She made a break-through today. She saw her death. She had imagined that before, her own demise, but she never saw it clearly, as she did today. She was always too afraid, and she'd always stop herself before she got too far. It always just existed as a vague idea to her, and in the back of her mind she knew that it would be far too silly.
But today she was feeling particularly peaceful. She did yoga, and with each long deep exhale the fog lifted from her mind. She picked pills. She would count them, one for each year she had lived, but she was afraid that she had not lived long enough, so she counted more.
She wasn't sure what she was thinking anymore. Everything had been mashed together and turned into a high pitch buzz in her head, sending a sharp, piercing pain down her entire body. She just wanted it to stop. Turning her brain off permanently seemed an option logical enough. Go for the source.
She knew she wasn't angry with him anymore. No, because anger would have been a reason to live. Did it hurt her that he abandoned her? Yes, it did, and still does, but it pales in comparison now that she had lived with it for precisely 548 days. You really can get used to anything, she thought, chuckling to herself lightly. But she knew deep down that he had nothing to do with this. This was all together a different matter.
She went through the drawers, looking for the vodka, but instead she found the box. Her box. Her box specially made for her. She had forgotten about it, and it surprised her that looking at it now, she felt nothing. Her breathing was still the same, her heartbeat steady. Well, she wasn't exactly surprised. She was, in that quiet, puzzled sort of way, but she was too tired for emotions like surprised. She opened the box and emptied its content, dropping everything from shoulder-height to her hardwood floor. She didn't care if anything inside was breakable. She somehow felt that there wasn't really anything left to break. She was right, as she always was.
She visualized the process. She wasn't completely sure that she knew what to expect. People talked about the bright light, but she had heard that it was plain darkness. Maybe they're both true. Maybe they were blinded by the light. She didn't know if she'd walk, or float, or run. She paused for a moment and decided that she lacked the subjective experience for this exercise. So she started it all over again, picking third person narrative this time.
She'd put her favourite music on. Beethoven, which she never really listened to. But he was tragic in his own way, and she just didn't want any real connections to the world. Mostly she just needed the rhythm. A pill, a swig from the bottle. Repeat. She saw herself through the entire process, every single pill, not skipping even one.
Suddenly she was struck with am overwhelming pain, the kind that implodes from your chest. She felt her heart skip a beat, and for a second she thought she was actually going to die. She knew a part of her just did, but she also knew she wasn't quite ready yet. Her vision became blurred, and she was plunged further into fear, but when she realized that she was crying, she let out a sigh of relief between sobs.
She was a step closer to dying, but she knew she was going to live for at least another day.