Groundhog Day and the Bolt That Split My Mind

I never thought I’d be in this position. Never thought I’d be dealing with something like a disorder, let alone something that hit me so late in life. I was 36, just starting to open my new business—the OK Taco Company. It wasn’t just a business; it was the culmination of years of podcasting and dreaming with my cousin. We’d been recording the OK Taco Show for a while, building this idea where our food truck and podcast worked hand in hand. It was wild, fun, and full of potential.

We’d renovated a 1977 Airstream, and every time we took it out on the road, we filmed and recorded. It felt like we were building something special, something real. Then, I found a building—one big enough to fit the trailer, where we could open a brick-and-mortar taco shop. Everything seemed to fall into place.

Then came the grand opening on Groundhog Day, and, ironically, it felt like a scene out of the movie. We had no idea what we were doing, but the whole town showed up. We weren’t prepared for the crowd, didn’t know how to manage the kitchen, or even how to handle the demand. It was overwhelming. But we got through it.

That’s when it happened.

Out of nowhere, like a flash of light, it felt like my brain got split open. I didn’t know what it was at the time, but it was like everything inside me shifted. I still kept going, serving customers, going home, thinking I was fine—but I wasn’t. I was unknowingly stepping into something much bigger than I understood.

The sleepless nights started soon after. And with them came the ideas. Endless, overwhelming ideas. The grandiose thinking kicked in. I started overspending on the business, buying things I thought would help. Trips to Dollar General, Walmart, Amazon—anything I could get my hands on for these projects I couldn’t stop planning. Some of them seemed good, others… not so much. But I couldn’t focus. I couldn’t stick to one idea. I thought I was improving things, but I was spiraling, falling deeper into mania, and I didn’t even know it.

Looking back, I realize I should have just stuck with the plan we had, with the things that were already working. But instead, I got lost in all the “what-ifs” and “maybe’s.” I had no idea where this was all heading, or how long it would last. I didn’t know what mania was. It was all new to me.

For now, this is where I’ll leave the story. The initial unraveling. There’s more to come, but this moment—this flash of light that started everything—is where it all began.