Do yoga. Call your friend. Put turmeric in your food. Do not get sucked into a jet engine.

Inspired by Lorrie Moore’s Self-Help.

Meditate. Do this because everyone that you have ever met has told you to do this. Do this because you think: well, things can’t get worse. Find that, sitting in silence, things can get worse. Following the advice of a workmate, download a meditation audiobook. Lament that it is on Audible. Hit play. Meditate on Jeffrey Bezos. 

Call your friend. Listen to her talk about her engagement party. Listen to her talk about her wedding. Listen to her talk about her honeymoon. Think: approximately half of all marriages end in divorce.

Go to yoga. Find a class where all the teachers talk in extended metaphors and play singing bowls. Imagine that you are a bird. Imagine that you are flying high and free. Remember that as a child you had a shirt with a bird on it. Remember that the shirt said, “Eagles may soar, but weasels don’t get sucked into jet engines.” Bow your head. Namaste. 

Put turmeric in your food. Do this because it has anti-inflammatory properties. Do this because the woman on the internet in a lavender kaftan told you to and this is what you do now: you take advice from people on the internet in lavender kaftans.

See a counsellor. Tell her that you feel like you are in suspended animation. Tell her that you have a pulse but you are no longer sure if you are alive. Tell her that sometimes getting through the day is so painful you wish you had never been born at all and that you were just a missed opportunity in a parallel universe. Nod when she suggests that you write a list of all your anxieties. There is not enough paper across the galaxies for that.

Make an appointment with the GP. Over the phone, talk to Jenny the Receptionist about the slots your doctor has available. Look at your diary. Talk to Jenny the Receptionist. Look back at your diary. Thank Jenny the Receptionist and hang up. You will see your doctor within six weeks if she has any cancellations.

Reduce your caffeine intake. Increase your caffeine intake. Reduce your caffeine intake. Bargain with yourself: I will stop doing meth if I can just have three flat whites a day. You have never done meth. This is a good deal.

Go for a walk along the beach and notice your surroundings. Think: the sky is vast and majestic. Think: the ocean is vast and majestic. Think: I am vast and majestic. Think: a human foot washed ashore here recently.  

Begin new antidepressants. Marvel at their vibrant colours. Marvel at their convenient packaging. Marvel at their innumerable side-effects. Think: well, no one wanted to have sex with me anyway. 

Read about people whose lives are worse than yours. Read about asylum seekers in Europe. Read about the homeless in America. Read about the guy down the road whose newly installed mailbox was bashed in. Feel grateful that you have a functional mailbox.

Take a holiday to reconnect with yourself. On day two of seven, realise you would rather chop off your own foot than reconnect with yourself. Put on your meditation audiobook instead. Envision yourself as light and energy. Wonder if light and energy can get sucked into jet engines. 

Call another friend. Listen to her talk about her divorce. 

After six months, get in to see a psychiatrist. Tell him that you feel like you are in suspended animation. Tell him that you have a pulse but you are no longer sure if you are alive. Tell him that sometimes getting through the day is so painful you wish you had never been born at all and that you were just a missed opportunity in a parallel universe. Nod when he says that your primary diagnosis is not depression. 

You have ADHD.