Time alone

Some things haven't changed simply because I'm working in another country. My colleagues and my students are great but at the moment they are the only people I know here, so any social activities are an extension of work. Whilst it's good to go out with colleagues at the weekends or after work, try new restaurants or bars and try to forget about work, I still need time on my own. I always have done. It might be the Gemini in me that gets torn between wanting to be with people and be on my own. I seem to need more and more time on my own to recharge my batteries these days but the good thing is that the older I get, the more easily I recognise the signs that I need to do it. If I start to get grumpy, ratty with others etc, I just take time out as I did this weekend.  I spent last night and today being a domestic goddess (ish!), watching TV, studying, reading, listening to music etc and I feel much better as a result. Almost ready to face next week, in fact. 

I have smiled

Sometimes it's tough teaching. Sometimes it's tough being away from home. Sometimes it's tough when the only people you can talk to or spend time with are the people you work with. But sometimes things happen which make you smile. These can be very small things, or big things, and if you focus on them the harder stuff somehow seems easier to deal with.

I was having a tough day and one of my classes bought me chocolate for teachers' day a couple of weeks ago. That made me smile.

I went to the market at the weekend and saw these little guys sneaking a feed without paying. That made me smile.

I was walking past a 16 floor high block of flats and I saw some large writing on the ground. I stepped back to read it. It said "Julia, I love you. You are all I need" (in Russian of course). That made me smile. Similar things can be seen all over the city, and the love messages outside the maternity hospital really make me smile.

I was walking past Maternity Hospital No. 1 the other day. A proud father was posing for a photo at the entrance, holding a new born baby. He was wearing his best suit and everyone had balloons. That made me smile.

We have had the first snow. It melted but it looked beautiful on the tree outside my flat. That made me smile. 

It was sunny this morning and a Great Tit landed on the tree. I couldn't get a picture, but that made me smile too.

I know it's partially caused by pollution but this pink sunset made me smile. 

Lots of other things have made me smile: words from friends, family, colleagues and students. Funny things people (often students!) have said, finding Kleenex Balsam tissues in the supermarket, seeing a child try to catch snowflakes, but most of all, waking up every day and realising how lucky I am to be able to do a job I love. At this precise moment in time I wouldn't want to be doing anything else. 

Hidden treasures

Very few of the shops, bars, cafes or restaurants here are obvious. Places are advertised but when you try to find them all you see are buildings with no obvious entrance or shop front, and no way of telling what's inside other than a small sign in Russian.

This picture shows a row of shops with no indication from outside what they are selling.

Some newer buildings are appearing, baby shopping malls, but these are generally very exclusive shops (think fur and diamonds), and you can't see what shops are inside until you go in. Restaurants and cafes are similar, so every door is an adventure, albeit a somewhat daunting one occasionally.

Last night I went to a bar/restaurant with some colleagues. We walked through concrete and steel tower blocks, mud and puddles (looking forward to the freezing temperatures so we don't have to puddle dodge!) and came to a steel door with a small sign next to it. We went in, down some stairs, and it opened into a huge bar area (think a small Chicagos or something similar in terms of size). We were led upstairs into an equally large restaurant area with luxurious looking fittings and soft furnishings (owned by a well-connected local apparently...) and had a good meal, accompanied by, a rowing boat in the middle of the floor, walls containing fish tanks, background music and women in high heels and short skirts dancing. An interesting and not unpleasant experience with an very varied but Russian-focussed menu. They also had menus in English, which says a lot about the customers they get (ex pats are rare but - other than the teachers - generally wealthy)

My point is that this isn't the kind of place I'm used to. There is no obvious centre or focus to this city. A lot of places are behind closed doors and you need to know the right people to tell you where they are (and preferably to go with you the first time). Even the 'ethnic' market is behind gates and not obviously visible from the road. I've been wondering why this is and can only think that it is a result of the communist past when if you had lots you didn't flaunt it as obviously as is the case now, and if you didn't have anything you were hidden away from everyone else.  Things are changing but a lot of the culture clearly remains.

The one I wasn't sure about writing

I wasn't sure whether to write this blog post or not but one reason I'm here is to help others get through what I've been through (albeit indirectly), so for that reason I am sitting in my flat at 11.30pm on a Friday night writing a difficult blog entry.

I have suffered from severe depression and agoraphobia. The main catalyst for the last episode was about 18 months ago. It was a serious incident in the workplace for which I had little or no support from my employers. The event resulted in a court case and was the most stressful thing I have ever had to face. I lost all confidence in my ability to do my job (even though my ability had not diminished in any way) and my self esteem plummeted. I was signed off sick with depression, I didn't leave the house for months and completely retreated into my own little world. On one occasion, in April I think, I went to the theatre on a rare attempt to be what I saw as 'normal'. I had a major panic attack and felt as though I'd failed. I then stayed indoors for several weeks, crushed at my 'failure'.

I gradually started going out, first sitting on my doorstep, then little walks down the lane. I had registered several months before to do the Moonwalk, a charity overnight marathon through London. I wanted to train for it and I had a purpose so, with the support of family, friends, and particularly from online friends on Twitter, I trained. One lovely twitter friend offered to meet me at Euston station so I didn't have to arrive on my own. My mum saw me onto the train and after a nail biting, nail digging in arms journey I arrived and met J.  I didn't complete the walk due to it coinciding with a 48 hour stomach bug but I'd accepted a challenge and that was enough for me to see it as a success. I'd managed the train journey, met people I'd never seen before, and even managed to get home totally alone. It was a turning point. From then I got part time work in a pub and started going out again.

So how did I get from there to here? I'd been happy not to work before that. It was Safe (with a capital S). There were no risks involved. That's what depression did to me -  it took away my ability to take any risks, however small. I knew I had to be sure I could still do things that were outside my comfort zone. I love teaching, couldn't find a job in the UK teaching English so started to look abroad. I'd learned Russian at Uni (many years previously!) and had worked in Poland so had some experience of living in colder climates during the winter. Russia seemed a logical choice, so when I saw a job in Siberia, I thought "why not?!"

Since I've been here, I've been down a few times and I've cried. That's a normal reaction to being away from home. I'm also accepting it is also a normal reaction to teaching! The big difference is that now there are enough challenges every day for me to be motivated to continue and not want to go to bed. When I want to sleep here, it's because I'm tired (or hungover!), not because I'm avoiding the real world.

I wanted to write this as a lot of people who read this blog have suffered from, or are suffering from, depression or anxiety. Don't think about the big steps. Think about the little steps along the lane or even to the end of the drive. They will lead to the things you think are big and scary now.

Some of my colleagues may read this. They don't know I had depression (although my boss does). I don't want to be treated any differently. I'll have emotional days, but it doesn't mean I'm sinking again. I love what I do, I love where I am (at the moment!), and I know I've made the right decision. I'm looking forward to the next few months and whatever they will bring.