The hours after are their own thing.

Hollow, shaky, headachey, embarrassed, exhausted in a way sleep doesn't seem to touch. That's a normal aftermath, not a sign that something's still wrong with you.

There is nothing you have to accomplish for the rest of today. I've dimmed the screen for you.

The whole list

Tick anything you manage. Skipping all of it is also a valid night.

A glass of water. Crying and adrenaline both dehydrate you.
Something with sugar or salt in it. Toast, crisps, juice — not a balanced meal.
Warmth. A blanket, a hoodie, a hot water bottle.
Painkillers if your head aches, taken normally and safely.
Wash your face, or don't. It just often feels better.
Lie down, even if sleep isn't happening.
Put the phone somewhere you can't scroll it into tomorrow.
Let the room be dim. Bright light on a raw nervous system is a lot.

Nothing here is measured or remembered anywhere but this device.

Tomorrow doesn't have to be productive, or even good. If you sleep in until afternoon and eat cereal for dinner, that is an appropriate response to what you've just been through.

The shame is loud Somewhere silent to lie down About tomorrow