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She woke up that night, angry and disappointed. Not because it was a normal Tuesday night but because she woke up. That was the problem, she was still alive. She slowly sits up in her rumpled twin bed and sees her trashed room, last night had been the worst one yet, when the panic attacks and the crippling anxiety and been too much to bear and she had swallowed a hole bottle of pills to make the voices go away. But instead they had grown louder and louder.
She looked at the clock on her nightstand, it was two-thirty in the morning. The voices were still there, whispering in her ear, telling her she was better of dead. She was just so tired, after last night and all the pills she thought she could finally get some rest, maybe sleep a whole night through without any nightmares, or, if she was really lucky, just go to sleep and never wake up at all. The voices were very satisfied with that thought.
And that’s how it happened, she stood up, still wearing the clothes from the day before, grabbing her phone, keys and wallet out of habit and walked out of the apartment, not bothering to lock the door.
She walked for hours, not knowing where she was headed, just putting one foot in front of the other monotonous, when she ended up on the beach. The sand had the colour of silver, reflecting the shining moon, the water was calm, cold and unforgiving. She slowly made her way down to the shoreline and let her jacket slip from her shoulders, she stepped out of her worn-down shoes and took a step into the water, the waves kissing her bare ankles.
A few steps more and the water reached her knees, three more and the waves reached her stomach. She kept on walking, until she couldn’t anymore and then she started to swim. She swam until she couldn’t see the beach anymore, and then she let herself sink, deeper and deeper into the cold sea, she couldn’t feel her arms and legs, numbed by the cold and the pain. And this time, she thought, this time I wont wake up, and the voices were for the first time silent.