The thing I have to remind myself of the most is to keep a list of things that make me happy, or moments that made me happy, and where to turn to when things get rough (and I want to feel happy).
Reading about my thoughts can seem vastly melodramatic as the words write themselves, hovering over yet another new mechanical keyboard, my brain spilling itself off the pieces it deems indescribable, or irrelevant.
Truth is, I am happy over so many small things. So small I sometimes forget I am happy.
Friends sending me memes, saying they reminded them of me. Friends sending me songs because they know I will like them. Friends sending me book recommendations without me asking, or having much time to indulge. The gap of time between Christmas and New Year’s, as if time is on a stand-still before the new phase. How my boyfriend looks at me while I’m eating and focused on a movie, and how he then reaches for my face. Kittens—ones in close proximity, others I can’t cuddle. Sad songs with catchy lyrics. Seeing my family once or twice a week between busy days. Picking out gifts for other people. Seeing my mother nap peacefully. My sister calling me even if it happens during work hours. People messaging me about specific phrases in my books. The polaroid pictures I take of my friends, other people in general, because they always turn out great. Giving knowing grins. Brisk hugs. Long hugs. Hugs that never happen. Stepping out of the house after it just stopped raining. My plants thriving again after putting them inside.
All these little moments where a spark of warmth draws me back to the ground, swatting away one or the other fear. Moving reflections, endlessly spinning kaleidoscopes, temari toys passed on from one to another.