Today marks Six

Couldn't tell you how many movies I have seen alone, laughing and crying along with strangers in the theatre. The amount of "mamacitas" and "beautiful, mami" catcalls escapes me. There are no X's on the calendar marked "Days Away from Jerrod". I haven't counted the tears. I don't remember the nightmares.

But the number of months that I have survived in this concrete jungle is clear: SIX.

Today is my New York City Anniversary. I celebrated it by watching a DVD with my two wonderful roommates. We sat in silence, each doing our own thing, for most of the evening; that good, whole, comfortable type of silence. I thank these two women for supplying me with so much love. I don't see how it's taken me 25 years to meet them. I don't see how we've grown into a small family so quickly. I am blessed.

My roommates are jealous of the amount of mail I receive. Cards and letters from my mom and dad and grandparents; engagement congrats from old high school friends; bills and credit card statements. Maggie does seem to get a few bills here and there, as the utilities are all in her name, but April grudgingly points to the stack of mail for Alecia K. Whitaker with disgust. My mother hears of this and sends a card to the girls; they were so thrilled that they hung it on the fridge like a second-grade finger paint drawing. I am blessed.

I pray and pray and seem to be just as far away from realizing my purpose here as I was on October 4. I don't doubt that God is watching over me. He showed me His church; led me to quickly find a group of non-judgmental artists with a hunger for His will. I have thrown two major temper tantrums, banging the bed and heaving my pillows against the walls, sobbing loud and wickedly, demanding answers and questioning His presence. I have yelled at Him out loud and heard my cries echo in my empty room. He still loves me. I am blessed, indeed.

And although I am surviving, with each morning comes the challenge to stay.