1. In the event of sudden vertigo, remain still. Grip the edges of the bathroom sink until your knuckles are pale and bloodless. Stare at the hollow-eyed face in the mirror—your face, yes, still yours. Count the freckles on your left cheekbone. Remind yourself: you are 27. You live alone. You do not own a gun. Your mother is still alive. She does not call. Swallow twice. Keep the bile down. 

2. If the room keeps spinning, close your eyes and name five things you can smell. The bleach from the shower grout. The crusted toothpaste on the tap. The copper tang on your hands, faint but unmistakable. The lingering trace of cologne. It is not your own. The fifth will not come.

3. If you find the left sleeve of your green sweater stained with something you do not remember spilling, discard it. Do not investigate. Do not sniff it. Do not hold it under the kitchen light and try to match the color against the memory of your father’s tie the day he forgot your name. Simply throw it away. Use the trash bin outside, the one with the lid that never quite fits. Close the lid firmly. Go inside. Wash your hands. Do not check your phone. Your mother does not call.

4. In the case of a broken window, do not search for the object that shattered it. Sweep the glass carefully into a dustpan. Note the way the slivers scatter into constellations against the tile. Leo, maybe. Or Gemini, if you squint. Do not glance at the dark stain on the windowsill. Do not wonder how blood could be that black. You were not home when it happened. You were asleep. You were watching a documentary about whale song. You were folding laundry. You were not home.

5. Should you notice that your plants are already watered when you wake up, it is simply a sign of good housekeeping. The soil is damp because you were diligent last night, even though you can’t quite remember doing it. The sink is full of rinsed dishes because you’ve become the sort of person who washes up right after dinner. The door is unlocked because you forgot, again. You’re so forgetful lately.

6. The lilies in the corner have begun to bloom, petals too pale beneath the low kitchen light. You could swear you bought tulips. Do not dwell on it. Flowers are unpredictable. Sometimes they grow into something else. If the kitchen chair is slightly pulled back, it is because you left it that way. If the faucet drips, it is because of faulty plumbing. If the air smells faintly of something sweet, something almost metallic, it is because you cooked last night. Yes, you cooked. The leftovers are in the fridge. You will not check. You do not need to check. If, at any point, you see the houseplant shift, just slightly, as if adjusting its posture—no, you didn’t. You’re tired, again. You’re so tired lately.

7. If you wake to find a photograph on your pillow, do not scream. It is an old Polaroid. Your bedroom in the background. You in the foreground. Asleep. Face slack with dreaming. Do not flip it over. You do not want to see the date written on the back. The Polaroid will smell faintly of smoke. You will tell yourself it is the heater, kicking on for the first time in months. You will not check the vents. You will not notice the way the air tastes burnt. If, by noon, the photograph is gone, do not question it. Photos disappear. That’s what they do. The memory will remain, of course. Some things stain.

8. If you hear knocking at the window, it is only the wind. You live on the ninth floor. There is no balcony. There is no fire escape. It is only the wind. It is only the wind.

9. In the event of sudden vertigo, remain still. Grip the edges of the sink again. It is fine. You are fine. There is no gun. You do not own a gun. You have never owned a gun.

10. Should you realize the locks on your door have been tampered with, do not call the police. You will. But you won’t tell them everything. You won’t tell them about the faint, lingering scent of cologne that isn’t yours. You won’t tell them about the photographs you didn’t take, or the notes you didn’t write.

11. You are not alone. You do not live alone. You have never lived alone.