4.2) Don't Let Yourself Go

It was a familiar yet different scene.

In the grocery section of the massive yet eerily silent student store, Mary Everhart picked out piles of junk food into bags as Atlas watched in silence. She had come to the store with two tote bags, but knowing Atlas would help her carry the bags to her dorm, she bought two more tote bags from the student store.

Would she manage to eat all the chips, crackers, and cookies in three weeks, or would she have wasted spare money for junk food she would never finish?

She scoffed to herself. The question didn’t make much sense. She wasn’t wasting money. Concepts such as money and waste were slowly becoming obsolete day-by-day.

There isn’t really a meaningful way to spend the rest of the money on my student account, is there?

Mary continued picking out piles of junk food she had loved eating in her youth, while Atlas simply watched, not helping her pick out the bags. She was used to his silence, but for some reason, it was different than before–it felt as if he was no longer passively processing the world. It felt like he was silently judging her. 

Eventually, Atlas broke the silence. “You’re quite rich.”

Mary scoffed. “Not really. Junk food doesn’t cost much. That’s why it’s junk food: it always tastes good because it’s unhealthy. No one would eat it unless it tasted good.”

He replied without missing a beat. “If you had to choose, which would you choose?”

She paused. She wasn’t used to hearing him speak his mind without hesitation.

“Frankly, I think healthy food tastes better than junk food when done right… it’s just harder to make them taste good. Healthy meals require more effort, but there’s no replacing the rich natural flavors and contents of the ingredients.”

“Then why are you buying junk food instead of what’s more tasty? You must have enough money left for high quality meals.”

“Well, it’s just more convenient. I can eat these in my own room for days; I can’t eat five-star meals everyday without leaving campus and taking a bus somewhere.”

Atlas closed his eyes. “I didn’t know someone like you existed. Someone who avoids anything that is remotely less convenient.”

She frowned. “I thought you would be the type to feel the same way. You're a pretty nonchalant person.”

He didn’t respond.

She continued. “Either way, you shouldn't be so surprised. I’m just someone who doesn't want to work so hard to live anymore.”

“... What do you mean?”

“We have some freedom in our youth, but not enough to appreciate it. Then around the age of seven, we begin our education. And I'm not dumb enough to say that it's not worth it–I think education is important. I don't mind that.”

She walked to a different aisle and looked for more snacks as she spoke. “But the closer I get to really, really fighting for my own life all on my own without any support from my parents, the more I become terrified of living further. Because all that seems to be left is work and little time for anything else.”

Then, she saw cans filled with puffed cheese balls. That was another childhood favorite of hers. And for a second, her mind darted back to the past. These were one of the only snacks that both she and Julian agreed on how tasty it was. It was hard to stop eating them–the lid of the can would often never be reattached to the can until the entire can was emptied.

She began putting the cans into the bag. “We are born. Then we are prepared for work. Then we work. And when we can't work, we retire. But here’s the funny thing: we retire when we can't work anymore, after we’ve lost everything that made us fresh and young. So when we retire, the only thing we have left to look forward to is… death. Work, work, work, then death. This is the essence of life. I mean, God, if that's all that we do for the majority of our life, why the hell do we even bother?”

“... Are you not oversimplifying things?” he asked.

“If you think I'm oversimplifying things, I'll tell you what I said before: to live is to consume life. And to do that, you must fight for your own survival. Fighting for survival, in human society, translates to working. So no, I don't think I'm oversimplifying anything. We work for the majority of our life, and we die after we can't."

He didn’t reply.

Mary squeezed one more can into the fourth and final tote bag. “Well, I’m done.”

She pulled the strap of one of the bags up to her shoulder. “It's funny. In the end, the only time I'm able to really do the things I want, to express the things I want, is when the world is coming to an end. When suddenly nobody is so focused on surviving day by day, and everyone realizes that there is no point in their futile struggle.”

“You sound quite different from yesterday,” he said. “A lot less optimism.”

She scoffed again. “That's because my brother was around. He's still living in his own head. He doesn't really get it. Don't you see it in his eyes? He still has hope. I can't just tell him to just stop giving a shit about everything.”

Atlas rubbed his chin. “It's almost like you want to protect his idealism. But if you're so against this idealism, why do you protect him from the supposed truth?”

Mary responded. “Frankly, I think if someone thinks life has a meaning–if they think that life has rules and regulations–it's probably better to leave them believing in that. And I'd rather not see my brother end up hopeless like myself. Sometimes the truth isn't so good. Don't you agree, Atlas?”

“I suppose, yes."

As they walked to the check-out counter, where a blonde clerk sat with her feet crossed on the desk while scrolling through her phone, Atlas spoke to Mary once more.

“So this is what you do to deal with this 'truth'?”

She slowed her pace. “What do you mean?”

“You stack piles upon piles of junk food at the end of the world, knowing it’s not good for your health.”

She stopped walking. “I already explained this to you, Atlas. I’m all about comfort.”

Atlas shook his head. “No, you are not. You have no idea what you’re actually doing.”

She frowned at his bold assertion. “Care to elaborate?”

“Tell me. Did you regularly eat junk food in the last few years?”

“No.”

“And why is that?”

She sighed, unsure where his line of reasoning was going. She had never seen him so inquisitive. “Because they were unhealthy.”

“Because they were unhealthy," Atlas repeated. "That was the primary reason you avoided eating junk food. And now, at the end of the world, you are abandoning your need to maintain your health because you do not believe your health will be necessary over the next few weeks.”

He leaned forward. “And that’s where you unknowingly contradict yourself. To be unhealthy is to be uncomfortable.”

“Huh?”

“Let me give you my analysis on your behavior. Last night, after you left, your brother told me more about who you were: you were a hard worker, so much so that you had little time for family. It’s no wonder you keep complaining about work, work, and work. You were the definition of self-improvement…”

“... But clearly you didn’t like it. And so, once you heard news of the apocalypse and decided that you didn’t have to work anymore, you went from one extreme end to another, perhaps viewing the world as black and white, thinking that the other extreme end would offer you the total opposite experience. You went from being completely invested to completely giving up.”

“So, Mary Everhart, I must ask you–what do you think is at the opposite end of self-improvement?”

She rested her weight on her back foot. “Letting everything go. Which means relaxation… maybe even nirvana.”

“No, Mary Everhart. It’s not relaxation. It’s self-destruction.”

Mary blinked.

Atlas continued. “Letting everything go means giving up on everything you’ve worked towards. Every dream, aspiration, and of course, your own mental and physical health. But comfort does not lie at the end of letting it all go. Letting yourself go means not sustaining yourself properly, which eventually leads to discomfort. You’ll eventually hate yourself again, this time for the completely opposite reasons.

She nervously laughed, not expecting him to be so direct with his words. “What is this, an intervention?”

He shook his head. “This is no joke, Mary Everhart. You are trying to ruin yourself, whether you realize it or not.”

“Look, thanks for your concern, but I’ll just go and see for myself, whether or not you are correct. I don’t think it matters much whether or not I’m right or wrong about this, when it’s not gonna affect me in a few weeks. So I’ll figure it out on my own. Or I won't. I don't care.”

As she paced towards the counter, trying to avoid further discussion, Atlas called out to her.

“Wait.”

She stopped and turned around. Then, she felt his cold finger on her chin.

… And it hurt.

“O-ow! OW! What was that for?!” she said, swatting his hand away from her.

“I barely touched it.”

“Touched what?!” Then, she reached for her chin, feeling where he just touched… and felt another sting on her chin. Something felt hot, enflamed. She gently touched her chin again, trying not to feel that pain again but trying to figure out what it was. It was small… lump?

“W-what is this?” She took out her phone and turned on her camera, trying to see for herself what it was.

And to her shock, it was a pimple. She had never had one in her life, only seeing it in others’ faces–perhaps she had never had one due to her strict skin care routine and eating habits. And now that she had stopped taking care of herself…

Atlas spoke calmly. “I saw it earlier, but didn’t say anything. Made me suspicious, but I just assumed you knew. Looks like I was wrong.”

She gently touched it again, feeling another sting. And she could see that her skin was visibly inflamed around the pimple. Not too big, but it stood out.

“I… uh… oh, wow.” She stared at her phone, looking at her chin from different angles. “This wasn’t here when I woke up.”

Wait. Did this mean that it was possible for her face to break out if she kept this up? Would she be able to live the rest of her life like that, knowing if she just put in more care, she could have avoided it?

She sighed. “I don’t like this… not one bit.”

“Why?”

“It’s… uncomfortable.”

There was a pause, as Mary closed her eyes and squeezed the bridge of her nose. Her brain raced attempting to figure out if he was right. Was numbing her mind, pretending like she had nothing left she cared for, really going to make her feel better? Was she behaving foolishly? Was she just trying to destroy herself? And would continuing this “self-destruction” feel good, in the very end? Or would it just bring another form of pain?

She sighed, gently feeling her pimple again with her knuckles. It already felt awful. If she kept up this style of living, surely it would get worse. And… she didn’t want to know what it would feel like if her face and body became further ruined by her bad habits. Hell, maybe she could accidentally kill herself via organ failure.

Perhaps she had been mistaken about something. No, she didn’t change her mind about wanting to live out the rest of her days in peace without much discomfort, but perhaps giving into her unhealthy impulses would not give her satisfaction, in the end. It would just bring more pain.

“... Fine. You win,” she said.

Atlas lifted the tote bags he carried on both of his hands. “I’ll help you return these to the shelves, if you’d like.”

“... Sure,” she whispered as she turned and walked back to the aisles.

“Heh.”

Mary turned at his sudden sound, trying to read his expression, but he seemed to be swiping at his mouth with his forearm, hiding whatever expression was beneath.

“What, is something funny?”

He cleared his throat. “No. It’s nothing.”

“Well, okay. And, oh, I think I’ll have to buy some pimple patches before we leave. Remind me if I forget.”

“Right.”

Mary turned back to the aisles and lowered her tote bag from her shoulder, then began undoing her impulsive choices. And this time, Atlas helped her in her efforts.