My Life as a Crazy Pony

by FeverishPegasus

Rating: mature
Tags: Other, Tragedy, Gore, My Little Pony: Friendship is Magic, Comedy
Length: 1533

Hey, Screwloose here. I wasn't always crazy y'know?

I wasn't born crazy y'know?

-Screwloose

WARNING: This story addresses the topic of suicide and mental illness with explicit detail. If this kind of thing is a trigger for you, don't read this story.

Published 2015-02-02 20:40:02 UTC
Last updated 2015-02-02 20:40:02 UTC

Hello

I wasn't always like this. Batshit crazy. Y'know?

I should probably get this over with before I spiral out of control again. Sometimes I don't come back for months. This has to get done now.

This is Screwloose writing for your enjoyment, and believe it or not, I'm pretty good conversation for a few days out of the month. The stocks, weather, sports, you name it, I could probably keep you entertained, though the presence of ponies tend to accelerate my crazy little process.

This isn't about that though; I want you to know why I went batshit crazy in the first place. No doubt the answer wouldn't surprise some of you, but here goes.

I grew up in Ponyville, that beautiful down-to-earth town. My parents called me the platinum child, even though I was an only child. Still, they were proud of me, and I knew it.

I always got good grades, in fact, I'd be disappointed if I wasn't the top of each of my classes. That reminds me of that one time I got in a heated grade battle with one of my classmates. I won, of course, but getting a 102 % over her 101 % was difficult business.

Don't get me wrong though, I wasn't by any means smart. I just worked really fucking hard. There were nights that I worked from the moment I got home until four in morning. Those were terrifying nights, but it always felt nice when I got through them, especially when my teachers admonished my hard work the day after.

You're probably thinking, now how did this dedicated pony go completely insane? She had life going for her!

You see, as far as I can remember I had this guilt complex. If I did something wrong, no matter how obscure it was, I'd get this terrible feeling of conflict in my gut, like I didn't deserve to live unless I came clean. At first I didn't resist this feeling, after all, my parents were giving me compliments for being such a well-behaved and honest filly. It felt good to be praised.

Over time, this complex got stronger and stronger. My guilt became my obsession. Suppose I said something snarky to a classmate the day before; I would lose sleep over it. It would pester me minute after minute after minute, until I could finally go up to that classmate, ever so bashfully, and apologize.

It always made me feel sub-pony to apologize like that, about everything I did, but I needed to say it. Otherwise I wouldn't deserve to live.

It never occurred to me that my thought process was skewed compared to that of a healthy pony. I thought all the others were just rude or evil. Unlike them, I actually wanted to be one of those little angels.

Just like with my guilt complex, I can't remember when I first made it my life goal to be the best, least blemished pony in existence. In fact, those two things probably came together, at the same point in my life that they developed, whenever that was.

Throughout my life up to high school, I learned to loath myself because of my faults, because of my inability to find friends.

My inability to find friends extended back to much before high school; I was always afraid that they'd see my blemishes and reject me, even bully me. Most of my life I spent in fear of my peers, without any real friends. At least I never got bullied.

Zoom back to high school again and I'm a nervous wreck. I'd heard about all of the horror stories involving drugs, sex, bullies, getting trash canned, cliques, and rejection. It was so scary.

Of course, after a few days, I started to get used to the routine and it became normal for me, but guilt and fear continued to plague my mind, just as it had before high school.

It wasn't until senior year that something drastic happened to my personality, compounding on my already all-consuming fear of being imperfect and evil.

I developed what you might call social anxiety, but with it also came a sense of urgency.

I started to realize that all my social interactions with ponies, forced or not, could have significant impacts on their lives. I started to become afraid that the simplest word could set somepony off and make them commit suicide. I started to feel that it would be all my fault if something like that happened.

By my inability to converse with ponies correctly, I might not deserve to live!

My social anxiety developed a little feedback loop. I suddenly wanted to avoid any and all conversation, afraid that I'd cause damage, but at the same time, I couldn't act like I was just ignoring them! That would cause more damage!

Other times, I'd try to act interested in somepony's conversation, but I could feel the lies emanating from my face, clearly portraying that I wanted to leave as soon as possible. The longer I stayed, the more I felt like I was patronizing the pony I was talking to, causing harm, but I didn't want to leave because that might just reinforce the fact that I didn't care!

My anxiety and guilt and fear spun my around and around and around. It pulled at my brain, split me apart, made every day feel as if it was the last I deserved to live.

Somehow, I kept my grades up during this mess, no doubt due to my fear that I wouldn't deserve to exist if I flunked out. In fact, it stayed at a perfect four point oh. Home wasn't a respite for me, my need to be an excelling student made sure of that.

Every day, I felt like I was being squeezed out of existence, pushed into a smaller and smaller box to live in. If I broke those boundaries, that would be it!

Suicide started to consume my mind. I felt like I'd have so much more space to move around in if I chose to die. Of course, that was up until I realized that doing so would hurt my family, maybe cause a chain of suicide among them. A little perverse part of me wanted to do it anyway, to hear the blood-curdling screams of my mother as I lay dying on the kitchen floor, a kitchen knife stuck in my chest as the blood starts to pool around me.

That didn't stop my want to commit suicide though. I was afraid that one day, there would be no energy to resist, and I'd do it anyways, hurting my family in the process.

Just like the universe is destined to shrink out of existence in an intense moment of heat and sound I felt like my life was about to end, that there was no conceivable way I'd make it into the future alive.

I had to survive though! I didn't want to hurt my family!

I lived like for months like this, teetering rapidly between death and the guilty urges to stay alive, a wretch of a pony, all concealed by her congenial mask.

Suddenly, I've graduated. I'm officially a part of Equestria's work force and the pressure chokes me. I have no idea how to get a job, no idea how to react to ponies in the streets, no idea to even know where to start.

I ask my parents and they give me ideas, but it isn't enough. There are too many variables and possibilities and consequences to consider. There was no way I was going to get integrated into society without causing trouble and being a severe fuck-up.

On the other hand, I had to find a job. I'd disappoint my parents and I couldn't bear to make them feel sad. What if they actually committed suicide because of me!

Both the paths I had laid out before me were filled death, number one being my own, as well as my parents', and number two being that of all the ponies I'd end up screwing over somehow.

They pressed on both sides, harder and harder and harder, creating an equilibrium of rapidly increasing intensity. I needed a way out, some way out, any way out of these bullshit decisions full of death and suffering and pain and self-doubt and sadness and brokenness destined to continue in my infinite feedback loop for eternity.

And...well. I guess you could say I found my way out.

My name is Screwloose and I live at Ponyville's hospital, kept under house arrest in the mental illness ward.

I'm here because I legitimately tried to stab my parents, and passerby to my home, with a spatula.

Thank goodness it was only a spatula.

Author's Note

Hey, I just want to add that if you have an experience that is very similar to Screwloose's, there is hope. Just because I made my fictional character go crazy doesn't mean that you can't pull through whatever you are struggling with. Please, please, please, get help if you ever find yourself in a position like this.

Hope you enjoyed my story.

Thanks.