Chapter One- The Picture Perfect Pony
Author's Note
Just so you know, this is set about a month or so after the Crusaders meet (so, after the Cutie Pox but before Hearth's Warming.)
Chapter One- The Picture Perfect Pony
It was just like any other day. Me and my friends came home from school to my sister Rarity's boutique, and ran into the kitchen for a snack. Apple Bloom grabbed a banana (hey, where else would she get one?), and Scootaloo poured herself a glass of juice. We talked for a while in the kitchen, then ran up to my room. At least they did.
"Sweetie Belle, please come into my inspiration room, I need you to model a dress for me." called Rarity. I sighed, walking into her room.
"Please make it quick, Rarity, my friends are waiting upstairs." I said, stepping onto the platform.
"Of course, dear."
Rarity wraps a length of light pastel cloth around my middle, pinning it in place with a bit of lace. She took out her tape measure and frowned.
"Well, I suppose I was wrong, darling." she said, unpinning the cloth from my waist. "The filly this is meant for is a whole size smaller than you. I'll have to use a different model."
"What?" I asked, confused. Rarity didn't have any other filly models.
"Sweetie, will you please ask Apple Bloom and Scootaloo to come in?"
Still puzzled, I did as I was told. Rarity looked my friends over skeptically, and finally chose Scootaloo as the model, me and Apple Bloom waiting impatiently for her to be done. To my surprise, the dress seemed to fit Scoots perfectly.
"Come on already! We still have a ton of crusading to do!" said Scootaloo, hopping eagerly off the modeling platform. Again, we run up to my room.
Apple Bloom flops on top of my bed. "I wonder why she chose you, Scootaloo." she thinks aloud.
"Well, Rarity said that the filly this dress was being made for was a whole size smaller than me. Scoots, what size are you?" I ask.
"I dunno. A nine? Ten? Who cares, let's just start crusading already!" said Scootaloo, pulling out a small green composition book from her saddlebags. We've been getting so many ideas for future cutie marks lately, that we've had to start writing them down.
"Let's see... how about we try the Mural-Painting cutie mark?" suggested Bloom.
"Nah, too expensive. What about the cliff jumping one! That sounds exciting!"
"And fatal."
"Worry wart."
The two continued debating over which cutie mark was better as I flipped through the notebook. There were ideas for calligraphy, video games, shopping, aviation, and more, most of them crossed out to show that we had failed in that pursuit. There has to be at least one perfect cutie mark in here... I think, getting more frustrated with every page I turn.
I throw down the notebook and walk down the hall to the bathroom, leaving my bickering friends for some peace. When I'm done and about to leave, a corner of glossy pink paper catches my eye. Upon further investigation, I find out that it belongs to one of Rarity's fashion magazines, Vanity Mare. On the cover is a picture of a tall, slender pink unicorn mare wearing a solid gold rose clip in her long, silky mane. The breezy, almost translucent lavender dress she wears appears to be blowing in a nonexistent wind. Her makeup is impeccable, almost unreal. Below her is the caption: Fleur is flawless, and you can be too!
No I couldn't. She was unblemished, immaculate, the personification of beauty, and me... well, I wasn't. Still, I turn to the article, entitled The Picture Perfect Pony. The article went to describe the miracle diet Fleur supposedly was on, one composed primarily of plums, green olives, and kale-beet smoothies. It sounded disgusting.
But then again...
An idea pops into my head. I trot back to my room, where (unsurprisingly) Apple Bloom and Scootaloo are still going at it.
"Guys!" I shout, interrupting them.
"What is it, Sweetie Belle?" asks Apple Bloom.
"I know how we're going to get our cutie marks!"
***
"Kale and Beet smoothies???" asks Scootaloo, gagging. "That's so gross!"
I had presented my idea to them, that we should try to become models, and they weren't liking it.
"Well, it's what she uses to look good." I counter, pointing at the photo of Fleur. "And besides, it says that results should start to show in only two or three weeks, so we won't have to wait long."
"TWO OR THREE WEEKS???"
"So? We've done a lot harder things before, guys! We can do this!"
The two looked at each other, then at me. After a while, Bloom answered.
"Sweetie Belle, those hard things we did were stuff like zip lining and scuba diving, not drinking a bunch of green gunk so that we can look like some hoity-toity model in a fashion magazine. Plus, I know my Aunt Orange in Manehatten uses those diets all the time, and she don't look like no fashion model to me."
"Uh-huh." said Scootaloo, nodding her head. "We're just kids, Belle! We aren't gonna magically transform into pretty pink princesses if we go on this diet."
"I know that." I said. "But we can at least try! What harm can it do?"
Apple Bloom and Scootaloo give each other that look again.
"Come on, guys! Two weeks, just to see if it'll work!"
Bloom sighs. "Fine. I'm in. What about you, Scoots?"
Scootaloo grimaces. "I still don't like the idea of drinking kale smoothies. But I'll do if you guys will."
I grin. "Great! It's a plan. We'll start tomorrow."
As promised, the next day each of us brought a bottle of gunky green smoothie with their lunch. I was a bit disappointed to see that they had brought their normal lunches instead of sticking to the diet guidelines like I had, but I was still happy that they were willing to do this with me. The smoothies tasted as bad as they looked, but we still drank every drop.
Besides food, we were supposed to stretch and run for a half an hour each day for exercise, so instead of playing on the equipment, we ran around the playground a few times. I saw a few of our classmates pointing and snickering at us, but I pretended not to acknowledge them. Unfortunately, Apple Bloom and Scootaloo seemed to notice, and they weren't liking it.
"(pant, pant) Sweetie Belle...(puff)... can we...(pant)... stop now?...(huff, puff)..." Bloom heaved, glancing over at a group of sniggering girls.
"Yeah..." puffed Scootaloo. "Haven't we...(wheeze)... run enough yet?"
"No..." I started, my throat parched and dry. "I don't...(huff)... think so."
Just then, the bell rang, calling us inside. We all stopped running, panting for breath.
"Next time..." said Bloom. "We run... somewhere... other than school. Okay?"
"Fine. Tomorrow... we run... over at Sweet Apple Acres."
Scootaloo and Apple Bloom only grunted in approval. I knew that they were regretting ever agreeing to try this, but this was something I really wanted to do. I knew that I would probably never look like Fleur de Lis, but that didn't mean I couldn't try.
***
At the beginning of the week, I weighed 97 pounds.
After a week of strict dieting, I weigh 94.
Apple Bloom and Scootaloo have also lost some weight, but they haven't really been following the rules like I have, so each of them have only lost about a pound. But I understand. This past week hasn't been fun.
After that first day, Diamond Tiara and Silver Spoon began to take notice of our smoothies and food choices. They asked us (very loudly, might I add) if we were drinking sewer sludge. They called us muck eaters, and asked us if we were planning on getting our cutie marks in being disgusting. This really seemed to bother Apple Bloom, and I think Scootaloo had to force herself from punching Diamond.
I tried to ignore it. If we could really get our cutie marks in modeling, everything else would just fall into place. Diamond Tiara would be begging to be our friend, we'd be famous and beautiful... everything. I know Bloom and Scoots weren't all that excited about this cutie mark, but just wait. They'll see that this is the best idea I've ever had. Yeah, maybe Scootaloo isn't really the put-on-pretty-dresses type, and Apple Bloom is kind of a picky eater, but they understand how important this is.
On our last week of dieting, I try to suck down as many smoothies and eat as many plums and olives as possible while not eating anything else. I encouraged Apple Bloom and Scootaloo to do the same, but they stuck to only one smoothie a day. I ran who knows how many laps around Sweet Apple Acres without any breaks, and they only did about two each. I should've expected this; I should've figured out that I was going to be the most enthusiastic about this. Deep down, I feel a little hurt, but I'm good at hiding my feelings.
But it's all right. We haven't even gotten to the best part yet.
On Saturday, the last day of out two-week diet, I'd never seen Bloom and Scootaloo look happier. On the scale in Apple Bloom's bathroom, I weighed 92.
"Great! This means I lost five pounds!" I said gleefully. "Now you guys go."
Apple Bloom went on next. "89. Your turn, Scoots."
My mouth went open. No way. How could she weigh less than I did? I was the one who really worked hard at this!
"How- How did you lose that much weight?" I asked incredulously.
"I didn't. I only lost a pound and a half. Plus there's all my chores at the farm for more exercise, so that may have played a part."
Scootaloo stepped up on the scale. "85."
Again, my mouth dropped. This isn't possible! Why-why- were they the ones with the perfect weights??? What did I do wrong?
Then it hits me. "Scoots, how much did you weigh before?"
"I dunno. 87? Look, does it really matter?"
"Yes, it does! It shows that I lost the most weight out of any of you! See, I lost five pounds, Apple Bloom lost one and a half, and you only lost two!" I did a little dance; I really did lose the lost weight! I really could become a model!
Scootaloo rolled her eyes. "Whoop-de-dang-doo. Can we do something different now? I had my eye on that skateboarding cutie mark..."
I shook my head. "No way! We aren't done yet."
"We ain't done???" asked Apple Bloom skeptically. "How are we not done? We just spent the last two weeks running laps and drinking puke juice. I'd call that done, thank you."
"But this is a modeling cutie mark, not a dieting cutie mark." I argue. "The next step is to get Rarity to lend us some dresses, and for us to walk the runway."
Scootaloo wrinkled her nose; she looked as if she had smelled something rotten. "Nuh-uh. Not happening. Not in a million years, Sweetie Belle. There is no way in the fiery depths of Tartarus that I'm wearing some frilly dress in front of people."
"It doesn't have to be frilly!" I say, growing a little impatient with my friends. Okay, so maybe Scootaloo is going to be harder to convince than I thought. "It doesn't even have to be a dress! You could model pants, or accessories, or hats, or even manestyles if you want! The possibilities are endless!"
"Great. Can I model a skateboard? 'Cuz that's what I'd really like to do." said Scootaloo, her face hard. "We've stuck to your stupid diet thing for two whole weeks, Sweetie Belle! Both me and Bloom are sick of it!" Apple Bloom nodded in agreement.
"Yeah, Sweetie." she says. "Dress up is fun, I guess, but it's definitely not something I'd like to do for the rest of my life! Can't we just try a different cutie mark now? The skateboarding one does sound pretty fun."
I feel my face growing red with exasperation. "No! No we can't! I told you, we haven't completed everything this cutie mark is about! And besides, it's just modeling clothes, it's not going to kill you! Quit being like this!"
"Like what? Like ponies who'd rather not spend their free time doing boring girly-girl stuff? Sorry Sweetie, but this is just not my thing!" Scootaloo said, her eyebrow furrowed stubbornly.
I went from annoyed to angry. Why couldn't they just stick with me on this???
"Look, I know you'd be acting just like this if me and Apple Bloom decided to give up on something you like! Do you think I really wanted to try zip lining? I only did it because you asked me to, not because I really wanted to! Can't you just humor me on this?"
"We DID humor you!" said Scootaloo, her voice steadily rising. "This whole idea for a modeling cutie mark was the dumbest thing I've ever heard! Geez, can't you just let it GO already???"
I feel like I'm about to explode. What is her problem???
"Oh, come on, Scoots," I plead. "Please??? Just work with me here, okay???"
"No!" she shouts. "You can do it yourself if you want! But count. me. out!!!"
"Fine!" I yell, forgetting all self control. "Maybe I will do it myself! Maybe I'll just do everything by myself!"
"Fine!"
"Fine!"
I run out of Bloom's bathroom and out of Sweet Apple Acres. Who cares about them! I don't need them! I don't need anypony!
When I get back to the boutique, Rarity is nowhere to be seen. I grab a pillow form off of the sofa, burying my face in it and screaming as loud as I can. That Scootaloo... Oooh, she just makes me so angry sometimes! Why can't she just work with me on this??? Why does she insist on always being so difficult???
I walk over to the fridge and open it up. Inside is some eggs, milk, assorted health food, and several cartons of Vanilla Oat Swirl ice cream. I take out three along with a spoon, and start on the first. I shovel the ice cream down my throat, devouring it like a hungry wolf. When it's empty, I grab the second, cramming every bit of frozen goodness down my gullet.
It was starting to hurt now, but still I eat the third carton. It felt so good to eat the ice cream, something I had't had since I started dieting. I log up to my room, feeling a little sick.
But suddenly it dawns on me; I broke the diet. I wasn't going to lose weight anymore.
No, no, no, no, no! I think, panicking. I had to make it go away. Before it turns into fat...
But how should I get rid of it? I can't just open up my stomach and take the ice cream out!
But I could make it come back up.
I hurry the the bathroom and over to the toilet, leaning over the seat. It was a bit of a struggle to reach into the back of my throat, but I managed. And it all came back up, every bit of Vanilla Oat Swirl that I had consumed. I flushed the toilet, ridding myself of the sickening evidence.
But somehow after all of this, I felt better.
Chapter Three- The Bumpy Road to Recovery
As you can see, Dr. Stone, this is getting a little out of hoof. I mean, a letter with chapters??? Maybe it's a good thing that I was sent to see you. I think I have a problem.
This is about the time that you came in, my dear doctor. And as it shows, I didn't like it.
After two and a half weeks of controlled diets, IV treatments, and the worst rice pudding I've ever tasted, they finally let me go home on the condition that Rarity would monitor everything I ate, and that somepony had to be outside the door whenever I went into the restroom. But that was fine with me; anything was better than lying in that stupid bed day in and day out.
When I went back to school, I was greeted quietly by the majority of my classmates, but Apple Bloom and Scootaloo welcomed me warmly. They had visited me when I was in the hospital, and brought me the get well cards that Miss Cheerilee had had the class make. I didn't really want to talk about my time in the hospital, and my friends seemed to pick up on this. We continued to talk about possible cutie mark expeditions and spelling tests and the stupid things every eleven-year-old kid talks about with their friends. But this made me happy, a lot happier then I had been in that hospital bed.
And then the rumor mill began to turn.
A few days after I starting attending school again, I began to hear little whispers, hushed tones that they thought I wasn't noticing.
"... threw up..."
"... just look at her, she's so scrawny..."
"... almost died..."
It hurt. It hurt to hear them talking about me like this, like I didn't know that they were silently judging me for something they didn't even understand, that I didn't even understand.
But I ignored it, gritting my teeth and pretending that the stares of disgust and confusion being shot at me weren't there. And every time I heard one of the whispers, or received a fake smile dripping with pity, my stomach knotted up and I felt sick. I wanted to eat everything, then throw it up again... I needed control, I needed it to go away...
Diamond Tiara's taunting came not long after the gossip started. And it was even more vicious than usual, with the fact that she had figured out the whole 'ha-ha-you're-a-blank-flank' thing had gotten old.
"So why'd they let you out of sick bay, invalid? I would've thought your ugly face alone could've gotten you locked up for the rest of your lonely life." The other ponies would laugh at this, then continue to cast disgusted looks at my thin, frail figure. But I kept it down, I bottled it up and insisted to my angry friends that it didn't bother me in the slightest.
I lied.
And it worked.
Until the day it didn't.
It was at lunch recess. Apple Bloom and Scootaloo and I were sitting together under our favorite tree, testing the fruits of our sandwich chef cutie mark idea.
"I dunno, Scoots..." said Apple Bloom, glancing suspiciously at her hoagie. "I don't really think that mayonnaise, daisies, and peanut butter on pumpernickel bread is going to taste all that well together."
"But they all taste great by themselves! It makes total sense that they'd go even better together."
"Okay. Then you eat it first."
"Fine, miss fraidy-cat, I will."
Scootaloo took a big bite out of her sandwich. She chewed for a few seconds before spewing it all over the grass, hacking and choking. Me and Apple Bloom were choking too, but from laughter as opposed to terrible food. Scootaloo wiped off her tongue with three napkins and sat with a disgruntled expression.
"Alright fine, I was wrong about it tasting good. It wasn't that funny. Quit laughing already, you guys."
"So you kids are talentless and disgusting? Why am I not surprised."
We stopped laughing, and turned to see Diamond Tiara's sarcastic sneer.
"What do you want Diamond?" asked Apple Bloom, exasperated.
"Oh, nothing much," said Diamond. "I just noticed that Scootaloser here spat out all of her lunch all over the grass." She clucked her tongue mockingly. "Such a waste."
We rolled our eyes. "Whatever, Diamond." said Scootaloo, crossing her forelegs. "Just bug off, okay?"
Diamond ignored us, flipping her mane over her shoulder. "You know, Scootaloser, instead of wasting all that food, you could have given it to Squeaky Belle over there. Celestia knows she needs the nourishment, what with her throwing up her food after she eats. You should really get some professional help."
I felt the blood drain from my face. My hoofs began to shake; not with shock or sadness, but with anger, intense, raging anger, the kind I had never felt before in my life.
Behind me, Scootaloo had jumped up, her face red with anger. But I waved her down, signaling that I could do this on my own. Diamond Tiara didn't seem to notice any of this.
"What did you say?" I breathed, my eyes turning to slits.
Diamond smirked. "I just gave you a little bit of friendly advice, that's all. I mean, look at you- you're practically a skeleton! Gross much?"
I walked up close to her. Celestia, I was done with this crap.
"Let me tell you something, Diamond Tiara." I said, my voice quiet and calm. Diamond looked at me a bit funny, and a slight flash of confused fear crossed her face. But she composed herself, and looked me straight in the eye. She opened her mouth, probably to make another snarky comment, but I beat her to it.
"Don't think I haven't been hearing all those little rumors going around about me." I said, squinting my eyes at her. "And guess what? Every one of them was true. I went to the hospital. I throw up my food on occasion. Sometimes I even go without food for an entire day.
"And do you know what happened to me? I almost died. That's right, it's true. If hadn't been rushed to the hospital that night, I would be dead in the ground. But I'm getting better. I got medical help and now I'm on my way to leading a semi-normal life again." I started walking towards Diamond Tiara, backing her up against the tree.
"But you," I chuckled coldly. "You decided to open your big mouth and start blabbing my business to anypony who'd listen." My voice was growing louder. "Not that I'm surprised. This whole school year, you have done nothing but try to bring me and my friends down. Blank-flanks you called us. Freaks you called us. Dorky, babyish losers you called us! And when we weren't bothered by the names anymore, you just sunk even lower. You made fun of the fact that Scootaloo here has a hard time flying! What the heck?
"And now you're trying to get under my skin by getting the whole class to treat me like some sort of twisted science experiment! Well, mission accomplished, Diamond, cause you ticked me off pretty bad this time!" By now I was yelling, and we were attracting stares. Diamond looked very uncomfortable. But still, she had the nerve to put on that disgusting little smirk.
"Geez, Squeaky Belle," she said. "I knew drama ran in your family, but can't you just take a joke?"
The inside of me ignited with fury. A JOKE? THAT'S what she thinks all of this is?
"You think you're so special, don't you?" I hissed, my voice low once again. "Pampered, perfect little Diamond, who doesn't need to learn manners because she can just buy the respect of everypony. Well, NEWSFLASH, princess! Not a single kid in this class likes you! We secretly hate your guts because we all know that if we step one hoof out of line, if we openly disagree with even one little comment of yours, then you'll make sure we're sorry!" I was shouting, and almost every kid at recess had stopped playing and had come to watch.
"But my friends and I are already being tormented day and night by you, so what have I got to lose?" I yelled. "Lemme tell you exactly
what I think you, Diamond Tiara Rich. You are a snob! You are a bully! And you are by far the worst pony I have ever met in my entire life!"
I raised up my hoof and punched her in the nose, knocking her to the ground. My hoof felt like it was broken, and Diamond's muzzle was squirting blood everywhere. She was screaming in pain and holding her muzzle in her hoofs, but I didn't feel sorry. I felt good.
The foals watching began to shout as well. A few of them ran over to the schoolhouse, surely to get Miss Cheerilee. And sure enough, less than a minute later, our teacher was there, helping Diamond up and pressing a cloth to her bloodied nose.
"Sweetie Belle, come with me, now." she said sharply. I did as I was told, not feeling any regret, or guilt, or even any happiness that I had finally shown Diamond who's boss. I felt nothing.
I sat in the corner for the rest of the school day (Diamond went home). After everypony else had left, Cheerilee called me up to her desk, a stern look on her face.
"I'm surprised at you, Sweetie Belle." said Cheerilee, rubbing her hoof against her forehead. "This isn't like you. But from what the other foals have told me, you just started screaming at Diamond and then punched her in the face."
I looked her straight in the eye, not saying a word.
"I've called your sister up here for an emergency Parent-Teacher conference to decide what to do about your behavior today. And unless you can provide a truthful alibi on what really happened back there, then we're going to have to take some serious action."
I continued to stare at her, refusing to speak. Apple Bloom and Scootaloo knew what happened. They'd set her straight.
Just then, the classroom door opened, and in came Rarity, looking grim.
"Oh good, you're here." said Cheerilee, gesturing for Rarity to sit down next to me. She did so, shooting me a disappointed expression.
"Miss Cheerilee, I don't understand," said Rarity. "Sweetie Belle would never hit one of her classmates. And even if she did, I'm sure she'd be very sorry, wouldn't you, Sweetie?"
I stared up at her coldly. Seriously? I'm not sorry for this.
Rarity looked at me incredulously. "Well then, Sweetie Belle, would you care to tell us what happened?" asked Cheerilee.
"Fine." I said, crossing my forelegs in front of me. Rarity's nostrils flared, something she did whenever I acted rude, but I honestly didn't care.
I replayed the story to them, emotionless, making sure to emphasize that Diamond started it. When I was through, I leaned back in my chair, glad to get that off my chest. After a few seconds of silence, Cheerilee finally spoke up.
"Well..." she said. "This certainly changes the perspective of things. I will speak with Diamond Tiara once she can come back to school. However, that does not excuse your behavior. You are eleven years old, and we expect you to have a certain amount of control over your emotions. But considering the recent... circumstances..." She shot a wary glance at Rarity. "I'm not going to suspend you. But I will be keeping you inside for lunch detention all the rest of this week and the next, understood?"
I nodded, as did Rarity. "Thank you, Miss Cheerilee, I assure you that this sort of incident will not happen again. Come along, Sweetie, It's time that we leave."
We walked home when the sun was just beginning to set, the silence between us near deafening. When we got inside the boutique, Rarity slunk into a chair, holding her forehead.
"Sweetie Belle... oh, Celestia..." she groaned. "Why must you get in trouble like this?"
A spark of anger flared up inside me. "Hey, don't act like this was all me. I told you, if Diamond Tiara had kept her mouth shut, none of this would have happened."
"Nevertheless, what you did was highly inappropriate!" said Rarity, her voice rising slightly. "You should have had better control of yourself! Haven't I taught you to act like a lady? Haven't you learned anything from me?"
"No, I haven't!" I shouted, stamping my front hoof on the ground. A stab of pain shot up my leg, making me wince.
Rarity noticed this. "Sweetie, what's wrong? Are you hurt?" She immediately came over to inspect my leg, which I pulled away.
"I'm fine." I said through my teeth. I had no idea where this sudden anger was coming from, but it was strong. I wanted to scream, to hit something, to make something hurt...
Rarity looked incredulously at my hoof. "You're hurt." she said. "How did you get that big bruise on there? Did Diamond Tiara hit back?"
I looked down, and sure enough, a large purple and brown bruise had formed. I remembered feeling pain when I had punched Diamond; perhaps this was the effect.
"I dunno." I lied. Rarity didn't need to know more than she'd been told.
Her eyes shifted between looking at me and my hoof, and finally she broke the silence.
"I'm taking you to the doctor's office. It might have gotten infected, or sprained, or... another medical term, and what with all your hospital trauma, we can't afford for that to happen. Come on."
"What, now?"
"No better time than the present." And with that, she dragged me off to the doctor.
***
I had a fractured hoof and internal bleeding, according to the doctor. Apparently, when I punched Diamond, I did it a little too hard. Because of my medical condition, I had been very weakened, and my bones were very brittle at the moment. I got a small brace to hold it still to heal, but I also received a much, much worse prescription.
"I have to go to WHAT?"
"It's only counseling, dear, it won't kill you."
I sat on my bed, across from my absolutely insane sister. The emergency doctor's appointment was two nights ago, and while at the time I had been a little curious as to what he had told Rarity out in the hall after my examination. And I guess now I know.
"This is crazy!" I shouted, waving my hoofs in the air. "I do not need to sit on some stupid couch and talk to some screwy shrink! Do I look like a nutcase to you? Do I?"
"Calm down, Sweetie Belle," said Rarity, setting her hoof on my shoulder. I brushed it away. "You're not going because you're crazy, you're going because the doctor recommended some psychiatric help. He thinks that, due to all the recent emotional stress you've going through from your, eh... condition... that it would be advisable if you got a bit of mental help, just so that things like your little fight won't happen again. We're only trying to help you, Sweetie Belle."
Is she serious? Covering up with a bunch of fancy-shmancy words to hide what she's really saying- that the stupid quack doctor thinks I'm so mentally unstable that I have to go to a friggin' therapist to 'help' me? No. Just no.
But no matter how I resisted, Rarity managed to drag me to the counselor's office. I sat in a stiff wooden chair while she registered me for an appointment, scowling and thinking very unladylike thoughts. After about an hour of boring paperwork, Rarity motioned me over to the door to the counseling room. Before opening the door, she turned to me.
"Look, Sweetie Belle, I know that this is hard for you..."
You don't know the half of it.
"...And probably a little awkward..."
Sis, we passed awkward two exits back and now we're on the road to Lose-it Palooza!
"...But I need you to understand..."
Understand? Understand??? I have no choice but to be understanding!
"...That this is for your own good."
Yeah. Sure. Whatever helps you sleep at night.
I walked into the beige counseling room and sat down on the couch. Rarity shut the door behind her, going back to the waiting room.
And then you came in.
You were just about the dullest looking stallion I had ever seen, to be perfectly honest. Everything about you screamed, 'I am the most boring pony alive'. You sat down on the wooden chair across from the couch, and looked straight towards me, unblinking.
"Hello, Miss Belle." you droned, sounding just as mundane as you looked. "I am your therapist, Dr. Flat Stone. Let's start with the beginning- how are you feeling right now?"
Wow. Just, just- wow. He's pulling this one. Unbelievable.
"Pissed off like you wouldn't believe." I answered flatly, scowling at you with all my might. You didn't seem to notice, staring at your clipboard and nodding for me to go on.
And that's pretty much how the entire rest of the first session went. I'm not sure you noticed; you seemed to be having a pretty in-depth staring contest with that clipboard.
Back at school, things weren't going so well. Instead of applauding me for my triumph over Diamond Tiara, my classmates had stopped being disgusted with me and started being afraid. Even my best friends were keeping their distance. I could hear them talking about me when they thought I was out of earshot, or glancing anxiously at me, as if they were frightened that I'd start hitting things again if they set me off.
The good news is that Diamond Tiara seemed to be leaving me and the other Crusaders alone now. Every once in a while, I'd see her glowering at me, rubbing her bandaged muzzle with a sour expression. I'd smile; I still wasn't a bit sorry.
But our usual Crusading ventures weren't as fun any more. No matter how I tried to get them to treat me normal, that look of subtle fear in Apple Bloom and Scootaloo's eyes never left when I was around. Even though I was surrounded by friends, I had never felt more alone.
And the therapy sessions weren't going so well, either. You never seemed to want to speak unless it was to ask how I feel, or to tell me that our time was up and not to forget to pay at the front. Honestly Doc, I'm not sure whether you were trying to drive me insane with boredom or if it was just natural. Maybe that's why you have so many clients; just listening to you talk would send anyone to the loony bin.
Every once in a while, I'd still throw up, though Rarity would usually see the signs and attempt to stop me. Life became one big, monotonous routine: Wake up, eat planned meal, go to school and not talk to anyone, go home, do homework, and twice a week, go to stupid useless therapy. And there wasn't a day that I wasn't angry, or bitter, or just plain lost in my own thoughts. I spent a lot of alone time in my room, staring into my mirror and dreading tomorrow.
But all those hours alone gave me time to think. And the more I thought, the more I noticed.
Everypony I knew were all a bunch of fakes. With those phony smiles plastered on, they fooled everypony into thinking that everything was just peachy. And maybe everything was. Maybe I was the only one who had to forge smiles and force laughs. Maybe I was the only one who felt so empty and hollow that she has to throw up her pancreas just to gain some level of control.
And I was a fake too.
Because I could only think these thoughts when I was by myself. When I looked in the mirror, I could see nothing but a fat, ugly filly, who was so out of control that she had to go to freakin' psychotherapy, emphasis on the word 'psycho'.
But I was a good girl. I kept this all inside, bottling it up as not to burden anypony with my problems. You see, this is part of the reason I'm not sure that you were listening, Doc. All I was talking about were stupid little annoyances that I make up on the spot. I confess, some of them were real, like when I rehashed my fight with Diamond and how everypony's afraid of me now. But this sick routine kept on moving forward, until one day you actually changed the subject. Do you remember, Doc? Do you remember that day?
I thought not.
"Sweetie Belle, tell me." you said, still not bothering to look at me. "What sort of friends do you have?"
I perked up. This was new. You had never asked me any real questions before.
"Well..." I said. "I've got two friends, Sweetie Belle and Scootaloo. We've been friends since basically the beginning of the school year when we formed our group, the Cutie Mark Crusaders."
"What are your friends like?"
"Um... well, Apple Bloom's really fun, and a super good artist. Scootaloo loves to take risks, and she's great riding on her scooter, even if she's not the best flier."
"What do each of them contribute to your friendship, respectively?"
"Um..." I thought hard. "Apple Bloom is kind of the idea machine. She gets these cool visions of different ways we could get our cutie marks, and loves leading. Scootaloo is the one who makes sure whatever we're doing is the right level of fun, plus she seems to like doing the manual work."
"What do you think you contribute?"
My thoughts stopped. What did I give? I racked my brain, trying to think of a satisfactory answer.
"I don't know." I admitted, feeling terrible. "I guess I'm sort of like the cheerleader for the other two." The cheerleader??? Was I really that pathetic?
"Hmm... what do you do in your spare time?"
"Uh..." There was no way I was going to tell you that I stared at a mirror for hours on end. "...come see you?"
"I see... that will be all for today, Miss Belle, you may leave. Remember to pay at the front."
***
The next few weeks were hard. I didn't bother to try and act like things were fine anymore. Some days I would just feel too tired to get out of bed, and it showed. I blocked out everything. My friends, my schoolwork, you name it. I just couldn't pretend anymore. But after you actually started to ask me real questions every couple of sessions, I guess I kinda felt more comfortable spilling my guts. Surely you remember when I broke down and described every single feeling I'd been having since the fight (If you don't, then it's official- you are the worst psychiatrist in Equestria). I suppose it made me feel better to get that all off my chest, in a way. It still didn't stop what made me hurt.
One day, when I'm about to leave for school, Rarity stops me. I thought maybe she was going to try and get me to comb my mane or wash my face, so I attempted to push past her, but she's stronger than she looks.
"Sweetie Belle, we need to talk." said Rarity, sitting me down at the kitchen table. What did she want from me now?
"Dr. Flat Stone called me last night. He..." Rarity gulped. "He's diagnosed you with clinical depression, and prescribed a pill that can help."
I sucked in my breath. So there was something wrong with me. Big surprise.
"So today I want you to stay home, with me."
"Um... why?" I asked. "I can just take the pill and go, sis."
Rarity gave me a meaningful look. "Well, you could... if you don't want to spend the day with your big sister rather than at school."
Well, this was unexpected. I remembered when once upon a time, I would have jumped at the chance to spend the day with my big sis. But now, for some reason, I had no interest. I felt only suspicion. But hey, anything was better than going back for another miserable day of school.
We spent the day going to Sugarcube Corner, window shopping, and at the movies. We also stopped by the pharmacy on the way home, to pick up my prescription. It was nice. I couldn't feel like I could enjoy myself, and I didn't know why. When we got home and I had taken the pills, I mumbled some thanks for the day out, and made my way up to my room for some alone time. I felt drained.
Why couldn't I let myself just be happy? Why did my life have to be one failure after another? Maybe Diamond Tiara was right. Maybe I shouldn't have left that hospital at all.
I continued to take the pills for several weeks, and still felt the same. Maybe we got the wrong pills... maybe I was just too sick for them to work. I expressed these concerns to you, I believe, and all you did was ask how I feel. Really, dude? Really? Couldn't you have just stuck to asking me real questions?
However, after a while, things didn't seem quite so dark anymore. I started feeling guilty about shutting out my friends, and apologized. Crusading became fun again, and with Diamond Tiara avoiding me, life felt... good, I guess. More normal.
But I still felt shut off by you. I was so, so fed up with you and that Celestia-forbidden clipboard.
"Hey, Rarity..." I asked one Monday evening during dinner. "Can I... can I not go to therapy tomorrow?"
She looked up, surprised. "Why not? Are you not feeling well?"
I briefly thought about lying, but decided against it. "No, I just... I just don't want to have to talk to Dr. Stone. I'm not really in the mood."
She set down her utensils. "Sweetie Belle, what's going on?"
I sighed, and explained my annoyance with your psychiatric process. Rarity listened carefully, and when I was through, she patted me on the back.
"Sweetie Belle, if you really don't like having to talk to Dr. Stone, you don't have to."
I perked up. "I... don't?"
"Nope." she shook her head. "But then again, if it wasn't for him, we may have never found out that you have depression, at least not for quite a while longer."
"So?"
"So, you should be grateful, Sweetie Belle." she said calmly.
I suddenly felt angry. "Grateful? Grateful? All that quack doctor's done is drive me up the wall his stupid 'how do you feels' and 'don't forget to pays'. He should be apologizing to me!"
"Still," said Rarity in that aggravatingly calm voice. "It would be nice of you to at least thank him before you decide to stop coming. What if you write him a note, or a letter?"
Well, there was an idea. I mumbled something about not being hungry, and retreated upstairs to my bedroom. As of the past several weeks, what with me making up with my friends and spending less time in my room, I haven't exactly had the convenience of spending hours staring into my mirror. So when I stalked into my darkened bedroom, my first instinct was not to sit down in front of the glass. I flopped onto my bed, thinking hard.
I didn't particularly want to continue seeing Dr. Stone anymore. His droning manner of speech, if any speech at all, was infuriating. Sure, he probably wasn't the worst psychiatrist in history (I'm guessing here), but I think that I could do without his help at this moment.
But Rarity had a point. He (you) did deserve some thanks. Getting up off of my bed, I trotted briskly over to my writing desk and pulled out a piece of paper and a pencil.
Dear Dr. Stone...
