Moscow: Day 2

Yo y'all! So, here I am, in Moscow. Whod'a thunk?

I've just spent probably the most stressful few weeks of my life trying to get here, battling with bureaucracy and fucking idiots who were acting on my behalf, but not in my interest. Seriously, I was losing faith in the world and its ability to contain people who are either kind or at least vaguely intelligent. And by vaguely intelligent, I mean things like, able to predict that if they don't give me the information I need to fill in my visa application correctly, I probably won't get a visa. Etc.

I couldn't really see any point in blogging because it would have just been a rant at the amount of people trying to screw money and time out of me.  Two banks have had a go at the former, 3 Russian organisations at the latter. Seriously, I'm up to here with it. *indicated point well above head*

But after all that, I made it at last. Flew in on Saturday, and had the evening to settle into my new flat with my flatmate Lena, though not her fiancé Paulus who will also be living with us, because he's currently at home in Lithuania where they're getting married later this month.

We went to the supermarket to pick up a few things, which was a little stressful but not too bad because we mostly agreed on what to buy. We also got a watermelon from the watermelon man outside our building that weighed about as much as a toddler, and was so big it wouldn't fit in the sink so we had to rinse it in the bath. I lol'd.

So yesterday was my first full day. I went to the drama school where I'll be working, and it seems a nice little place. It's got 3 teaching rooms, including one that doubles up as a photography studio, and a wee theatre that surprisingly seats up to 50.

I was halfway through a discussion with Martin (the big English cheese) when I was approached by Natasha (the big Russian cheese) and asked if I'd help them do some advertising on the streets, because yesterday was Moscow's birthday and there were loads of people out and about for the celebrations. She suggested that I do it in costume with them, and I idiotically agreed.... Half an hour later, I'm standing in a crowded park dressed in a bright orange dog costume, handing out flyers. When they said they wanted to draw attention to themselves, I hadn't quite appreciated how much attention they were intending to draw.... At least the kiddies seemed to appreciate me....

Luckily I was saved after about an hour by a potential new pupil coming to audition back at the studio, so Martin and I went back to meet him. Cute enough kid, 7 years old, and seemingly game for this acting malarky. Then I met an older pupil - about my age, I'd say - called Sergei, who was practising a monologue for that night's English Evening at a local bar. I helped him out a bit, very impressed that he had memorised a Shakespearean speech, and then we all went down to the bar to set up. How it seems to work is, this guy Alexei who is a world-class flamenco guitar player (and really is very good) plays his guitar for about half an hour while people interested in speaking English arrive; everyone chats for a while, then Sergei does his piece (I gather there are normally more little performances of that kind); then the other native speakers and I get up on the stage and introduce ourselves before a round of speed-English. Like speed-dating, except you're just speaking English to each other in the 3 minutes you get before the bell rings and you change partners.

I was hesitant to go, not really wanting to spend a lot of time speaking English, but I did get some new Russian friends out of it who are apparently happy to speak Russian with me another time, so all was not lost. Got home at about midnight, had some dinner finally with my flatmate and her best friend Olga who had driven us home, and so to bed. I have to say, for a first day, I don't think I did too badly. 24 hours and I'd already started working and acquired more friends than I could count on my fingers.

Today is day 2: started with a phone call from the mother of the little boy I'm teaching English to, arranging to meet at 12:30. When I rang at 10 the kid was still in bed apparently, so I don't know what kind of school he goes to because normally all Russian schools start on September 1st... Anyway, I'll be off there in a minute. Then a business lunch type thing in the restaurant of the theatre where Martin and I will be working, meeting...oh, I can't remember, some person of significance. Possibly someone looking to join the drama school, possibly someone connected with the melodeclamation performance Martin is doing there in a couple of weeks (which he apparently wants me to stage manage, news to me!)

So, off I pop. La'ers! xxx

*TRIG* Advertising Anger

 

Am I the only person made absolutely furious by these weight loss adverts that came up when I was watching a Russian TV program online? Maybe for some people 48kg is a healthy weight - but frankly, you'd have to be pretty short, because I am admittedly tall but my MINIMUM healthy weight is around 60kg. And as for that one of Amy Winehouse looking skeletal, well, there's no excuse for that. There's just. no. excuse. You can count her bones for Christ's sake! And yes, it is a weightloss advert, not a shocking magazine story about how unhealthy Amy Winehouse had become.

THIS MAKES ME ROAR LIKE A DINOSAUR.

Bye-Bye Venlafaxine

I've been cutting my meds down recently, doing away with the useless ones to leave - hopefully - just a succinct, killer combo of action heroes. Currently on venlafaxine, aripiprozole, quetiapine and buproprion, of which the former 2 have achieved nothing and the latter 2 are very good.

Got the aripiprozole down to a half dose so should be starting to come off that next time I see Mr Psych, and I cut out the venlafaxine completely 4 days ago. Been having some bitch of a withdrawal, constantly feeling like I've just stood up too quickly, nausea, throbbing head, not sleeping, hot flushes and the sweats... But, at least I'm still for the most part capable of functioning, so it can't be too bad. (She says...)

Also been incredibly emotional these last few days, which I put down to withdrawal also; I've just been on the brink of tears half the time, and actually in tears most evenings by the time I'm in bed. It doesn't help that I'm only now starting to process the overdose - it must have been 2 months ago now, and I'm only just comprehending and accepting that it happened. I think at the time I was too numb to deal with it properly; I just carried on as normally as I could trying to get through exams without going mad. Which I didn't manage, admittedly, having to pull out before the end for my own safety, but I think in hindsight I had blinkers on and was focusing so much on just getting from one day to the next that I hadn't the time to look back and reflect. Now I have, and I gotta say, it ain't nice. I understand how and why it happened, and that's helping me come to terms with it, but it's still hard, and very painful.

I don't know the exact date when it happened, so I can't say exactly how long ago it was, but I think that's a good thing. I don't want that date to be forever enshrined as The Day I Tried to Kill Myself, rolling round every year.

Got very frustrated last night, in one of my emotional paddies, at the thought that in terms of my eating disorder, comparing now to this time last year it's barely distinguishable. I was in almost exactly the same place then as I am now, having moved on from the year before that, but no further. I've had to put myself back on a meal plan because since having acid reflux (or whatever it was) my eating has gone out the window and I *need* to get it back on track before Moscow. If I'm to be working with kids, I cannot - and I mean cannot - be exhibiting any disordered behaviours or even attitudes. But it doesn't feel any easier than it was following a plan this time last year; if anything it's harder because I'm not reviewing each week in therapy as I was then. My parents think I'm fine because of a comment I optimistically made when I first got home for the summer, and I haven't the heart to tell them the truth. I just feel like my recovery has stalled and not moved forward this whole year. I've been too distracted and absorbed in basic survival of university to make any real progress. I have times when I can eat normally, yes, but that was the case last year as well, and the point is that those times have not become any more frequent or reliable. Grumble grumble.

The other thing that's hard is I feel I'm becoming separated from my eating disorder, but rather than that being a positive thing, at the moment it's very negative. Thing is, eating disorders are very good company when you're on your own. And I've been on my own for a while. Every time I get close to someone, we end up drifting apart. I'm still in that stage of life where people are moving and doing new things every year or two, so no friendship is going to last in terms of face-to-face contact time. And let's face it, without face-to-face contact time, most friendships weaken. They don't disappear, but they fade drastically. And I've tried so hard these last few years to be open with people, to let them get close to me and push myself out of my comfort zone - and for what? Am I still able to phone up any of those people for support when I'm having a crisis? No. Have we even spoken since the summer began? No. The only person I'm at all close with at the moment is someone I've never met, and I'm sure the reason I feel more secure in that relationship is precisely because it isn't affected by one or both of us changing location - it's all online, and always has been, so there's some kind of durability to it. It's not like university friends whom you lost contact with after your degree, or school friends whom you meet up with occasionally but you're not all that close to despite having known them 11+ years. In this case, you start off separated by a great distance, which means that distance does not pose a problem when either of you move, because you're used to the physical separation. But apart from that one friendship? I'm very much alone right now. There's a huge hole where my eating disorder ought to be, and I don't know how I'm supposed to cope without it. By that I don't mean that my eating disorder is gone, not by any means, but I'm no longer courting it like a lover, or trusting it when I'm in distress. I hate to admit it, but loneliness is fucking hard.

In terms of Moscow, still don't have a job sorted. Got two agencies apparently trying to get me a position, but I've heard nothing for several days and am getting very antsy. It takes at least 17 days to get a business visa, and that's only once you've got the invitation and God only knows how long that takes. I'm leaving in less than 4 weeks, flight booked, accommodation sorted. This is getting very urgent. Probably another reason I've been more emotional than usual, or maybe this is effect rather than cause, stress getting to me more than it would were it not for withdrawal. We'll see. Cracked and e-mailed both agencies today going WHAT'S GOING ON HAVE I GOT A JOB YET WAAAAAHHH. Not in so many words, but that was the jist. Fingers crossed eh...?

This has been a bit of a rant, for which apologies. Love to you all =) xxx

Flats and Jobs - Oh Bugger

Right, so, complications.
I agreed with a friend in Moscow that I would move in with her after her flatmate moved out - the only problem being that the current flatmate was moving out in May, and I wouldn't be arriving until September. No problemo, we thought, she knew someone who might want to come and live the summer with them. Except, it turned out that person didn't want to do that.
So they were left with an empty room and extra rent to pay, and nobody to help them pay it. I reluctantly offered to pay if it came to that, since it's kinda my fault that they can't just get a long-term tenant in; although I feel she should have known this might happen when she agreed to let me move in in September. Nobody's fault, really, but I do feel partially responsible which is why I offered to pay.
For a few weeks I heard nothing, so assumed that all was well and they'd found a flatmate for the summer after all. Messaged her yesterday just checking in, and got a reply today saying no, they haven't found anyone. Someone has been there for July, but that didn't pay for the room being empty in June, and it won't cover August either. Her landlady is now demanding the money.
I'm going to borrow it from my parents and wire it over to her, because I don't see another way out of this. I don't want to leave them hanging by saying "ok get a long-term tenant in" and dropping everything; but at the same time, I'm pissed off that it has come to this. It was so simple when we arranged it, and now everyone's so stressed out over it. She and her boyfriend (the 3rd housemate) have had 2 tiring and stressful months trying to find a summer tenant, and I now can't book flights for New Zealand in January because I can't do that *and* send them rent money. Gargh. And most of all, I'm worried that this is going to tarnish our friendship and make living with them awkward. That's the last thing I want/need. Everything was going so swimmingly between us and now, it's all gone understandably tense.

And then, my wonderful job fell through, and I've got to do another one for admittedly similar pay but considerably harder work - nannying a 7-year-old boy rather than a 12-year-old girl. The family also want me to work until 10pm which I cannot understand, because the kid will surely be in bed long before that, so I'm trying to negotiate getting off at 9. I need evenings for rehearsals, and seeing my Russian friends so I can actually learn some Russian! Bloody hell, why did it suddenly get so difficult.

Tempted to just give up emotionally and see this as yet another example of why I shouldn't get my hopes up about anything. But I can't afford to do that. I need hope right now. I need it. Last time I gave up hope I saw afterwards that it was a mistake, one that I don't want to make again. Must keep going. 

Name Change and Other Developments

Since I'm no longer at Oxford (not possible!!) I think it's time to do away with 'Oxford Blues'. I think I was the only person who got the pun anyway.

Besides, I shall now be blogging about different things. Still depression, still eating disorder recovery, but now in the big wide world rather than the insane, manic bubble that is Oxford University. It was a challenge in itself, but I've survived it, and my life is changing.

On September 1st I'll be flying out to Moscow to start a new life for a year. Yes, I'll be coming back to Britain after that year to do an MA in Interpreting and Translating at Bath (if they'll have me), but I intend to return to Russia when I've done that. It's where the work is, it's where the fun is, it's where the Russian is.

My job that I had set up fell through a few days ago: I was going to be nannying a 12-year-old girl from a family so VIP that the contract stated I wasn't allowed to tell anyone their surname, and teaching her English in preparation for going to Swiss boarding school. Then Family X, as I call them, suddenly decided they only needed a part-time nanny, not full-time as I was going to be. Well, I say full-time; that is, out-of-school hours 4 days a week and one day at the weekend. They would also take me on holiday with them to Italy for two months in the summer and continue to pay me, thank you very much. So I was pretty bummed when they pulled out of the deal, to say the least.

Fortunately, I did have a fall-back, and my boss very generously looked into some alternatives for me too. I shall soon have a Skype interview with a new family, also VIP according to the agency I contacted (called 'Prestige', which tells you all you need to know about their clientele), so we'll see how this pans out. It's basically the same job but with a much younger child, 5 years old, and I have no experience of working with children - eek! They know this perfectly well having seen my CV, but whatevs, employing me is their call. The pay would be £36k (ker-ching!) plus any overtime I worked by going on holiday with them. I know right, tough job but someone's gotta do it? Yeah.

I'm also going to be acting a lot and teaching drama at the Moscow English Drama School, which is a joke because I've never been to drama school. My training goes as far as Drama GCSE (that's age 15 for those outside England). Luckily the school is not training professionals, but just using drama as a way for Russians to improve their English, and allowing expats to socialise in a fun and creative way. Just as well, really, given that I have no technique whatsoever. The only technique (if you can call it that) which I am familiar with is all Stanislavski, having studied him in my theatre module at Oxford, but I'm hardly going to teach his 'system'. There's no such thing and anyway, it was designed for over-emotional Russians, not tight-laced Englishmen. I'm halfway through 'Trusting the Actor' by Brian Astbury, a friend's old drama tutor from East 15; his theory is that, quite the opposite to Russians, English actors need to think less and feel more, and I quite agree. So that will be my goal, despite having a mixed class of compatriots and Muscovites. We'll see how it goes...

On the eating disorder side of things, well, it's mixed. I've had a stomach upset for over a week now, diagnosed today as indigestion (i.e. acid reflux) and basically haven't been able to eat. I've lost not a lot but not an insignificant amount of weight - ED is loving it, recovery brain is banging its head on the table. So very very triggered to keep restricting even when I can eat again, you know how it goes - I'll just lose a bit more and then I'll stop - but I cannot allow myself to fall into that cycle again. Anorexia kills, full stop, and I don't want my parents to have to bury me. So, onwards and upwards.

Farewells

I left Oxford today, for the last time. Can't say I'll miss having to fill and then empty my room every term, but overall, it was quite sad.

It's strange to think how many of those people I'll never see again. And even if I do see them, it'll just be a brief meeting to say hello, and then we'll go our separate ways. It kind of pains me to think about the friends who are staying on at Oxford, and will continue to be friends without me there. They'll bond with each other, and I'll be elsewhere.

This summer will probably be quite a lonely one, but I hope productive in terms of recovery. I've been struggling with food lately, and I need to get on top of it asap. I cannot take my eating disorder to Russia with me. I just can't. But then at the same time, I don't want to take "unnecessary fat" with me either... It's the eternal dilemma. I don't want an eating disorder, but I do want to be thin(ner). Question is, which do I want more?

I've got about 3 good self-help books that I've started, and hopefully will finish over the summer. I've got two months to myself, which hopefully I'll survive and make the most of, rather than wallowing in loneliness. I need this time to heal.

I really find it hard to get my head around the fact that university is over. I'm ready to move on, but still, I'm used to it being my life. I'm used to being a student, not an adult working a proper job! Ok, I'll be going back into education in a year, which is comforting, but still... I'll be sad not to be living the student lifestyle, although I won't miss the work or the pressure or the exams. That, I can do without. And it's good that I have something to go to after the summer, a decent living plan that factors in both work and play. Cannot wait to be acting again, like, seriously cannot wait.

I suppose I'll be kind of reviewing my life over the next few days. Taking stock of the changes. It has yet to sink in that I'm not an Oxford student any more. I might have to change the name, or the tag, of my blog, though I don't quite feel I've escaped the clutches of Oxford yet - probably won't until I've got my results and the degree is well and truly over.

So, a sad day, but one that had to come. And I'm glad it has come. Any more time there would have been too much. I've been through a lot, and learnt a lot, and grown a lot, and now I'm ready to close that chapter of my life.

I hate exams.

That's it, pretty much. I've done 3 so far this week and I'm absolutely exhausted. Which wouldn't be a problem if I didn't have to do 5 more. Have an appointment at the hospital tomorrow which is probably a good thing. It's difficult to tell whether I would be feeling suicidal without exams, but the fact that they're happening now feels like exceptionally bad timing. Like, I'm just not ready to go through something else. I've had to put up with so much, and I feel like I've run out of ability to cope. Suicide has never felt so logical. I read somewhere that suicide isn't a choice - it happens when the things you have to cope with outbalance the ways you have to cope. I feel like I'm in that place right now.

Ok, so technically I'm not supposed to be worrying about what grade I get. But I can't help thinking about it. I can't help thinking "I ought to be getting a 2.i, and everyone is expecting me to" - the more people tell me they think I can do it, the more people I feel I'm at risk of disappointing. I don't want to be reassured I'll get good grades. I want to be reassured that it doesn't matter, because if aiming for a 2.i is making me feel like I want to kill myself, then it clearly isn't worth it. I get why people want to try and tell me they think I'll do well, but that's so not the point. My parents have been texting me wishing me good luck and saying that I know my stuff, and I appreciate the sentiment, but I wish they would understand that it's not about how well I do any more. It's about whether I can survive until 12:30 on June 10th, simple as. And it doesn't look especially likely at the moment. The pressure is too much. And everyone telling me they think I can get a 2.i just increases the pressure, because it obliges me to try and live up to that expectation. And on top of that, it implies that getting a 2.i is important; you'll be happy if you get one, right? No, I'll be fucking happy if I'm still alive by the time results come out. I wish people would stop having expectations of me full stop. I can't handle them. It's like, stop telling me you think I'll be fine and LISTEN to the fact that I'm not. Because I'm not worried about whether I get a 2.i. I'm worried about whether I can survive the pressure to. And that pressure is not relieved by people telling me I'll get it, thereby reinforcing its importance - it's relieved by people saying you know what, fuck results, let's just focus on staying alive. That's the level I'm operating on here. Why is everyone refusing to see that?

Gargh. No wonder suicide is foremost in my mind.