Top Ten Ways to Feel Happy

Number one. Sleep more. 

Oliver sighed rolling over onto his side. He held the phone in front of his face, his lips pressed in a tight line, his brows knit together as he read the paragraph that followed the suggestion. 

The light from the screen stung his eyes. It was too bright in an all too dark room, and despite the pale hint of morning light creeping in from darkened curtains, Oliver couldn’t bring himself to open them. 

The time blinked at him from an alarm clock on his bedside table, the numbers 5:55 AM illuminated in bright green numbers flashed at him. Angel numbers, his mother’s voice whispered somewhere in the back of his mind. She always managed to get through. No matter how many layers or how tall the walls he built around her were, she always made herself heard. 

He turned over onto his back, the phone held above him. Sleep more. For the record, he did sleep. In fact, the last thing Oliver needed was more sleep. He had taken to spending his days buried under mountains of pillows and blankets as if trying to drown out the world around him. It was stupid, but a small part of him thought if he could manage that, then he could quiet the storm that had taken residency in his head.  

It had only made things worse, of course. A fog had overtaken him. His head hurt. His eyes… His heart. It all was shrouded in an unrelenting thickness that wouldn’t clear. 

Oliver kept scrolling. 

Number two. Meditate. 

He had a yoga mat tucked in the back of his closest, a gift to himself from years ago when he had made a vow to get into shape. He pushed through piled boxes, pushing back the clothes where he found it, still wrapped in plastic. 

He spread it out on the floor, the ends curling back on themselves, refusing the lay flat. He pressed play on the instrumental track and he sat down crossing his legs, his hands resting on his knees, palms facing up. He took a deep breath and closed his eyes as the hum of soft music filled his ears. 

He tried to get lost in it, but the deeper he fell within the notes, the faster his heart raced in his chest. It beat steadily, thud, thud, thud, following its own rhythm until Oliver found himself gasping. He palmed his chest, suddenly aware of his own breathing as he forced in a shaky breath. He pulled the headphones from his ears, letting the music fall into a distant murmur on the floor. 

He opened his eyes, rolled the yoga mat back up, and stuffed it into his closet, where it belonged. 

Number three. Wear yellow. 

He found his only yellow sweatshirt on the floor next to his dresser. It was faded, and the black smiley face printed on the front had begun to peel from one too many washes, but Oliver couldn’t bring himself to get rid of it. 

He wasn’t sure how the color of his shirt was going to help, he thought at the very least it could help him look less helpless. The last thing Oliver wanted was for someone who didn’t know him as much as they thought to offer him help that they didn’t want to give, all while looking at him as if they need to feel sorry for him. 

Oliver didn’t need anymore to feel anything at all for him. He was perfectly fine feeling everything for himself, even if it was agonizing. It was better to feel too much than to feel nothing at all, and so, he pulled it over his t-shirt, leaving the hood up over his eyes as if he could hide from the shadows he knew lingered within them. 

He dug his phone out again and scrolled. 

Number four. Smile more.   

Dragging himself to the bathroom wasn’t the hardest thing Oliver had ever done, but it sure felt like it was. 

By the time he managed to get himself standing in front of the sink, it was almost seven. He turned the tap on, and watched the steady flow of water for a while, listening to the force as it poured into the sink before cupping his hands under the tap and gently pressing the cool water to his skin. 

He pulled himself up, standing straight and tall as he wiped his eyes and stared at himself in the mirror. He smiled. His eyes squinting, lips quivering at the sheer force of the gesture. It was startling, how hard it was to do something that had once been second nature. 

He let the expression fall. He couldn’t ignore the shadows beneath his eyes, the tiredness that lingered all around him. His cheeks had hollowed, his jawline sharp and angry. 

He smiled. Teeth bared, wide and unrelenting. He caught his eyes, then quickly looked away. No matter how hard he tried he couldn’t bring his smile up to reach them. It didn’t matter. Oliver told himself, I am happy.  If he repeated it enough times, maybe, just maybe he could trick himself into believing it was true.

Number Five. Let go. 

Oliver felt a lump in his throat, a cry crawling up his throat, begging to get out. He swallowed it down, choking on tears that he wouldn’t let fall. Let go. His mother’s voice echoed. She pleaded, she begged-. 

No. 

Oliver continued to scroll. 

Number six. Go outside. 

The early morning had blanketed the street in a thin layer of fog. The damp pavement glimmered in the soft haze of the street lights that had yet to turn off. Olivers stuffed his hands into his pockets. 

The air was cold against his face as Oliver walked the street. It was still early enough that not many people had braved the world yet. As Oliver walked down the street he imagined that most of the apartments were full of those still clinging to their last few hours of sleep, maybe some forcing themselves awake, shaking away the haze that the night had left behind. 

There was a coffee shop a block away. A small independent company that didn’t have better coffee or prices than those chains, but still, Oliver was fond of it.

Or maybe it had been his mother who was fond of it. She had clouded his memories. 

What was it she used to say? It’s unique, you don’t see that anymore. Oliver had agreed, or at least he thought he had. 

He shook the memory away as he stepped inside, the small bell ringing loudly as he walked in. Despite the hour, the barista at the front jumped up lively and smiled. It reached her eyes. 

“Hi there, can I help you?” she asked. As Oliver stepped forward he smiled, trying to mimic her. 

“Black coffee, please,” He said, trying to ignore how quiet his voice sounded, even to his own ears. He felt a prick in his throat and he cleared it, “To go.” he added. 

She nodded and turned. 

The bell rung, as someone came inside. An older woman with long greying hair and a tidy blue trenchcoat and began to make her order with the other barista working. 

He stepped to the side and pulled out his phone.  

Number seven. Help others. 

A minute later a to-go cup was placed in front of him, he shoved his phone back into his pocket. 

“That’ll be three-fifty,” the barista said, still smiling. It never left her face. 

“Uh, can I pay for her too?” He asked quietly as if it were some sort of secret request. 

The barista’s eyes flashed, and she nodded as she began typing into the screen. The new total flashed on the green, $8.75. 

Oliver pulled out his card and tapped it against the receiver. He didn’t stay for his receipt or to see the reaction of this woman in the trenchcoat. Instead, he left them behind and continued down the street. 

Number eight. Show gratitude. 

Oliver nearly scoffed at his phone screen. For what? He thought. His life had been a series of mishaps and misfortunes. Every time he rose above, there was always something bigger on the other side, just waiting to knock him back down. 

For the roof over your head, his mother said, for the food in your fridge. 

For this pain? For this grief that weighed him down, lower and lower until the only thing around him was darkness? Oliver was blinded by it, so raptured and consumed in his own suffering that he had forgotten what it was to exist without it. 

What was another failure at this point? Another bad day? They were simply more shadows to the ones that Oliver felt were constantly trailing behind him. 

He dumped his coffee into the first garbage bin he found and looked back at his phone. 

Number nine. Exercise. 

It started out as a jog. No clear direction in mind, just the ground beneath his feet and his thoughts following close behind. He couldn’t outrun them but damn it, he could try. 

Oliver didn’t have a direction in mind, just a clear stretch of sidewalk ahead of him and nowhere to go, nobody to see. 

The ground was damp, his feet splashing through puddles, soaking through his socks, but he didn’t stop. His heart was racing, lungs aching. His breath was ragged, coming out of his mouth in faint clouds of air in this cold. His legs were in an agonizing blaze until he was forced to come to a stop, using his arms to catch himself on the fence that had come up in front of him suddenly. He stood there panting, his heart hammering painfully in his chest, an unsteady reminder that he was alive. 

As his breath returned to him, and the pain subsided into a persistent ache, Oliver dragged his gaze up and startled. He hadn’t run with a direction in mind, so why was he here of all places? 

Unknowingly, he pulled out his phone, glancing down. 

Number ten. Spend time with family. 

The cemetery was quiet.

It was too earlier for most to come and mourn their dead. It wasn’t exactly an ideal start to anyone's day, to remember how much grief consumed your heart until it wasn’t exactly yours anymore. Until you weren’t exactly you anymore. 

Don’t lose yourself, Oliver. His mother had warned him, gripping his hand with all the strength she could muster, which in the end was hardly any at all. 

I won’t. He promised her, gripping her hand back, as gently as he could. In the end, he had broken this promise too, just like the many others that he’d shattered over the too few years. Now it was too late to make up for any of it, but Oliver couldn’t shake the disappointment she would’ve felt. 

It consumed him, this guilt, fueling itself on his failures and quieting his successes. He was falling, spiraling down a dark hole that just kept going and going and going. Oliver didn’t want to keep falling, but every time he found his footing, it seemed to crack beneath his feet until he was sent tumbling further than before. 

But he tried. He was trying. 

He looked down in front of him, tucking his phone into his pocket. 

It had rained last night, leaving the ground damp and soft under his feet, the mud clinging to his shoes. 

The name that was carved on the smooth stone was one that Oliver knew but something about it looked wrong. So dull and bleak, unlike his mother in every way. It didn’t shine like her eyes or sparkle like her smile, and it certainly didn’t light up the space around him. 

Let go. 

Oliver sat down, the grass soaking through his pants. 

Let go, Oliver. Her voice echoed, pleaded, begged.  

His eyes focused on the grave in front of him as he looked past the name carved there, and instead to the person it had belonged to, and in a quiet voice said, “Okay, Mom. His eyes burned, stinging with tears that he finally let fall. 

“Okay.”