One day, after very many preceding days, I decided to stop functioning. I lay in my mother’s bed, which was sodden with hours of tears, and decided to take leave of life. There’s a bit of the brain that scientists call executive functioning, which I think refers to making decisions, and acting on desires, and planning ahead. Well, I did my best to turn it off. I chose to have what my mother called a breakdown. I decided to check out because it was the only way I could make my family realize I needed different help. And I needed the peace of surrendering autonomy. I needed not to think about what to eat, or wear, or do with my day, or what happened yesterday, or two years ago.