My statement.

I'm not quite sure what my "personal mission statement" would be, the first thing that came to mind was stay alive.

Then I read further on, Will, and you asked something like: Are we living, or are we surviving? That question completely pinpointed the uneasiness I've been feeling for the past few months. I wish I could say this aloud to someone without them thinking I've become completely unhinged-- but I'm not so sure I haven't become unhinged.

I love my apartment, my roommate, my neighborhood, and my job... but there is a definite sacrifice involved that I wasn't prepared to make. I really don't know or understand the why's and how's of my every-day functioning. I feel like a fucking robot. I do the same things, all the time. There are no surprises. I think that's the thing I miss most.

New York is beautiful and amazing and I love it. But at the same time, living here has made me jaded in a shocking amount of time. The change was as drastic as the Prom-Queen-turned-Meth-addict.

Living here drains the life, energy, and money out of me. When I see someone totter back and forth and fall asleep while standing in the middle of the sidewalk or in front of a flight of subway steps, I am reminded that this city is depressing as fuck. I can genuinely understand why everyone that lives or works here is on Xanax or Klonopin. My only wish is that I had health insurance so I could be one of them.

It's not all bad, and I don't want to sound like it is. It's rewarding and it's fun, when you have time to actually breathe it all in and enjoy it. I think about the choices I've made that got me to this point and can't say how changing any one of them would have made anything less challenging. I had to grow up somehow, and this whole ordeal has definitely aged me five years. So I guess I break even on this one.

So Will, I guess my personal mission statement would be to live. But like, to actually live. Not methodically sleepwalk through the rest of my existence.