I woke up by wetting myself. Jesus! Who wets their bed at the age of 21? I just know that I was drunk from my sorrow. I was swimming in self-pity and gulping down self-loathing as if it was pear cider. In reality my mind and body wanted water, but I wasn’t good enough or strong enough to get up and get it from the kitchen. I thought unpleasantly about how the cider tasted of pure sugar as it ran through my mouth and down my throat while hurting my unbrushed teeth. I just know I couldn’t bring myself to getting out of bed. If I pretend long enough to not be present maybe I will disappear? So I go to the bathroom wondering if I’m still dreaming in my sleep or if I actually did get up. I don’t feel awake.