I think I might call it "Penny Jar" but god only knows really
an excerpt

warning: you may wish to avert your eyes!

She went outside. She went as far as she could possibly go without quite crossing the boundary between going outside and going away. She walked on and on, steadily, almost absent-mindedly, in spurts when she came to some landmark which might for some reason turn her back or bind her there, until she was past those, then steadily again. She would not turn back right now for all the world. She would not leave, either, not just yet. She went as far as she could without tipping that balance, and then when she could go no further outward, she climbed upward. Up the hill, around the road, and thought about climbing the tree up on the apex there, but instead decided to walk out on the cliff itself.

If someone saw her now they might think she would walk right off the edge, and she would, if it were possible to jump onto that twinkling star that seemed not a foot away, if it were the right size to be jumping on. Step from star to star, over to the moon itself, and sit for a while with no one to bother her. If it were possible to get away without going away. To leave all of reality behind for a while, instead of trading one reality for another. ‘God,’ she thought, ‘If they saw me now, they’d try to call me down from the ledge. Right back down to them, where they could grasp me with their hands, and tug me with their arms, and lead me right back home.’ A shudder. ‘Home. As if there is a home anymore. As if there is some kind of place to belong.’ She stood there, not being able to go further, and not wanting to be any closer than she had to be from where she had come; transfixed, illuminated, burning with a fervent desire to go and live, to live, to truly live, and no longer be trapped in the pale susurration she could hardly call existence.

It was such a helpless feeling; to want so and yet not know how to go about it; to know what it would cost. It would cost her everything, and yet, it would only cost her everything she had left. She didn’t count it as highly as she once did, back when she was herself. Or, as the others said, back before she was someone else. She always thought of it in the opposite way: as if she had been someone else, and now had become who she was. Her self. If it were her true self or not, in the absolute sense, she had no idea. She just knew that it was her self now, and she must find a way to be true to it, or lose yet another self in the end. She was rather disinclined to think that a person has an unlimited number of selves to go through; she had gone through one already and it made her the more determined and even zealous in the most anxious kind of way to keep hold of the one she had left. The last one, she knew, was gone beyond retrieval.

(it's not exactly the lightest point of the story, but, still...)