Grocery List

Walking through a grocery store wasn’t always such a fearful task. I used to go with my sister and play tag, knocking over sample trays of chips and guacamole or causing a ruckus for the whole store to see. I’d step on the back of the grocery cart and Nikki would thrust the cart into the produce section, sending my mom fleeing after the cart and me in desperation.

That was a long, long time ago.

I scowled when the grocery store’s chilly air hit my face. Zipping up my jacket while I walked, I kept my head down so not to draw any attention to myself. My list was folded up in my pocket, but I had memorized the foreign items on it by now- this was my third try to successfully complete the shopping trip that week.

I hated every item on the grocery list. Crackers, rice, potatoes, and pasta didn’t truly belong in my cart, but my dietician insisted that they be added to my meal plan. She pleaded with me to understand how the added carbs would help my bones heal, since my weight loss caused my shin to fracture, leaving my left foot in a surgical boot. That’s what she said, so I went to Whole Foods straight after physical therapy.

Don’t look up, don’t look up, don’t look up.

Walking in a boot naturally drew other customers’ gazes, so I focused on watching the square tiles on the floor and walking to the back of the store. The tiny hairs at the nape of my neck we still wet from exercising at PT, so I bent over my head to toss my hair into a bun. Doing so, I knocked my hip into a brown container of overripe plantains, and a ringing pain went through the front of my shin.

God damn it!

I hadn’t made it far into the produce aisle without making a scene, and I hadn’t even grabbed anything on my list yet.

You’re not going to buy those foods, you weren’t going to eat them anyways.

I pulled out the list again, and then I looked around the produce section. I felt much more comfortable there than in the aisles filled with the foods that fear me, processed and saturated and destructive to the human body. I looked at the list of foods I knew would betray me, and I tore it up into tiny pieces and stuffed them back in my pocket. I’d have to call my dietician and tell her three times was most certainly not a charm, that I’d been beaten by my own mind yet again and fallen victim to my own imaginary fears.

I hobbled out of Whole Foods before the tears fell from my eyes. The sun hitting my face as I entered the parking lot didn’t help, so I picked up my pace trying to rush to my car. My panic couldn’t wait any longer, and the tears fell in huge goblets down to the seatbelt.

I couldn’t even buy the foods, let alone eat them. Where the hell am I supposed to go now?

Regardless of the countless failures before, the force of a failed shopping list crashed through my chest in heaving sobs as I drove down Orchard Lake Road. I wasn’t driving anywhere, but I had to go away from the market, and fast. It didn’t matter how much I had prepared before the market; my dietician and I would negotiate back and forth over what foods belonged on the list, how I’d walk in and out quickly, and that calm breathing would get me through all of it.

Well, that turned out well.

I pulled into the parking lot of investment banking firms and parked next to a man eating lunch in his Buick. I didn’t wait for him to finish his sandwich; I sobbed with full knowledge that he could see me one window over, broken down in sobs over my steering wheel.