Worst part of the day.
Morning again.
Awake again.
I was having the most beautiful dream. I was in the air. The other kids were there, too, but it was me. That was the important part. I was with them. In the dream, I remembered that usually I can't fly with everybody else. You know how dream logic works.
I'm not a pegasus, but I could fly. I could fly, I really could! I was soaring and looping and zipping around and I was free. I was free! I threw it all off. All the pain, all the doubt! Left it all behind! I was FREE diary, FREE!! I was flying over the farms, the school house, the town...I even got high enough to see Canterlot! It was amazing!! I was so absolutely, and utterly happy.
Then I woke up.
The alarm was a death sentence to another day of suffering, and I was the star attraction in a carnival of freaks. I was sick today. Severe lack of school spirit in addition to a bad case of I-could-care-less. Not that Miss Cheerilee would buy it. I crawl out of bed and catch a glimpse of myself in the mirror across the room.
The sad eyes of a broken colt glaring the devil's glare into a mirror that could never make him beautiful. Never be a princess. Never be queen of the crowd. A woeful wicked device that spit lies every time he passed by. Chalk board bangs and an pale orange completion. The utmost cusp of school-aged geekery. I wanted to scream that it was wrong. That I was beautiful, and I COULD be a princess one day! I was sweet and desirable and I was everything it was showing me I wasn't. And at the same time, it wasn't showing off anything that I was. Big full length sucker, too. From stand to top, it stood gleaming in the corner of my room, screaming its lies every single day. Mom wanted me to be a well dressed young stallion, and she figured this thing would help jump-start that process.
God did I hate it.
Not only did it seem to take great amusement in reminding me, on a day to day basis, that I was born one letter too late, but it seemed to catch every single light in the room, drawing my attention to it, no matter where I turned. I was its prisoner. A slave to its whims. It demanded I peer into it, every single day. Somewhere, somehow, no matter what, I'd end up looking into one of its siblings. I'd tease my mane back and forth, make pouty faces, blow kisses. But no matter what I did, I was still hopelessly wrong.
I growled at myself. I tried to tell myself it was dumb to get worked up at looking at my reflection. I barked at myself; the ugly dog in the mirror. I hissed and bit and snapped and snarled at that dog. That me that wasn't me. That horrible thing was something else I was trapped inside of. The shell of a pony. Like my Cutie Mark.
Sometimes, I wish I could talk about it. Spit it all out. Explain everything to everyone with just the right words in just the right way. I wished it would be that easy. But whenever I try to talk about it, all that comes out is a black, rotting ball of gunk. Like, try and imagine the biggest knot of string that you can. Now cover that with tar on a hot day. Now try to pull it apart. The words are all there, but they're tied up and gunked up and stupid. I can't say them like that. I don't know how to say them like that. And that frustrates me so much I just want to scream. But I when I scream until I'm hoarse it doesn't help. My screams echo into nothing. Not that there's any pony to listen, anyway.
Somedays I wondered if there was a spell that could help me. Some ancient secret words that I could recite. Maybe, if I really really studied hard, and did my best, maybe I could learn that spell one day. If it even existed. I've never been good at magic, but I liked the idea. My horn gave a soft yellow spark. I wondered if there might be other unicorns, like me, who have felt this way before. Maybe they were all working on a spell like that to help them. I liked an idea of a spell like that. I would spend hours planning out exactly how my hair looked. What kind of make up I might wear. Who would ask me to the winter sock-hop? Or being able to go out shopping and not worry about weird looks while I stare at the Carousel Boutique... I liked the way that felt. It was a bright spot on most of my days.
I think I'm getting sick. Not like, Sick-sick, but like, sad-sick. Like this feeling in my tummy that won't go away and I just don't know what to do about it. Like sometimes the biggest problem I have is having all the words, but not having the right way to use them. I just wish there was somebody that could understand me. The closest pony I have to talk to is Snips. And...he's not...exactly great conversation material. Hes my best friend yeah, but ...He'd never understand. I don't think anyone understands. And that upsets me, and that frustrates me, it just feels like I'm trapped in this place that I can't break free from and sometimes it all just comes crashing down. Collapsing on itself like a house of cards. And every time it collapses it gets harder and harder to build it again. So everyday I'm just left with a mess.
I call that time "Being awake."
I gazed sadly into the mirror, ignoring the shouts from downstairs. Mother said I'd be late for school if I didn't hurry. I would be so lucky. For a moment, I caught sight of my cutie mark. Silly thing. Nothing pretty about a snail, but if only it could be. I smiled gently, staring at that shell for a long few moments. All in all, it really wasn't a bad little cutie mark. It was cute, if I dare said so myself. I wished it was different though, maybe something more...pink? Sparkles would be cute. Sparkles all over the shell. I pondered that for a few moments.
"Glitter Shell. " I said, letting the word balance on my tongue before I repeated it again. Glitter Shell. That was a very pretty name. I liked it! I liked it a lot- but I didn't have time to dwell. Mom was yelling again, and I didn't have the time to spend staring into mirrors. Still...
I force myself to flash the mirror a dazzling smile. The same big fake one I used everyday at school. If you smile big enough and wide enough, ponies don't ask what's wrong. And if they don't ask, I don't have to lie. So I just smile like this, and pretend that everything is okay. And that it's gonna be okay. Because sometimes, lying to yourself is the only weapon you have, and I hate being defenseless.
I stared into the mirror. One day, I'll be beautiful. I smiled again and headed down stairs for breakfast.
Author's Note
3:08 am. And Lady Rarity can't, friggin' sleep.
So have a story. My circle of friends is heavily influenced by transgender issues, and I just wanted to try to put the struggle into words? I wanted to capture the hopeless sensation of being 'lost' and not knowing which step to take next. To express a bleak and depressing situation and maybe put a voice to it. Many of my friends have felt this way. This is for you! You are not alone! I hope this reaches the right audience. It might feel endless, like your telling yourself over and over again that you'll make it to the person you want to be, the very next day that same hope can shatter into a million pieces.
Still looking for editors, because no matter how many times I try to go through a story, new spelling mistakes always pop right out at me. I'm really bad at this. D:
