NYC

Why did I choose here? What was I thinking? I dug through my memories. Searching for a reason. Why am I always searching?

Maybe I had a dream about living in a small studio apartment with 50 cats and working at a small business making minimum wage. Why did I think that was glamourous?? Maybe it is glamorous though. Who cares if it's glamorous. I don't care. I'm not happy here, but I am so happy here. So happy I could sing and dance.

Although, times are slowly getting better. I'm now the assistant manager of Blue Ivy Co. That's awesome. The best thing ever. I have a purpose. This is it. At least I think this is it.

Maybe I made a good choice coming.

Nope

The sewage

But the food!

But the traffic

But the parks!

But the amount of money I spend on shoes

But the inspiration!

But the inflated prices

But the awe of the skyscrapers!

But the dog poop

Maybe I'm bipolar. Actually, I know I'm bipolar. You made a choice. You can't change it now. That thought is comforting yet scary. Somethings never change. I used to want to take back decisions. Like words that hurt someone. You try and will them back into your mouth but they don't budge. You try so hard to shove them down your throat but they sting your hands and run from your grip. Choices can't come back. You make them and they run. They run and they destroy as they go. They tear your brain down. You hate yourself for making the choices you make. They make you doubt everything. Everything you are, they make you doubt it.

One day, you'll look back and be proud of how far you've come. You'll see the point behind it.

New York City is a great place to live. You have sacrifices and gains, but you always have that. All over the world.

You keep telling yourself that you have no purpose here. Maybe your purpose is being happy here. Maybe here is where your purpose lies. I still remember the first walk I took here. I turned left coming out of my apartment building. I took a right and saw some sketchy guys so I turned left instead. I saw a fancy restaurant. I kept walking past it cause I had no money. I had no job at that time. I walked for 7 more miles. I took another right. There was a homeless person. I threw my pocket change in their cup. I took a left. I saw a spin class through a window. A woman was sweating so much, but she looked okay with it. I realized how small I was in this big city. I remember hating the feeling yet loving it at the same time. I remember turning around to go home and feeling independent for the first time in my life. I turned around because I wanted to. It was my choice. I rode the bus home because my legs ached from the long walk. I sat next to an old lady. She was wearing a long blue dress and a small yellow cardigan. She was knitting a coaster. She smiled a toothy smile at me with the teeth she had left. She glanced at me occasionally as I watched the pattern she was making in her hand. It was detailed and unique and colorful. It looked like an orange rose with thorns on the stem. It was gorgeous. She was talented, happy, and content. I longed to be her at that moment. I was thinking about how untalented, sad, and discontent I was. I watched as she got off the bus. She walked a short walk to her building. Entered in a long code and the building door clicked open. She walked in the door and I never saw her again, but she changed my life forever. A woman who never knew who I was or what I was going through. She didn't know that I had just gone through a break-up. She didn't know I was suicidal. She didn't know I am bipolar. She had no idea. But she changed my life anyways. Maybe if I changed someone's life, I would feel a purpose here. I have no purpose. You can't change your own purpose. It's either there or it's not. I still don't know about mine. Self-discovery isn't really working. I thought that moving to a big city would help. Very wrong. I always make the wrong choices.

One day I'll be happy. I'll find something magical that I love to do in my spare time. I'll sit down. Breathe. Pick up a hobby. I'll work hours. I'll finally be able to relax in the busiest city in the world. How old do I have to get to finally be happy? When will enough be enough? I have no idea. I'll keep waiting though. I have hope that someday, I will be happy with where I am. Happy with what has come of my life. I will be, hopefully. I know that happiness is coming. I feel it. I should move to LA. That would be exciting. Or would it be the same old thing? I should stop making choices for a while. I need practice, but not with big things. I need to choose between a bagel or oatmeal for breakfast. Small choices, small progress.

New York City challenges me every day. To look outside of myself.

I'm not the only person here. NYC is too big to acknowledge me.

It also pushes me to be discontent. Never will I ever be happy. Never say never.

Why did I come here?

Maybe it was for the experience. Maybe I was meant to be here.

Uncertainty is the death of creativity.

When will I be happy?

Maybe I should move.

I love it here.

Bipolar.

Never, but yet it is.

New York City.

My Choice.

Who Cares?

I care.

Home.

NYC.