Lost in London (Part 1)

The Beginning

 I can't believe it's been 5 months tomorrow since I arrived down in London to start my PhD. It seems like it's gone both incredibly slowly, and incredibly quickly. I've learned a lot about many things in that time, the very least of which is the PhD stuff. Don't get me wrong though, I now know a hell of a lot about a subject so complex that there are only 2 or 3 people who understand what I'm talking about in my current circle, all of whom are my supervisors. 5 months amounts to slightly more than a semester back up in Dundee, but when you work muuuch longer hours and have a world to discover, measurement of time becomes a very concrete and latent thing.

Inverkeithing station, taken just before I stepped on the train south.

Arriving in Kings Cross St Pancras to this heart-rendering statue. It becomes a lot more impressive when you compare it in size to the nearby man.

I want to summarise my emotions in the first months before I go any further. I was not happy, and thought I could skim over it with a sentence or two, I want to convey some sense of what it felt like.

When I got off the train, I did not have a flat, I didn't know anyone in the city, the girl I cared deeply about suddenly got stricken with a mystery stomach pain that had her hospitalised in Norway out of my reach. The friend who offered me accomodation and company in my first two nights was broken up with, and could not be blamed for spending the majority of the time devastated in her bed. The girl whom I had befriended and who had planned to start her PhD at the same time as me in Roehampton... her delightful mother died suddenly of cancer. I later discovered this was not the only death of someone close to people in my life that happened around the move... it was ridiculous. My Dad joked that I was an inadvertant harbringer of doom. I appreciated his amused take, because for a moment I did actually believe that. It was NOT a good introduction.

I should note that I had a large amount of fortune to balance out the negativity. My supervisor-to-be offered me accomodation at his flat for a week whilst I looked for a place of my own. He helped me find my way to uni, and introduced me to his incredible wife who never made me feel unwelcome for a moment. Without that sanctuary during the first week I would've broken completely. People at uni were kind to me, and I was in constant contact with family back home. I didn't forget the help I was given by anyone, but the negativity gripped my heart so completely that for the majority of the time I was unable to put the positives in front of it.

I got thrown into the PhD and experienced that horrifying first moment where you realise that you really do get welcomed with a desk and your own potential. I didn't know what I was expecting really. I actually think I wasa purposefully ignorant fool, as I have learned from everyone I know doing PhDs now, that this is a normal sensation. There is, in fact, a series of webcomics stretching back 15 years dedicated to the subject of PhD anxieties (http://www.phdcomics.com). I lost the ability to sleep more than a couple of hours, every second was filled with dark ruminations that left me paranoid, devoid of confidence, and feeling like a pathetic schoolboy who couldn't deal with homesickness. This was somewhat exacerbated by my uncertainty of what I was actually supposed to be doing from day to day, and I expressed these worried to my supervisors, who to their eternal credit, listened with understanding.

I found a flat, where I still reside because it is wonderful. I settled in to my desk (put up pictures of my parents and a little model my Gran gave me), the girl got out of hospital with smiles, and came back to her studies in England. I did not, however, get more sleep or stop the rumination. Whatever caused me so much of a stress burst remained with me, but I fought it as best I could. I leaned heavily on my parents, who came to visit me when they had work down in the area. They didn't treat me like a child, instead they helped me learn what it was to look at troubles and life changes from an adult perspective; something I thought I already had but apparantly...did not. At this point, I was completely unable to keep in contact with friends. I couldn't speak to them, because I could not hear the words "well why don't you come home then?"

My Dad helped me enjoy my place of work.

Whilst my Mum helped me see the lighter side of my new 'town'.

In order to fight the homesickness, the loneliness, the (even if inaccurate) feeling of isolation and bleakness; I took the perspective that action could overcome thought. I decorated my bedroom, and bought plants for our balcony. I got to know my flatmates and went for dinner and drinks with them without dwelling. I joined a local choir, a local gym, bought a bike and tried my hardest never to spend a minute wasting time. I went on jogs around Richmond park with a colleague, and visited the sites of central London with visiting friends. Though my initial progress at PhD work was slow, I tried not to stress myself about it more than was necessary. The first thought that came into my mind was to run back to what was familiar, but my insides gripped to the floor and told me that would be a stupid thing to do. That I would consider myself a failure, and that it would leave me with a paralysing fear of change. I had to get through this experience and grow from it. Even if that meant being depressed for what seemed like an eternity.

When people get down, they all do things differently. I chose to exercise to reduce the physical stress, in the hope it would null out some of the mental. This worked well. I became fitter, ate healthily, went on walks and discovered one of the best things in my new life was taking the time to explore. It would take a while for the weather to improve, but once it did, I started cycling longer distances and seeing some really lovely scenes.

Over a long period, I started to get through the days without feeling downhearted much. Recently I almost go through an entire week without much self doubt. I hope I've come through the worst of it, and I really feel like I'm almost ready to start deciding who I am after that fucking transformation.

Yeah!