“Aish, its freezing cold outside.” She mumbled to herself as she opened her apartment door. She finally went home after a long day filled with surgeries, slowly limping to her living room, taking off her brown winter coat and white doctor coat and threw herself to the sofa. She glanced at the clock, and sighed heavily when she saw the two clock hands met at the number 12. Its 12 a.m yet she isn't feeling any hints of sleepiness yet. She tried to do what her friends advised to do, accepting more surgeries so she could get tired and sleep normally, but she just feel very fatigued, her insomnia stays. In fact, she often felt fatigued lately. Something is definitely wrong, but she couldn’t figure out why.

She stepped into the scale, and saw the hand points into the number 20. She had lost another 10 kilos this week. She smiled faintly at the scale.  She hadn't eaten anything today, too, in fear of gaining weight. She felt really light today, and she started to get random swell in her joints also random bruises like the one she often got when she was a ballerina. Nonetheless, she could bear with it, she was a ballerina, and hence random swelling and bruising is very usual for her.

All of a sudden, a wave of pain attacked her left, crippled foot and she fell down, shrieking. The effect of painkillers that she took three hours ago had started to wear off. She crawled to the coffee table, and in a failed attempt of reaching for her bag, made her bag fell and all things inside spread into the floor. Her sleeping pills bottle fell and crashed to the floor, broken glass spread everywhere. Pieces of broken glass fell into her left thigh, penetrating through her skin. Blood was everywhere, her skirt had become wet with her own blood, but she still can't feel anything but the pain coming from her crippled foot. The pain had made her unable to think, unable to move.

She winced when pulling out the glass pieces of her thigh. It surely would leave a nasty wound, since most of them had gotten as deep as about a few centimetres. But still, she had felt nothing but quick, nasty bitterness in when taking out those glass pieces.

She crawled and reached for her painkillers bottle that rolled off from her. Blood was everywhere by then, but then she didn't care. All she cared about was how to kill this torturing pain. Her cold hands trembled when opening her bottle of painkillers. She shoved a handful of pills to and swallowed it, and then she rested her head to the wall, waiting for the pills to work. For a second she felt cold and fearful, afraid that the painkillers wouldn't work and her pain would stay. She bit her trembling lips and held her left arm in her right to stop the seemingly-unending trembles that somehow raised her heart rate and her fears.

Actually, it was a dangerously addictive painkiller. It was a painkiller made from drugs that is classified as narcotics and a few countries have disallowed it for any purposes, including as medications. She knows that she had started to become addicted to it. A pill every six hours was once enough to kill her pain, but now a handful of pills every three hours is barely enough. She knew she would start to swallow a bottle every hour soon, and her liver and kidneys wouldn't stand it. But with or without the painkiller, she'll die anyway. So there she is, using her privileges as a doctor and a surgeon, she prescribed herself a huge dose of highly restricted, addictive painkillers nearly every day. It was her curse, her catastrophe that she courts herself, all because that accident years ago, an accident that should have taken her life but instead, it took her left foot.

After the pain left, she took a deep breath in relief and started caring for her wounds. She then changed her clothes, her favorite white flannel sleeping dress. She threw herself to her bed and started to close her eyes.

An hour...

Two hours...

She desperately screamed. She only has another hour before the painkillers wear off once again. She didn't want to swallow down any painkillers before dawn, so she got to sleep. She knew her liver wouldn't stand it if she didn't sleep now and start having the urge to take another handful of painkillers. She threw her blanket to the floor and went to her living room, trying to drank any sleeping pills she found in the floor. She knew this is bad, but what else could she do? Everything in her life is ruined and what left there for her is only pain, predicaments, and loneliness.

After she took enough sleeping pills to make her feel drowsy enough, she felt a huge wave of nausea washed her down. She put a hand in , so she won't vomit in her expensive carpet. She vomited, nonetheless, and it was blood. She couldn't stop vomiting, and soon her flannel dress turned red. Now that she felt drowsy, she knew that she couldn't do anything. As a doctor, she knew it was her liver failing, giving up from all the painkillers and heavy sedatives--her sleeping pills. She intended to run and look for help, but she was then too drowsy to even lift a finger.

She closed her eyes, smiling. Maybe it was her time already. Maybe God had finally decided to free her away from her pain.

She felt herself getting limp, and she fell down to the floor, unable to move. Tears rolled down her eyes as she smiled bitterly. She had always been dreaming for a peaceful death in her very own bed in her home, surrounded by people who loved her, surrounded by warmth and kindness. She had hoped for things like cancer for her death, so that she could have enough time to say what she wanted to say and listened to what her loved ones wanted to tell her.  Not like this, alone in her cold and lonely condominium, with a blood-wet sleeping dress and laying down on a blood-wet carpet after heavily sedate herself. She is too sedated to be able to say her last words, and if she could, there's no one who could and would listened to her.

For a second, she fear death