I lay there. Screaming at myself inside my own head to get up. Get out. Do something. Anything. I've been laying in bed for so long it's painful no matter what position I'm in, and I've started getting bruises everywhere from it like a rotting banana. I don't want to live like this. I don't want to rot. Get up. Just get up, please. I cry. Why can't I just get up? These restraints of depression have kept me tied down for so long. I need to get up. Even if just for a few minutes.
I should get a dog.
I'd get up for a dog.