Peppermint oil on everything you own. Talk less. Pay down your library fines. Open and close like a fist. Take medicine for your migraines. Let the light hurt you. Go to mass in Times Square for whatever reason. Put quarters in the saint boxes and flip on electric candles. Write 1000 terrible words that make you angry. Then 10,000. Rage on the Internet. Get tired of your narrative of sadness. Disgust yourself. Get on birth control. Imagine a room full of glass plates you can smash. Get nauseous. Get bored. Stay angry. Be disgusted. Consider becoming a fighter so you can punch things. Dye your hair. Swallow your tongue. Get into school. Fall out of love. Fall in. Like breathing. Wake up in the middle of the night. Win the lottery in your head. Let the heat from the sidewalk grab you and drag you down. Have nightmares about a man standing over your bed with a face full of nails. Be very bothered. Get angry at god. Say sorry. Put your chin out. Road rage, repent. Eat sour apples until your stomach turns. Put your forehead on greasy display by pinning back your bangs. Take advice you didn't ask for. Say thanks, say sorry. Be quiet so your coworkers don't know you're there. Don't let people lie to you. Be a cycle. Always turning. Burn things down. Sew things together. Outsmart your reckless. Put rocks and nail polishes on your windowsill. Throw blessings around your apartment. Get rid of expectations. Put on shoes and walk your dog until there is nothing left in your head. Your therapist pats you on the arm: This is an exciting time! An exciting time, Emily!