I’ve had enough. I’ve finally had enough.

I feel like it should have come to this long, long ago. I don’t see how I’ve held this up so long, in truth. I guess I have a lot more self-restraint than I thought.

Not anymore. Now, I’ve finally had enough.

Of what, you may ask. What is making the great Pinkie Pie succumb like this? What is making the unbreakable Pinkie Pie give up? I’m not giving up. I’m giving in, at last. But if you want the reason, I’ll tell you.

I’ve had enough of ponies always wanting more.
More parties, more gifts, more cake, more Pinkie Pie, as if I’m some kind of comedian, only alive to please other ponies.

I gave and I gave and I gave. I gave all I had, and more. And the ponies took and took and took. The took all I had to give. But now, in the end, here I am. With nothing left to give, and nothing there for the taking.

I suppose I should feel… something on the inside. After all, I helped so many ponies become happy; surely that would mean I’d be happy too. Or at least feel some sort of satisfaction, from seeing all my work pay off.

I’m not happy. I’m not satisfied. Not even close.

Instead of ‘warm,’ I feel stone cold. It’s like the Arctic North had planted itself right into my heart and had begun spreading, freezing what little warmth was left… ever so slowly… inch, by inch, by inch, by inch.

Instead of ‘fuzzy,’ I feel coarse. Like there’s hundreds of thousands of thorns pricking and poking every part of me, from the inside to the outside. From tail tip, to hoof sole, to belly, to mane, to muzzle.

Instead of ‘light,’ and ‘strong,’ I feel heavy, and so weak. As though there are rocks bound to the underside of my hooves, weighing me down with every step I take. The tears falling like lead weights, reminding me that I’m weak, weak, weak.

Instead of ‘full,’ I feel truly empty. Hollow. As if somepony had come with a spoon and scooped out all the love, and joy, and passion, leaving nothing but a dry pink shell behind. A wounded animal left out with no bandages, left to die alone and wither in the sun.

Instead of ‘happy,’ I feel mad. Mad, angry, enraged, whatever you want to call it. I’m mad at the townsfolk of Ponyville, for never appreciating all the work I put into those damn parties. I’m angry at all the creatures in the Friendship school, for always laughing, and laughing, and laughing, as though there was nothing in the world to be concerned about. Even when I wanted them; needed them, to stop. I’m enraged at my ‘friends.’ I don’t think that they ever, in all our years of friendship, actually took me seriously. Never. I was always just the one who couldn’t handle responsibility, or the ‘funny one,’ or… ‘Pinkie Pie.’

Well. I’ve got news for you. All of you, creatures and ponies alike.

That’s over. It’s time for everything to end. The laughter, the parties, and the judgements. Done. Over.

Once I’m gone, I guess the ponies will be afraid. Life had been so good to me; what made me do such an unspeakable thing? Why would such a cheerful, young, happy pony want to get away from life? Oh, and Sweet Celestia, what would they do without their dearest friend, Pinkie Pie?

It’s all a lie.

I’m not the ‘cheerful’ pony everypony mistakes me for. Life hasn’t been good to me. And most certainly, I am not everypony’s ‘dearest’ friend.

It’s all such a lie.

Now that I’m close to the end, I’ve got to wonder. Do I have regrets?

I guess the answer is, I don’t know.

At the beginning, I really did like – even love – throwing parties. The smiles and joy energized me, and helped me fight through the nights where I… wondered.

But then… after a good run, it just got… tiring. All that work, only to have ponies asking for more, and more, and more. And suddenly, the days were longer; the nights darker. Laughter turned increasingly annoying, and the smiles grew fake.

I can’t handle it anymore. I’ve had enough; finally, finally had enough.

I feel it’s a bit ironic. Everypony sees me as this chipper, pink, bright party pony. On the outside, that’s what – who – I am. But on the inside, there’s… this. A depressed, sick pony that doesn’t know how to smile. Everypony sees the brighter side of me. The fake side.

Now, it’s time they see the other side. It’s time they see the darker version. The version without hair spray, and without smiles to spare.

Soon it won’t matter. Soon, all that will remain of me is a cold, waterlogged body with flat pink hair.

Soon, the water will rise up into me, welcoming me as one of its own. I’ll live the water; I’ll breathe the water. I’ll be the water, and nopony will be able to take that from me.

The blackness will come in bits, I think. I wonder if it’s going to hurt. I’m thinking it will, at least for a short while. But I’m sure the peace I’ll feel, right before I’m gone, will make it all worth it. The peace… at last.

I can’t wait to hear the silence. Peaceful, blessed silence. No demanding voices, or titters of laughter. For the first time in forever, I won’t hear a thing but soothing water, caressing around me in a hug, forever reassuring me things would be okay.

I wonder when they’ll find me. It might be awhile. But, I think I’m alright with that. I’m going to let the river take me wherever it wants to. I’ll go with it. I won’t fight with a pain reliever; I’ll just let it take the pain away.

I hope, when they do find me, that they’ll try to understand. I hope they’ll find the pills, stashed behind the candy in yet another secret place. I hope they’ll find the letter I scratched out, the other day.

I hope they’ll finally see me. For me.

Author's Note

I can't believe I'm actually killing Pinkie. I'm so sorry. In my defense, I haven't actually killed her.
Anyway.. this is something I wrote on a whim.. was having a bad day and decided to throw myself into writing. Here is the result.
Hope everyone enjoys! (well, as much as a suicidal Pinkie can be enjoyed....)