My favorite thing to do in the morning is lay in bed for as long as I can convince myself I don’t need to pee, scraping off the bad taste off my tongue with my teeth. I can never get to the back. Maybe that’s what really gets me out of bed. Nothing else does. It’s not depression, or maybe it is. It’s not deep anymore. There’s a saying that depression will swallow you whole; I think it just got my leg. It’s not taking anymore and I think we’ve both good with it. A medicated compromise. It keeps me grounded.