for breakfast. Yesterday they took me swimming. We have watched all three Pirates of the Caribbean movies and eaten home made chocolate mousse. Between loaning me electric blankets, helping me unpack, and making sure I eat, they have all taken very good care of me. And now we are going to a jewelry exhibition to see if we can get inspired for our various homework projects.

As much as I hated coming back here and leaving my boyfriend in San Francisco, I am so so so very glad I live with kind hearted people.

The World Keeps Turning

When I was leaving for London in September I found it hard to believe that life in San Francisco would continue without me.

I don't mean to say that I thought my role in San Francisco life was significant and irreplacable. I mean that I didn't realize how much things would stay the same. My friends still live in their apartments, still go to their jobs, still bicycle around, still want to see me. I didn't realize how easy it would be to reassemble the pieces of my old life as soon as I visited.

It seems so simple a thought. But you have to realize that I was leaving everything and everyone behind and facing the unknown, and that it seemed my life (as I knew it) was ending. So it was beyond me to consider that all the elements that add up to "My Life" would continue on without me being there to coax them along.

I fly back to London today, and I am a bit sad about it. I am stressed out about the homework I haven't yet started, and the second project I received in the mail a few days ago because I failed my first two. (That was an unpleasant surprise, and I have to go speak with my tutor about it first thing when I get back.)

I have a lot of work to do when I get back. I am really lagging when it comes to my homework. But in my defense, I haven't had a full day to myself since I arrived here. Of course now that I've found out I have twice the homework I did before, I am even more stressed out over all the research I need to do over the weekend before school begins. Ugh. I should have been more responsible with my time. Damn.

I suppose I am dreading flying back to London because I worry that I will be lonely again. Not just alone, but lonely. I am trying to remind myself that I have some new friends that will be eager to see me, and room mates that will probably meet me at the underground station when I arrive. It's not the same as seeing my long-term friends in America, but it does help sate my need for companionship.

On the other hand, I suppose being alone wasn't so bad in the end. The last two days here in San Francisco have been an odd reminder of that, ever since my boyfriend went back to work on Monday. But being alone all day in SF doesn't seem right, doesn't seem natural, whereas in London my entire life is structured around being on my own. I am used to getting around, going out, wandering, sitting in cafes, and spending most of my time with my only my own company. And I guess I'm not such bad company, really.

But I will miss having a warm boy to snuggle up to every night, and friends that I have years of history with. I will miss the sunlight. I will miss having no school schedule or school-induced stress. I will miss the familiar feel of San Francisco culture.

But I am looking forward to wandering around London again. In a weird way I am looking forward to school because I want to do better than I have before. I am looking forward to developing friends, even though it can be hard work. I am excited to hit a few museums and find some inspiration for my next couple of projects. I am looking forward to seeing the people in my program again, because I have been very lucky with the caliber of creativity and intelligence in my fellow students at St. Martins. And I suppose in a small, secret way I am sort of looking forward to being lonely. It has become my norm. Although loneliness can sometimes be unbearable for me, it allows me the space to figure myself out, unaffected by the powerful personalities I tend to collect around me.


And now I must go pack. My flight leaves at 6pm tonight, and I have a million things to take care of before I go. Next time I write to you, I will be on the other side of the pond.


I hope you had a fantastic holiday, and happy New Year to you all!

I Gave Myself a "Stress Concussion"

It's taken a very loud emotional breakdown to show me that there are people who want to be my friend. That doesn't seem terribly logical, but that's the way it went today.

I made myself physically ill from stress today. I was so angry at my project, I couldn't be quiet about it. I was trying to keep it in but my work was awful and I was so stressed and pissed off that I finally announced I was starting over (2 days before the deadline). I couldn't seem to be consoled, I was too mad at myself.

After two hours trying to rethink my project, I noticed I had a headache. I figured it was time for a cup of tea and something with a little sugar in it to keep me going. An hour after that, my headache was so blinding that I couldn't focus my eyes, and every time I moved I started shaking, lost my balance, and felt faint. I tried to let it pass, or to walk it off, but I felt like I could barely move.

I've given myself three concussions in my 23 years of life, and this headache felt very similar to a concussion headache. I gave myself a stress concussion!

While I was sitting at my sewing machine trying to work, a lot of people came over to try and help me come up with ways to make my garment work. I got a lot of hugs, and a lot of encouragement. I couldn't really appreciate it as much as I should have, but I did notice how people came out of the woodwork to check on me, and that helped me feel less alone in my moody little world.

At 7pm, I felt so awful I could barely stand up, so I slowly packed up my bag and told my tutor that I had to go home because I felt faint. I slowly walked to the tube station, keeping my eyes focused on where I was putting my feet, trying to not get jostled by the crowds, because I thought I might fall over. Thankfully I got a seat on the tube, and I stared at the floor until I got to my stop. I carefully, purposefully walked home, trying to will myself not to pass out.

By the time I arrived home, I was a mess. I tripped on the stairs twice. I dropped my new phone because I couldn't balance while looking at a screen. I tried to cook myself something to eat so I would stop shaking, and had to hold onto the counter to not feel like the world was spinning.

It's times like this when I wish I was home, and I could call a friend or a room mate to help me. But I managed on my own, and made myself some hot oatmeal. I crawled into bed and spooned the food into my mouth ungracefully.

And that's when I got a text from one of the girls in my class. She said,
"hi, I hope you're okay. I was a little worried about you when I left. But you know if you want to get in early tomorrow, we can have coffee and look at your dress and work out wot to do."

I texted her back and thanked her and apologized for taking my stress out on her in class. I said that I would love to meet early tomorrow for some brainstorming and that I would buy the coffee.

She wrote back,
"Ok. I just don't like seeing you like that, especially when you've produced something so interesting and beautiful. Have faith in yourself. See you tomorrow for design boot camp, hehe!"

I also texted a "thank you for being so kind to me, and I am sorry that I was so emotional in class this evening" sort of text to the couple of people who helped me when I began to fall apart this evening. And they all wrote back that they totally understood, that they hope I feel better, and that I could call them if I needed anything.

Of course people say that without meaning it a lot, but I know that at least two of them do mean it. And I appreciate it so much it's hard to say.

By 8pm I was almost asleep. My head was pounding and I was just trying to breathe deeply in my dark room and let it pass. I must have fallen asleep because I woke at 11pm, thirsty, but much better.

I'm going to crawl back into bed now and try to sleep the rest of this stress headache off. But I feel a little calmer, even though I wasted an evening that I should have been working on the project, because I know that even when I am moody and stressed and at my wit's end, there are people who are willing to give me a hug.


(Oh, here's a photo of the fabric treatment I did for this project. We had to use white cotton and white felt ONLY, and so I have been working with the white felt, wetting it, stretching it, creating a lacy pattern of holes before hand gathering sections of it to give it some body and texture. There will be a collar and sleeves and some craziness at the bottom too, this is just a photo of the fabric pinned up on the dress form to give me some ideas.)

Alright, now I'm going to crawl back into bed.

What's a Girl Gotta Do To Get Some Instruction Around Here?

I knew that moving to a new country along was going to be hard. I knew that the fashion program at St. Martins was incredibly difficult. I knew that I would be lonely, that the weather would be crappy, that I would be a broke student who would have to choose between food and art supplies. But I've run into so many difficult things that I never could have anticipated. It's all of those things that add up when I'm not looking.

I had a complete meltdown the night before last. I swore I was going to leave school and move home. I believed myself as I said it, and I said it a lot. I said to to a classmate. I said it to my boyfriend. I said it to all my room mates, one by one, and then again as a group over dinner. I told them that CSM could go to hell, and that I had known from the moment I was accepted into this school that it was the wrong decision. I kept on saying it until I passed out curled up on my bed. I wanted to wake up back home and pretend this whole mess never happened, because I was so furious at my school and my tutors.

Before I continue, let me explain something that I just figured out myself. Here at St. Martins there is no equivalent to what an American school might call "a teacher". We don't have classes either, instead our schedule is project-based. On some days of the week, we have a tutor in to meet with us individually. Our tutors are the head of our program, and they are not there to teach us, but to offer guidance and critiques on the conceptual/design level. They also grade us. On certain days of the week we also have technicians in. Apparently technicians are either there to assist us with sewing/drafting/making difficult things, or to (get this...)do it for us, if it's too difficult. Yes, you read that right. Technicians are there to help us sew things that we don't know how to sew. Because CSM isn't training seamstresses, they are training designers... That's a mindfuck for me. (At my last school if they found out that another student, much less a hired professional was helping you do your homework, you failed the project.)

So we have Tutors and we have Technicians, but the gap in between that in my experience should be filled by a Teacher is left empty. Instead, St. Martins is all about making the students teach themselves through trial and error.

Ah, the dreaded trial and error...

There seems to be a certain artistic disposition that lends itself to creative experimenting. These are the kinds of people that couldn't think inside the box if they tried. They will try anything to get the look they want, no matter how strange or silly it may sound. These are often the people who make it in a business that is always looking for the next innovative thing. These are the sorts of people that end up at CSM.

I am not one of those people.

I am an idea person. I have no patience for the actual construction of a garment. I hate sewing (I have been known to fall into fits of rage while trying to sew) and I despise the problem-solving aspects of pattern drafting. I understand how these things work, and I am very good at helping others find solutions to the problems in their work. But when it comes to my own work, I have no patience for the process.

Maybe I'm just lazy...?

So to clarify, I am a person who designs, understands how to construct and make the design, but needs help making it, or have someone to make it for me. Because when I run into a problem I cannot solve I am not the kind of person to experiment over and over until I find the solution. When I hit a wall, I call in a specialist (read: a teacher) to help me break down the wall.

And this is where all the trouble started the day I nearly got into a fight with my tutor.

At our last meeting, my tutor had suggested that I try a brand new technique to make my design. Excited at the suggestion I immediately went out and found five different books at the library on the topic. Over the weekend I browsed the books, bought supplies, did a series of tests and experiments, and felt confident that I could make this crazy idea happen. All I needed was some help coming up with a way to work around one problem I couldn't solve.

I went into the classroom that day with some very specific questions. I wasn't entirely sure where to begin with this project. I asked the pattern drafting technician for some advice, and that is when the trouble began. Her answer was, "I don't know. I've never done this before."

I couldn't accept that solution so I reworded my question to be more specific. She told me that she had no idea and that I should go buy supplies to experiment with.

Frustrated but determined, I spent the next three hours running around the city blowing my food budget on supplies. When I came back to school and began working I was optimistic. But each technique I tried was failing and I wasn't sure how to proceed, and every time I asked someone for help I was given nothing but suggestions on ways to spend more money on things that may or may not work.

All I wanted was some god damn help from a teacher. I had done all the research and work to teach myself how to do something new, and now I wanted some educational support from the institution that I pay huge sums of money to. But no!

Through this ordeal what I discovered is that at CSM, they do not teach you anything. No, at CSM they assist you in discovering things on your own.

So I stormed out of the classroom feeling as though I had just moved halfway around the world to attend a school where they do not teach us anything. And now that I have finally made a pathetic excuse of a home for myself, I was going to have to pack up my whole life AGAIN and move back home to finish a degree at a pathetic technical school.

I was so furious and miserable that day. I needed to talk to someone who would understand where I was coming from- someone who wouldn't try to solve the problem for me, but sympathize about how much effort it takes to just LIVE sometimes when you've just moved to another country. I wanted someone to agree that the whole CSM system was shit and that I had left everything to come here for no good reason. I wanted someone to agree with me, and to come fly out here to help me move home. Or maybe I wanted someone to just fly out here to give me a hug and let me cry on their shoulder for a little while. I just needed a friend. But I don't know anyone in London well enough to show them this raw, exposed side of me.

I wanted to call my best friend back home, but it was the wee hours of the morning. I don't have an international calling plan on my new phone yet, and I haven't been able to talk to her since I moved. I didn't want the first conversation we had to involve waking her middle of the night to cry in her ear. So I texted my boyfriend, who listened to me bitch and cry and swear that I was moving home for hours, until he decided I'd indulged in enough of a pity party to need a verbal slap upside the head.

I wish I could say that he shook me out of it, but he didn't. Instead I curled up on my bed and hugged my knees, sobbing until I passed out. I woke up an hour later shaking from the cold and crawled under the quilt, feeling ashamed of myself and miserable.

Needless to say, not my best day.

But I did learn something about how I have to approach my education here. I realize now that if I am this stressed about a single project, I need to rethink my approach even if it means I fail again. I decided to scrap everything my tutor suggested and do something entirely different, whether or not he likes it.

As a result of this decision my mood has been much more upbeat. I am incredibly stressed for time as I am starting over on a project most people began a week before, but I feel better about what I am trying to do. I am experimenting with fabric and trying to teach myself some new things.

And as a sort of penance for being such an emotional mess the day before, I went into school and spent a lot of time helping many of my classmates with their patterns. As one of the only students in the class with any drafting experience, word has spread that I can offer some sort of advice. It made me feel better to know that although I am struggling to keep it together, I do know something about fashion.

More than that I realized that I love to teach. My classmates suggested that I look into being a class helper for first year students for pay. I would love to do that, if I could. It's so satisfying to work with someone and solve a problem. Although I do not know the conventional way to do things, CSM shares my opinion on pattern drafting: if it fits, and it looks the way you want it, it is correct and bugger the rules.

So teaching is good. But I've found that what I like best about it is working with another designer to make something. Which made me think that I would like to try my next project as a team project. I plan to find a partner to design with before informing our tutor that we are a design team for this round of the game. That sounds like a recipe for success, in my opinion.

So CSM and life in London is turning out to be a lot more difficult than I expected, in ways I couldn't have anticipated. It takes so much out of me just to stay afloat that I feel very brittle of late. But I am trying to stay optimistic. I've spoken with a counselor at school about my concerns, and she informed that almost every international student at CSM starts to feel this doubt and depression at the three to five month mark. She also assured me that it will get better.

It will get better.

I was worried that going home for the Christmas holiday would make coming back to London harder. But now I cannot wait to go home and I wish I could change my flight to go back next weekend instead of the 16th. I am hoping that being with my friends and boyfriend and family will recharge my batteries for my next round in the ring against CSM.

I just have to keep reminding myself that it will get better.

And Once Again, I Am Not Okay

I hate to admit it, but I am having a really tough time with the long distance relationship again. I thought that I pretty much had a handle on it after The Boy left London and went back home, but it seems I am falling apart yet again. The little congratulations I was giving myself for finally being a more independent woman were a little prematurely given, I think.

I hate being in a long distance relationship. I love my boyfriend, but I am not built for this kind of situation. It is fucking with my head and my heart every second I let my guard down. In order to survive it I must keep myself tightly wound up and securely locked down, carefully avoiding anything that will remind me of the life I don't get to have with him.

Burying feelings is not a good way to deal with anything, especially something as explosive as this, so I have to be very careful to not put myself in a situation that would loosen me up. One glass of wine and I am online begging my boyfriend to move here, and considering dropping out of school to go home to him. It's pathetic, but it's my reality at the moment. Despite all my efforts I haven't found a way to make the sadness of missing the person I love into romantic melancholy.

The last few days have really brought all these feelings to the surface again because I expected to be socially busy this weekend. Three times I got dressed up to meet classmates for some work and fun and three times I got stood up. (They had good reasons, and I am not mad at any of them.) So instead of having a nice time developing new friendships, I once again found myself alone in public, with nothing to do but hunch over my sketchbook and order another coffee so as to appear that I had intended to be alone all along.

See, I have no friends yet. I have a boyfriend thousands of miles away, eight hours behind me, who I cannot see or touch, or go to when I need comfort. I am trying to fill the spaces left by all the people I care about, but I've had no luck. Each day I socialize in class, but have never found myself invited out to any of the events I hear about later.

When I am in class I feel a huge sense of relief because I am around people I like who seem to like me too. I am not hiding my sadness, I am actually pretty happy when I am at school. But I must be keeping myself isolated from all the people in some way, because I am not being invited into their social lives.

I love London and school is keeping me very busy. But I am slowly sinking into depression. I'm not exercising, I'm eating like crap, I stay at home alone, awake all night and when I do sleep I don't sleep well. I'm desperate for friends, someone I can talk to. My best friend back home hasn't been able to talk with me since I moved, and she has always been my companion in my most difficult times. I am so utterly alone, in a city full of people, full of life. I've never felt lonelier than my time in London.

So yeah, things are fine. I'm fine, everything's fine. School is fine, life is fine. Everything is just fine. I'm not dying, I still have all my limbs, the world isn't ending. But I'm not happy, and I don't know what to do. I can't move home and leave my career behind for a boy. But I can't live like this much longer.

I can't deal with being alone every day anymore.

Catching Up: Boyfriend Visit

The Boy came to visit me on Monday and left this morning. We had a very full week of activities around the city while I played the role of utterly unprepared fly-by-the-seat-of-my-pants tourguide girlfriend.

We went to the British Museum and looked at the mummies (did you know the Egyptians even mummified fish?) and went to Burough Market to buy delicious Turkish Delight. We walked along the south bank and rode on the London Eye. We walked a Jack the Ripper tour around my neighborhood (I know so many distressing facts about Spitalfields and The City now) and tried lots of yummy Indian food along Brick Lane. I showed him the Splendor that is Top Shop, and we wandered all around Soho in the rain. I took him to Forbidden Planet, and I took him to Camden. We saw Quantum of Solace (which isn't out in the US yet) and had salt beef bagels on Brick Lane. He found some super cool clothes, and bought me some awesome boots. We went to the Francis Bacon exhibit (which was AMAZING and has inspired me on two different projects for uni) and he saw Big Ben and Parliament and Westminster Abbey. We had disappointing fish and chips, many gin and tonics, delicious burgers, and lots of Indian sweets.

We slept in and snuggled whenever the morning schedule permitted it and we walked around holding hands, especially when it was cold and neither of us had gloves. And there was sex. Thank god almighty there was sex. Fucking hell, there was sex. Thank you, jesus. I owe you one.

So all in all, I would say it was a very busy and very good week. It was funny, though. I am so used to our life in a San Francisco context, that seeing him here made me fall back into old patterns. I kept catching myself expecting to go back to his place, or thinking it was garbage day at my old apartment. It was very easy to forget that I was in London now, and living the lonely, poor, and cold student life. I felt a little on edge the whole time my boyfriend was here because I was never quite sure where I was.

But one very important thing happened when it came time for him to leave. I was okay. There were a few tears but I was, and am, fine. As I watched him leave on the train I knew I would be alright because my life in London is all about me. In these last few months I have managed to carve out a tiny, boring little life that is all mine. London is my city- a place where I am going to figure out who I am and what I want. My life here is completely and totally my own life.

So I realized as his train disappeared into the tunnel that my boyfriend is a wonderful addition to what is already a very full life, instead of a boyfriend-shaped hole that subtracts from my life in his absence. So I kissed him goodbye and went to class, and although I miss him and will sleep fitfully for a few nights, all in all I am okay.

I'm Such a Fucking Downer

I think perhaps I shouldn't drink.

Not because I can't control how much I drink, but because I relax my tightly wound emotions when I drink. And then I fall to pieces.

"I am fine" is the phrase I keep using whenever someone asks how I am. And it's true, I am fine. But only until I let myself go a little. And then I am miserable.

But it makes no sense. I keep asking myself, "why am I so miserable?" I'm in LONDON for fuck's sake. I am LIVING in LONDON studying at one of the best schools in the world. I wish I could put my finger on exactly what it is that is bothering me so much. If I could figure out exactly what it is, I could go about fixing it. But here I am, so miserable I can't even hold decent conversation.

When I am in a new social situation, I usually put on my "fabulous face" to get me through the nervous moments. But these days I am guarded and nervous, and I hide it by being quiet. Which doesn't lend itself to meeting new interesting people, surprisingly. I'm just so wound up I can barely contain my desperation, and no one wants to be around someone who's desperate. I know I don't.

In short, I am boring because I am depressed.

The worst thing is that I realize I am fucking this up. This should be the most interesting, wild, creative time of my life. I should be out meeting people, doing things, seeing things, having fun. And here I am at home, wasting it by being miserable and lonely. I am so mad at myself! But I can't seem to fix the problem. I don't even know how to go about starting. And I have no one here to help me do it, either. No one to drag me out despite my protests, and force me to have a good time. And I need that right now. I really need it.

Determined to become a more social and independent woman, I planned to go to a pub alone last night. I intended to have a few drinks, meet some new people, and then come home. After dinner my room mates and I had a few glasses of wine while they helped me pick an outfit for my pub crawl. We were discussing boys, sex toys, and generally having a good raunchy girl talk, when suddenly I stopped having fun. They had to go get ready for their own evening plans, and I began to silently freak out.

That's when I saw my boyfriend online and begged him to come see me. I mean, I begged. I became so damn desperate I couldn't control myself. I NEEDED to see him. Of course he couldn't just pop over. The couple of thousand miles between us makes it hard for him to stop by for a few hours on a whim. But I couldn't stop myself from begging him, wishing more than anything in the world that he could magically appear at my door.

This of course put him in the undesirable position of having to say "no" to repeated unreasonable requests. Each time he said it I felt like I was getting punched in the gut. I wanted to throw up. I was so disappointed (even though it wasn't his fault), and right then decided I couldn't stand to live like this anymore. I decided that I was old enough to know that I am putting myself through unnecessary torture, so I made the drunken, grand decision that I would move home after this quarter was over.

And then my boyfriend got pissed at me, and rightly so. He got offline to start his day and let me cool down. Suddenly alone in my panic, I felt even more miserable and hopeless than before. Furious at him, and at myself I went to bed early. No going out for this redhead. My outfit for my planned night was still laid out on my bed when I crawled under the thin quilt to sleep. I found it in a messy pile at the foot of my bed this morning.

It seems I come apart every time I talk to my boyfriend. He is the only person I can talk to with any honesty about how I feel, and he's at the center of most of my feelings about being here. So the poor guy gets to hear all the crap and listen to me break down every few days. He's handling it really well, but I can't keep doing this to him. And I know he's nearing his breaking point with my complaining. I won't be winning any Best Girlfriend of the Year awards, I'm afraid. I'll be lucky to get a Miss Emotional Stability ribbon.

I hesitate to say, "I should be...." because that is a verbal set up for failure. But I should be happy. I should be. I really, really should be. Or at least I should be a little excited, or a little thrilled. But I am finding it hard to live in the moment, and see this opportunity for what it is. All I can focus on is how lonely I am, and how lonely I will continue to be if I can't shake this downer bullshit.

I Can't Shelf the Issue (har dee har)

It is safe to say I am obsessed with finding a way to get some drawers and storage into this dorm room. I tried to reorganize my stuff last night (I don't even have that much stuff here) and it was an exercise in frustration more than anything else.

A trip to IKEA is in order. I've taken measurements, I know what I'm looking for. I just need to go and buy a few things. I need to stop obsessing and solve the problem. I will feel much better when I have a place to put my socks that isn't the same drawer as my paint supplies and computer accessories.

Also, I saw this on A Softer World and it seemed appropriate to my last post. It made me smile.

My Little Pity Party

Self pity is an ugly thing. But it seems I need to indulge in it this evening.

It's Friday night and I am without friends, a boyfriend, or friendly acquaintance to go out with. Going out on my own is far too scary right now because I feel like it's either a recipe for lonely disaster, or a chance to have to deal with men who are trying to pick me up.

That sounds egotistical, but it's not. It's just that being a girl out at night on her own sends out the single girl signal. And while I may be living alone, I am not single. Honestly I don't know how to deal with people approaching me when my long distance relationship is so difficult for me right now. Until I feel comfortable with my love life as it stands, I don't feel good about putting myself out there as "unavailable, but always here by myself, and hi it's nice to meet you".

The other side of this problem is that I think I'm giving off a desperate vibe. I have never before been so goddamn fucking lonely in my entire life. I see people on their cellphones talking to friends to kill time between trains and it makes me so jealous. I have always had people to text or call when I'm out and about. I've had friends that I could rely upon to invite me out every weekend (even though I almost never went) and friends that would almost always wander around thrift stores and cafes with me. And now I can't even figure out how to socialize with people, much less make a friend who I can call to chat with when I'm bored.

Thing is, I have toned my shtick down to the point that I have almost nothing to say because I'm trying to gauge what I CAN say around people here. I am treading carefully. Maybe too carefully. But I am not comfortable here. I feel surprisingly foreign in some ways.

I just want a friend who gets it. I want one person who I can have a drink with, who is going through similar things. I want someone who calls me when they need an ear, or have some free time. I want a friend. I don't think that's too much to ask for.

Let me say that I do love being alone. I really do. But I'm had enough of it for right now. It's Friday night and everyone I know is busy or hanging out with their real friends, and didn't catch my subtle hints about looking for something fun to do tonight. And I am afraid to go out on my own and run into situations that I don't know how to handle. I feel so pathetic. I should be out in London doing new exciting things and meeting new exciting people in new exciting places. And instead I am spending another night at my computer, indulging in a little pity party for myself.

I want to be the kind of person that can have a great time on her own. But I am not there yet. I am too confused, too desperate, and too broke to go out and navigate brand new social waters alone. When I feel this stressed it's hard to find the social balance necessary to be fabulous yet approachable, fun but not flirty, interesting but not showy, and clear about what I want and what my boundaries are.

So instead I will slouch in the chair at my desk while moping about how I have no friends, and generally feel sorry for myself for the rest of the evening...

It's Not Getting Any Easier

It seems I fall to pieces every time I talk to my boyfriend. I cannot fathom staying here for three years without him, and the situation seems so hopeless that my chest tightens and I feel I can't breathe. It's pathetic, honestly.

I am going through withdrawal from him. And I don't know what is on the other side of the withdrawal. I think I am making myself feel worse in order to ensure that I don't ever feel okay without him, because I'm scared of what that may mean. I think I'd rather need him and be miserable than feel confident on my own and risk feeling disconnected from him. See, I am beginning to wonder if I'm worried that getting over missing him will mean that I am actually getting over him.

I knew that doing a long distance relationship was going to be hard on me, but I had no idea that I would feel such an intensely emotional duality about it. On one hand I am completely fine on my own. I have moments when I am lonely or miss my old friends, but I am also incredibly excited to meet new people and have so much time on my own.

But on the other hand I am a nervous wreck at the same time. I feel both completely fine and utterly panicked. I keep finding myself rushing home immediately after class in hopes that my boyfriend will be awake and online, even if I have nothing in particular to tell him. I am so desperate to feel close to him that I sometimes lose sight of why I am here- for an education at one of the top design schools in the world. And in order to get that education, I need to be incredibly focused on what is going on here, now, with me. And not on him, no matter how much I love him.

So how do I stay connected to someone that is thousands of miles away, while also being independent enough to focus on my own life? How do I maintain a relationship when I cannot reasonably expect my partner to be there with me, or be around when I need him? And how can I find a way to get over my fears, and disconnect from the relationship just enough to allow my focus to be where it should, while staying connected to a man I love?

How the hell do I balance all of this and not drive myself utterly insane in the process?

Exhausted and Slightly Downtrodden

I cannot seem to sleep. I think it has something to do with sleeping alone in a tiny bed after years of being in a queen size bed with someone else. My restless nights are compounded by regular fire alarms in the building at all hours. And then last night a mirror fell off my shelf, smashed into a plate on the desk below and sent my makeup flying around the room, shattering into the carpet. I wanted to go back to sleep, but it wasn't mean to be.

Sound travels down the hallway, and every morning a few of the room mates' more piercing voices find their way to me as they prepare breakfast in the kitchen. Sleeping in rarely happens on planet Redhead, but a little sleep would be nice right about now.

Zzzzzzz five more minutes, Mom....

Anyhow, my summer project presentation was disheartening, to say the least. I knew I hadn't gone all out for it. I knew I could have made presentation boards and painted pretty pictures. But I didn't. I was focused on the emotional havoc caused by moving, and when I arrived here I arrived with no art supplies and no fabric. Art was not high on the to-do list, I'm afraid.

But when most of the class pulled out collaged books of photographs and fabric experiments, followed by books of illustrations and test runs on mannequins, or fully painted renderings and beautiful hand made fabrics they did themselves.... I realized that I really need to step up my game.

I have never before been at the bottom of a class. I've always pulled an easy A, or at least an easy high B. But sitting in this classroom, watching everyone else present their beautiful work and all the research and time and effort they put into it.... I was ashamed to get up there and show my crappy little sketchbook. I turned red, forget everything I wanted to say, made a few excuses, flipped through a couple pages to show my thought process, and stood there to meet the blank, bored stares of my classmates and professors.

"Do I really want this?" I asked myself. "Am I cut out for this?"

And then I asked, "am I really so lazy that I'm not willing to work my way up to the top?" This program is going to be hard for me. I suppose I am used to my work being "pretty good" on average. This program is going to be quite a trial, I think.

I am not so competitive that I need to be the best. But I refuse to be the worst. I have got to pull out all the stops and dive in. I need to do things that are not fun or easy for me. I need to establish that I am not the lazy American girl that presented a shitty project the first day of class. I cannot let that first impression last. My next project has to be amazing. It has to be fucking incredible.

But on the bright side, I suppose I have nowhere to go but up. If you start at the bottom, your progress is more noted, more obvious. If you start at the bottom, you have the opportunity to blow them out of the water someday when they least expect it.

So I guess I just need to stop distracting myself and focus. Focus entirely on my courses, and not on running home to chat online, or wandering around high street looking for a jacket and a pretty lamp. From here on out, if there is any chance that I could reach higher and push myself harder, I need to do it. I need to focus on school. I did not come here to sit around online like I did back home.

And I need to get some sleep.

G'nite.

Laziness or Lonliness

Low key day. I should be out, but I feel kinda shitty.

I've been working on my homework but I'm feeling a mite distracted and bored.

I got some mail today that was the second (and third) super extra annoying customs charge for a box I shipped. All in all, they've charged me an additional £250 or so for three boxes on top of the shipping fees I paid in the US. Is that trashy to talk about money? I don't care right now, I'm too annoyed to be classy about it.

It feels like I've been here longer than ten days. I suppose they have been very full days, though. Still, I wish I had more things sorted out. A real cell phone for example instead of this crappy thing I have. Or some storage in my room. Or the homework finished. Or a few more friends made. I feel like I've wasted my time here, somehow.

I really wish I had more friends. Loneliness is on the fringes of my psyche, closing in. I keep it at bay by leaving my door open to hear the sounds of my room mates, keeping my window open so I can hear street noise, and being online whenever I'm home. I start up conversations with people, but they never go anywhere. "Weird American," they must be thinking. And I've found that a little retail therapy hasn't hurt either. But when it comes down to it, I am desperate for companionship of some kind.

I feel sort of pathetic that it's only taken me 10 days or so before I've started to notice a need for other people. I was really hoping I'd find my own independent nature here. Maybe I have in some ways. No, I know I have in some ways. But I still crave a social life.

I'd like to think that I'll feel a little better if I get a big chunk of this homework assignment out of the way. But maybe it isn't the best thing for me to be sitting alone in my dorm room drawing all day.

Saturday

It's Saturday. I really didn't want to spend the day alone, but my one cool room mate was stuck at a friend's place and had to cancel our plans. I couldn't waste a sunny day inside (especially since everyone I would want to talk to online is asleep during most of my daytime hours), so I begrudgingly dragged myself out of the house and over to Portobello Market.

It was overwhelmingly busy for someone perusing on her own. The crowds were slow, the stalls packed. I wanted to stop in a cafe or somewhere quiet, but sitting alone in such a busy social area would have really highlighted the fact that I was by myself today, like yesterday, and the day before... so I didn't stop to eat.

I think the novelty of all this time alone is beginning to wear off. I miss having friends to text when I'm waiting for a train, or a boyfriend to look forward to seeing each evening. I miss being able to call people to find a last-minute partner in crime for an event. Alone-time recharges my batteries, but they deplete much faster when I'm forced to do social things alone all the time.

The ride home on the underground seemed to take forever today. And when I finally got home, I realized that being "home" just means I'm alone some more.

I cannot wait for classes to begin. One more week, and then maybe I will finally have some focus, and the opportunity to meet like-minded people.

Arrived and Settling In

To think that three days ago I was sitting on a plane, sure that my life was over...

And now I reside in a little town called London. You might have heard of it.

It's only been two days since I arrived and already I feel comfortable in this city. Lost, but comfortable. But when I arrived at Heathrow on Saturday morning I was MISERABLE. If I could add more emphasis to that word I would. I was beyond exhausted but knew I needed to stay up until 9pm to help adjust to the time zone difference. I was so depressed and terrified that the space in my stomach where food would normally go was filled with a giant knot, and more than anything I wanted to turn around and go home once I saw the hole of a room that would be my home for the next year.

But sleep solves most problems. And I woke up to a sunny Sunday morning feeling alive and ready to take on the city around me. I dressed (which was surprisingly saddening since so much of my clothing reminds me of my boyfriend), grabbed a tube map I'd gotten the day previous, and set out to meet my aunt at Kings Cross.

I navigated the usual weekend fiasco on the underground (every weekend some part of several different lines shut down for electrical work, making travel a bit more exciting on your days off), and found myself sitting on an empty train car smiling to myself. "Holy shit," I thought, "I LIVE in London now." Then the doors clunked closed and the metallic ca-chunk of the trains moving distracted me from my thoughts, but didn't wipe the smile from my face.

The first thing I noticed when I arrived at Kings Cross was that I felt a comforting familiarity flow through me. When I was in Cambridge last year I took the train into Kings Cross every day I came to London, and it's one of the few places in this city that I know my way around very well. And when I saw my aunt, I felt like I had a little pocket of family and safety only an hour away.

She and I had breakfast (soft boiled egg and toast for me) before wandering through housewares stores with beautiful over-designed items that I very much want. Looking at all the pretties around me, I realized that making my dorm room feel like a home was going to be a slow, fun process. And in realizing that, the room quite suddenly became more livable. The horrible ill-fitting sheets that came with my bed, the horrible yellow lighting, the nasty blue carpet, the discomfort of the tiny bathroom..... these were no longer problems I couldn't solve. In fact I look forward to solving them.

I spent the evening in our ill-equipped kitchen, chatting it up with my new international flatmates (one of whom is incredibly cool) while sharing a bottle of cheap red wine.

Today was equally exciting because it was Monday! YEAY! Monday meant that I could finally go about getting all those basic things done, like finding a top-up mobile phone to get me around while I price-shop for a good contract phone. And going to my school to finalize my paperwork. And opening up my first London bank account. And buying a SUPER comfy robe to keep me warm in the mornings. And to stare at all the incredible boots in the window of Office on Oxford street. Ohmigod, ohmigod, ohmigod. Hold. Me. Back..... No wait, don't.

I ate lunch in a cafe this afternoon so I could write down some thoughts to share here. I recalled having a dream about shopping for clothes with Dustin Hoffman, and trying to find a good belt and tie for him. Which has nothing to do with anything, but I thought it was funny and wanted to remember it. I also wrote that I wish I could have trusted that I would feel this way when I arrived in London. Upon departure, I was so sure my life was ending; so sure that I would suffer horribly and live a lonely life of sadness for the next three years. Part of me knew that wasn't true, but I was so sad in those last days in SF that it was hard to see beyond that.

I guess I've been writing a lot to sort out my thoughts in these past two days. And looking over the writing now, it seems I end each entry by saying "I am okay," when I feel alright, or brave. Today I ended my last entry by saying, "I am okay. And soon, I will be better than okay- soon I will be good."

Goodbye, Mom

I just got off the phone with my mom, and realized for the first time that I will really truly miss her when I leave. We have had our differences, but she is my mom, and she loves me unconditionally. She is really happy for me, and very proud of me, and even a little jealous, but by next fall, she will be half way around the world, eight hours apart, and living on a separate land mass from me.

I keep thinking about London as though my life, my favorite people, and my apartment will be transplanted there with only minor changes. It's slowly sinking in that I not only have eight months left with my boyfriend and my friends, but also with my family. And I realized that I will arrive in London alone, find my way to CSM alone, and sleep there alone in my little room while I try and create a new life for myself in a place where I know almost no one. And I know I will build a life there, but it will take time. And there will be things I will love, and things I will hate, just like here. I will find some people that I like, and some that I despise, and some that I will laugh at. But it will take time.

I suppose tonight is the first time I really understood that I will be starting over, and truly alone for the first time in my life.

Suddenly I realize how short eight months is....