Hello, My Name Is Super Trampoline, and I’m a Depressed Bat Pony.
Hello, my name is Super Trampoline, and I'm a depressed bat pony. I guess I'm depressed because I'm broke and I'm broke because I spent all my money. What a dumbass am I right? Now I got to work really hard and it kind of sucks. I'm not used to hard work; I don't like hard work. I want to see a world without hard work. And mind you, Equestria in some ways as a more fair and equitable world than say, the human world, but we still lack a lot in technology that lets us get away with not working. I hope I live to see the day that we don't have to work at all that we can spend all our time in leisure.
I wasn't always depressed. Or maybe I was, I'm honestly not sure. It's only been about a year-and-a-half since I was diagnosed with depression and anxiety. Before that we just thought it was a bunch of ADHD-related procrastination. I just don't feel like doing shit. I guess that makes me entitled because a lot of creatures don't feel like doing things.
I'm a cart-pulling pony. I pull ponies around Ponyville. Well usually, I fly up to Canterlot because it's a lot more busy there. I have strong legs and wings but I eat too much and I don't exercise enough outside of my job, so I'm obese. I recently joined a gym so I can work on losing weight because I don't want to die alone. Wouldn't that be sad? Again not to be a pity party, but it's been 7 years since my last fillyfriend. And what do I have to show for this 7 years? Pretty fucking squat diddly much. I sit in my room and make music. I mean my cutie mark is a French horn so it makes sense but still I don't do anything I slowly flop around from music project to music project. My band is perpetually mediocre because I'm perpetually mediocre. What a fucking loser.
I know, I know, I'm not supposed to call myself a loser. You're supposed to believe in yourself and believe that it is your actions that need changing but that you yourself are a good pony. It's not that I think I'm a bad pony. I'm just a cowardly pony who runs from his problems. I get anxiety from opening mail and taking telegraph messages. What a fucking wimp. Our ancestors fought Wendigos, and look at me, I'm afraid of my fucking mail!
Let me tell you a nice little story though. Yesterday I was transporting a lady to work, to one of the Donut Joe franchises on North side of Canterlot. And she was like you know I get a lot of carriage flyers coming in for bathroom breaks and what not late at night do you want any thing from here like any tea or something? I asked her if a strawberry banana smoothie would be too much trouble and she said it wouldn't be so she made me a strawberry banana smoothie. How cool is that.
I don't like who I am. I want to change myself. But ultimately it comes down to me not being a coward. Unfortunately I can be very cowardly often. You know all these doctors the way they can bind Magic and medicine these days is pretty incredible. But I still have to do my part of the job. No spell or pill can fix everything about me. It has to come from within. And I have to decide, I have to decide that I'm going to finally shape up. I look at my life, I look at the the last five, six, seven years, and it's horrid! I'm 25! Going on 26! I'm already a quarter of the way through my life! And I never know when I might die. It could be tomorrow. Or next year or fifteen years or sixty-five years from now. Or 15 minutes from now.
But can I really complain? Other than being a fat fuck, I'm healthy. Think about how many ponies and other creatures are born with or get so many different ailments! So many issues the Flim Flam Brothers could write a song about it. Oh wait they did. So what right do I have to complain? I live in a wealthy suburb of the most powerful country on the planet. Although you wouldn't know it the way Twilight and Company are constantly having to save Celestia's ass. Maybe we aren't so powerful. They keep telling us we're powerful but maybe we aren't. Who knows. That's another discussion for another day.
So yeah, those newfangled self flying carriages that are starting to come out or probably going to take my job within about 5 years. And then where will I be? You know I'm technically a genius. I know IQ tests are speciest and whatnot, but the point is I'm very smart. I did really well in school and then I just sort of flopped. I could have been an engineer or something and I would probably be making lots of money. actually I might still be in school but like 5 years from now I'd be making close to six figures. Now I don't have any clue what I'm going to do. And that is scary, not exciting.
So here I sit at my desk, a bottle of weak wine next to me, because I can't handle strong alcohol because again I'm a wimp. And I'm writing this depressing tract that no one will read but I don't know I guess it's supposed to make me feel better? Like journalism makes you feel better when you write about yourself maybe I don't know.
Seriously, why are you reading this? You could be doing so many other things with your life. And yet you are choosing to read this out of some sort of sick morbid curiosity. It's like watching a cart crash in slow motion. A lot of pony's lives are like that and we try to help them but we can only do so much and it's really sad. I don't want to end up Like one of those ponies. I don't want to be a footnote in history. I want to do great things. I want to be a beautiful pony who makes people happy and brings great Joy to the world but I'm not doing that right now. I'm sitting here in my room being depressed. And you, what are you doing? You're reading about me sitting in my room here being depressed. Isn't that queer.
Author's Note
