Mark of Depression. But Who Cares?

Mother

She woke up on a soft bed, with hard pillows and a thin sheet for a blanket. The sound of voices greets her as she squints at the ceiling. Memories flood to her, and she closes her eyes again.

"Do you have any idea what you put me through?!" More voices appear. They seem to be talking to someone. No, wait, they're talking to her.

"All night wasted because you decided to go play hookie! I'm suppose to be out with friends, not chasing after some drugged up teenager!" Yes. Definitely talking to her.

She sits up, leaning on her shoulders. She glares at the overhead lamp as her eyes adjust to the light. Looking over, she sees someone glaring at her, sitting in a chair in the corner. They're still talking.

"All night the police spent looking for you! Think of all the things they'd be better off doing! Instead they're wasting their time pulling you from the ocean!" Oh, so that's who saved her.

"But you already knew that, didn't you? Didn't you?!" she sighs, and falls back onto the pillow.

"Don't you ignore me young lady, how dare you sigh at me-"

The voice trails off as she slips back into unconsciousness.

It's all going to go back to normal soon. Her mother yelling at her. Her friends all ignoring her. Even her boyfriend would rather spend time with some whore than with her. 

Why did she have to get saved? Was it considered saving if she was going back to a worse life. She didn't want this.

She sighs again, and lets these thoughts invade her mind as her mother keeps screaming at her.

Why her?