The scariest moment of going insane was this one day in June, after I’d quit my job but before I went to the Bin, when I went to Whole Foods and didn’t know what to buy. It was like my brain had been vacuumed out of me – I spent fifteen minutes glossy-eyed in front of the packaged chicken, holding a basket with one onion, cereal, and a carton of orange juice. I had no idea what I was doing. I had no idea what to do.
It had taken me an hour and a half to get to the store from my apartment, usually a ten-minute ride. I couldn’t figure out the fastest way to get there, and then I couldn’t decide which Whole Foods to go to, and then I drove in circles for 40 minutes before landing in downtown Boston at rush hour. I wore a long dress, sandals, and no makeup. I’d pretty much stopped showering, and I’d turned the corner from insomnia to hibernation. It was probably my first time out of the house in days.
I really figured out what was up, standing there in front of that chicken. I realized how bad I looked, how awful my life had become, and how shell-shocked I was from whatever had pushed me to such a dark, bodiless space. I put down my groceries and fled the store.
It might not sound so bad, right, I mean, it’s not like I was dragged screaming from the rafters (although I did once scream at the meat counter, the morning before I abruptly ended my tenure at Pusser HQ). But at that moment, it was like all my faculties had left me. I was a shell, I was walking dead. And it was absolutely terrifying.
Today I went to that very same Whole Foods. I bought a skirt steak, a head of garlic, sweet potatoes, green beans, and soy sauce. No list, no recipe. Perfect makings for an easy Friday night dinner, and I did it without thinking twice.
Ladies and gentlemen, I’m officially back.