4 days pt 2

I'm confused by how many cleaners have suddenly appeared in my flat. There was one, then there were three, then four, now six, back down to three...

I'm having a bit of a white person complex right now because the cleaners are all non-English speakers from other countries. Somehow I didn't feel like such a privileged white bitch when my Indian flatmate was the one organizing the cleaning service. *shrink

So after waking early to wait for the Virgin Media guy to come collect the router, and waiting for hours, I finally called and they told me "oh, no one is coming to pick it up. Ooops. Just leave it." Great, thanks guys. There were so many things I could have done this morning had I not been sitting around waiting! I could have slept in!

I managed to get rid of my unwanted clothes and shoes by putting them downstairs in the entry way with a sign saying "FREE CLOTHES size 14 and SHOES size 8-9". They were gone in ten minutes.

Now I just have to survive the walkthrough with the property manager at 3pm. I anticipate a lot of arguing and drama. Hopefully I can either kill him with smiles and kindness, or turn on the, "I'm taller, bigger, and meaner than you," persona. It just depends on how he wants to play this.

Today is stressful. I just want this part of it to be over with as quickly as possible.

4 days pt 1

Waiting for the Virgin Media guys to come take away my internet. In the meantime I have the cleaners in, and one particularly stinky/sweaty guy is cleaning my bathroom. His scent does not inspire confidence but he seems to be taking his time doing details, so....

In the meantime, I am taking photos of stuff so I can determine which clothes I'm carrying down to the donation bin, and which I'm shoving into a bag to give to friends. I was going to donate my bike back to the place I bought it from (they are lovely and fix old bikes to sell at good prices), but luckily an equally tall friend of mine is in need of a bike for a few weeks, so I'm riding down to give it to her today and she's going to donate it for me!

I stupidly asked a friend to keep one of my suitcases at her place so I didn't have to bother carrying it around this weekend, but now I realize I need to put a few things in there. Oops!

I still feel like I have so much to do. I need to make a few phone calls, meet with the property managers for a walkthrough tonight (not looking forward to that), mail some books to a friend who forgot them, move all my stuff to my girl's house for the weekend, and then move it all to my friend's house on Monday, repack once I have the other suitcase, organize a car to Heathrow....

I won't rest until I'm on the plane. Now I just have to take vitamins and get sleep so I don't end up with a cold on my flight... that will hurt.

6 days

I am 99% packed. I have some forms to fill out, but all my boxes save one are taped, marked, numbered and ready to go when the shipping company gets here tomorrow. My suitcases are nearly full and there is almost nothing left in this flat that wasn't here to begin with.

It's real. I'm actually moving. It finally dawned on me today when I removed the last colourful bits of "me" from my bedroom and pushed the furniture back into its original place. Suddenly the room looked stark and empty, and no longer felt like home.

I was rereading old blog posts this evening- particularly those written when I first moved to London. I was so sad during that time. I remember the knotted stomach and unbearable loneliness, and my heart sinking the moment I saw the dorm room for the first time. And now I'm sleeping in a room that no longer feels like my own surrounded by boxes and suitcases, again. It's not the same thing, but there are echoes in the experience.

My flatmate is moving out tomorrow. I am glad to see her go because things didn't go as well as I'd hoped- I think we will part ways with the sort of stories about one another in which we call the other one "absolutely insane". Ah well. I'm looking forward to one or two nights alone in the flat before I leave on Saturday morning to go stay with my girlfriend for the weekend. Then on Monday I stay with a dear friend in Camden before waking early to get to Heathrow Tuesday morning. I have so much to do- so many odds and ends to take care of- turning off the utilities, organizing the donation of my bike and clothes, dealing with the property managers and our cleaners, sorting out my bank, my cellphone and internet, trying to fit in a few final goodbyes with friends and family....

I will get it all done of course, but I just feel sad about it all tonight. I will miss so many people and so many things about my time here.

McQueen is Dead. Long Live McQueen.

I'm not one to mope about the death of famous people I didn't know, but today is a sad day for all designers: Alexander McQueen killed himself this morning.

His work has been an inspiration to me for years. His fabulous creations will be very missed by this Redhead. Rest in peace, Lee Alexander McQueen.

Returning to England

It's Friday afternoon and the realization that I leave in three days has suddenly hit me. I am starting to feel the stress that was so familiar to me this past year as I begin planning to leave The Boy and go back to London.

But this time is different from all the others. I am trying to balance out the familiar dread by reminding myself of all the good things about my life in London since I left CSM. This will be the first time I'll be returning to my flat and NOT the horrible student halls. It will be the first time I return without having to go back to another term at the dreaded CSM. In fact I am already looking forward to taking more classes in shoes, and seeking out an internship. I also have a job to return to. It is also the first time I'm returning with friends, events, and familiar habits waiting for me on the other side. So I need to keep reminding myself of this any time I start to dread my return to England.

My last year in England will be good. Remind me of this when I start to complain.

Bikes Be Gone

Today my flatmate and I both had our bikes stolen while we were having a drink in the pub a few streets away.

We came outside excited by our day and our new found comfort riding in real traffic, only to find that the rack where we had chained our bikes was empty. I felt numb, and then sick, and now I'm just sad and pissed off.

We are going to do everything we can to try and find our bikes. We will go to all the 2nd hand bike shops to ask if bikes matching our descriptions were sold to them yesterday. We also filed a police report, even though we know they won't do anything about it (despite the CCTV cameras pointed directly at the place where we locked our bikes up).

It feels like someone took away the symbol of my new freedom to go where I want to go. It really shook me up for a few hours. Somehow it will all work out, I am sure of it. But right now it just feels shitty.

:/



goodbye little bikes.

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.

Sick

Party at my flat last night- TOTAL DISASTER.

Well it was for me at least, as I spent the whole evening throwing up and sobbing into a towel for no real reason.

I've never been drunk enough to throw up or not remember things. And I didn't have too much to drink, either. I guess something just didn't agree with me.

After my VERY caring room mates sat with me and rubbed my back while I threw up the entire contents of my body (I swear, if I vomited up a lung or my spleen I wouldn't be surprised) they managed to put me to bed. I woke at 6am and thought I was at my boyfriend's house for some reason. I turned expecting him to be there to hold me and warm me up, and felt my heart sink into my stomach when I realized where I was.

Got up, had some tea, sat around in the messy party remains in the kitchen eating slices of cheese and toast until I got too cold and crawled into bed again. Walking back into my room, I could survey the damage: apparently my sink decided to start leaking in a serious way, the shelving in my shower decided to fall, and my room was a giant mess of my clothes which I had managed to take off piece by piece over night. Either my entire flat smells slightly of the acidic contents of my stomach, or my nose has been burned by the acid and it's all I can taste and smell.

Everything is a mess and I just want last night to have not happened. I am so embarrassed I don't want to face anyone today. Even though I am not hung over, the whole evening made me feel really vulnerable and lonely.

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.

Failure, Optimism, and Drunk Friends

There are two words that hold a lot of power for me, and they are "failure" and "friend". Failure has always been a powerful thing for me, but friendship is a more recent addition, since moving to London. Today I dealt with both.

I found out that my optimism about my last project was unwarranted, as I once again failed. To add insult to, uh, insult, our fashion show was today, and the model who wore my dress wore it incorrectly, and unbuttoned and hid the best part of it. I was so deflated.

But after the show the entire class went out to dinner, and then pub hopped until 11pm. (There will be a hundred new, drunken, unflattering photos of me on facebook in a matter of hours, I'm sure.) At 11, my favorite gayboi and I headed back to the tube, but ended up getting off and heading to a pub near my flat, meeting up with two of his friends and having a fabulous time.

Until tonight, I wasn't sure this guy liked me, even though I thought he was fabulous. But when I heard him refer to me as "my friend Rachael" I was immediately happy to meet his other friends. Having someone call me "friend" has never been such an important thing before.

It's 1am, I just got home. I've had eight drinks, which in San Francisco times would have knocked me on my ass, but these days, in London I am only buzzed. That was an awkward sentence. Maybe I am a bitty bit drunk. But just a bit.

I failed my project. I've failed both projects this quarter. Miserably.
But I had a good evening, and that makes it all alright.

My Social Life, in Summary:

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.

A Few More Fabric Experiments

Today I went into class feeling like shit. I didn't get any great ideas from all my drawing and painting last night, and spent the better part of the evening having a really difficult State of the Union discussion with The Boy that went until 2am.

I had decided to run with the theme my teacher suggested (peacocks) and to my dismay, I'd come up with nothing I liked. I painted, I printed, I did hideous things to fabric all morning long. Finally I decided it was time for a coffee break. Nothing takes care of your woes like some caffeine, and a few people asking if your quiet morning is the result of sleepiness or something more. It's nice to feel cared about, even if it's just a casually friendly classmate's kind of caring.

I came back to the print room wanting to try something different. So I stopped drawing literal illustrations, and began crumpling up fabric and smearing dyes around until I got something I liked.

The results of these experiments used the colors I kept pulling together for my peacock illustrations, but used them in a less obvious way. And when I smoothed out my crumpled fabric I was reminded of origami. And while talking to my new favorite gay boy, I arrived at the conclusion that I wanted to do menswear tailoring with my brightly colored fabrics.

So I took out a book on origami, a book on menswear, and a book on Pucci (just for good measure) and I'm trying to work from there.

Here are my favorite results from today's experiments in Heat Transfer Printing:

My original test that inspired my new theme:


A follow-up test using a sheer fabric and overlaying fishnet:


A variation of my colors and print method:


And lastly, I shoved this fabric into what used to be a fishnet stocking, tied it up unto a ball, printed it, squished it in another direction, printed it, took it out of the stocking, squished it and printed it again, and did it once more for good measure:



So, yes... peacock colored origami menswear-inspired womenswear. We'll see how it goes....

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...

A Little Lie.... A Little Help, Please?

As the words came out of my mouth I believed them for a moment. "I hate it here," I said quietly before punching the letters into a chat window and hitting Enter.

I don't hate it here. And I am not homesick. But something is making me feel awful right now. I cannot focus. My apathetic attitude is worrying. I just want to float free and ignore life.

The funny thing is, I really don't want to move back to San Francisco. I love London, despite the weather, despite being broke, despite not knowing where I am, or where to go, or how to get there. I love this city and it feels like I was supposed to be here.

But at the same time I feel so lost. Something is missing, or something is wrong. And I don't know what it is, but it's making me toss and turn all night, and walk around feeling drugged all day. It's making me feel like I'm wound too tightly and might explode, yet I can't make myself care about anything all that much. I am hesitant about being too brave. I am excited by feeling terrified. I am miserable and broke and not sure how I'm going to buy groceries and drawing paper tomorrow, but I'm happy and looking forward to classes. I am lonely and desperate for companionship, but happy to be spending so much time in my own head.

I am incredibly confused. How is it possible to be so unhappy and so happy at the same time? How can I love living in London and hate my life here at the same time? What is it that I want and how do I fix whatever it is that is making me so panicked and sad?

What is going on and what the fuck do I do?

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?