She really didn't mean to upset him so badly.

"What do you mean, Pinkie? Eet eez a great parr-tee!"

Monsieur Gâteau bounces jovially as he speaks.

She twitches.

Her tummy hurts. The gramophone is starting to hurt her ears. Or is someone yelling? Her throat hurts.

Is she yelling?

"Ah, sorry, dearie. I kinda overdo it with the music sometimes, but ya already know that!"

Miss Music winks at her - she doesn't have eyes, let alone a face, but Pinkie knows that she winked, just how Miss Music and Monsieur Gâteau know what she's thinking and feeling - as she turns her tune down.

She smiles gratefully. It's so hard to smile and it kind of hurts to move her face at all it's already moving but she ignores that her attempt to smile is the first time she's tried to move it that's what really happened she confirms with a mental nod.

A frown.

Why can't she speak?

She wants to say thank you.

She opens her mouth.

It's already open.

Her muzzle wrinkles.

Why is her tongue so sore?

Everything in her face is sore.

It's so wet.

Sweaty. Wet. Sweaty. Salty. Wet. Sweaty.

"Not ta worry, sweet thang! Ya just went a lil' crazy thar on that bakin' spoon earlier when y'were makin' yer amazin' cakes 'n' whatnot. I tell yew what, it's plumb amazin' how ya managed t' even get enough batter t' make any a them baked goods, let alone so dang many!"

She smiles.

She doesn't know how or why Signor Straw has a name like Signor Straw with an accent like that, but he always says such funny and sweet-

She retches.

She doesn't like that word right now.

A faint tingle at the base of her neck. That primal instinct rises up from deep within her, from that herbivorous part of her most animalistic natures.

Danger.

Her tummy hurts harder.

'Oh, no! I hope I didn't pee myself again...or WORSE! I KNEW I shouldn't have eaten so many raw eggs...'

"Madame Peenkee! Were you leesteneeng to me?!"

Huh. Strange how he seems to have gotten...more...Prench...somehow.

She brushes it off.

Despite the impatience in his tone, she knows it's a joke. Her friends have never been mean to her. They're always so nice to her.

She's so lucky to have such great friends and such great family memb-

-membe-

-great family m-

She throws up.

There's a sudden ringing in her ears, and her vision blacks out for just a moment.

The back of her head hurts.

That usually happens whenever her eyes go all funny and her ears go all funny too.

Her headaches are all funny. That's okay.

For some reason, the base of her tail ignites with a fiery, furious agony.

"Oh, jeez, sorry 'bout that, Pinkie Pie! I was trying to get you to come back down to Equestria for a sec there, but I think I overdid it. Did I hit ya too hard?"

She can't turn to look, but she knows that Miss Music can feel her gratitude. They're such close friends that they can just communicate like that. It's so convenient, especially when she's bouncing back and forth with her shivers.

Maybe something was bad with those eggs.

She hopes that nopony got sick from them.

'I hope they get sick.'

Reality flashes through for just a second.

Spread thighs in front of her. She doesn't want to acknowledge the color of the fur.

Something hard inside of a place that she doesn't want it to be. It feels wet. It hurts.

She feels dirty. Her breathing picks up.

Somepony is screaming.

Several ponies are screaming.

Why have her friends stopped talking to her?

Now she can turn. The hooves have left her head. When she looks up for a moment, one is raised as if it's about to strike her.

Instead of flinching - distantly, she knows that there's no point in doing so; it'll just piss her off more - she uses the precious few seconds of mostly-unobscured vision she has to look over to Miss Music.

There is no Miss Music. Just a gramophone skipping on the same four notes over and over and over and over and over and over and ove

r and over and ov

er and over and over and o

ver and over and over and over and over and over and over a

She blinks.

"Pinkie, are y'alright?" Signor Straw gives her a concerned stare, his hay brows furrowed with concern.

Now he has a face.

She giggles.

She can't giggle.

Why does her neck hurt so much?

Right, right.

She should really stop licking that darn cake batter spoon so much!

She's lost track of how many times she's gotten sick from it.

Maybe something's wrong with their eggs.

She should ask about that next time they get groceries.

She blinks.

nd over and over and over and over and there are no eggs there was never any cake batter she used it all for the sweets she never licked the spoon she wanted this party to be perfect and the smiles were always fake and it hurts it hurts so much and she's not it's not her fault but it is her fault and she doesn't understand what the words they're using are but she knows some of them and it's over and over and over and over and ov

er and over and over and over and ove

She coughs so hard that it feels like she's been kicked in the gut by an iron-clad hoof.

What a silly comparison to make, though.

She's never been kicked by a weathered amber hoof with a solid metal horseshoe nailed into it with more care than its owner had ever shown her in all her years of life.

She vomits again.

Why is it so salty?

She shakes her head.

At least she's stopped shivering now.

She's so silly. She's never heard of anypony that shivers back and forth back and forth back and forth back and forth sometimes up and down up and down up and down up and down and sometimes it hurts real bad in places she's only supposed to go to the bathroom from but that's just because she's sick from the eggs and that's okay too because she has such great friends to keep her company.

"Madame Peenkee, I seenk you have had, ah...anuzzer...ackseedent..."

He's not judging her, though.

She tries to giggle. She throws up again instead.

It's white.

Funny, she thought she used pink frosting.

She looks down, and winces.

Another episode of pooping blood and weird white stuff. It's everywhere.

Yuck.

Fillies can poop from their pee holes too, right?

Right.

It's been happening for as long as she can remember. And it wouldn't happen for so long if it wasn't normal.

It's normal.

This is normal.

"'A course y'all can, darlin'. It's just a part 'a bein' a filly 's all. Now c'mon, let's git ya up 'n' all cleaned up."

Signor Straw isn't very strong. Several times he collapses just from her trembling against him.

A hoarse giggle escapes her drooling lips.

He never shows any disgust at any of her mess, though.

"Oh, dearie, we could never hate you for being you!"

Miss Music gives her a soft, motherl-

She collapses into a puddle of blood and white poop and projectile vomits so hard that it splatters back up onto her cheeks from the ground.

'Huh. Guess I wasn't done yet.'

"But...you should probably at least try to slow down with that cake batter, don'tcha know!"

Miss Music's laugh isn't mean. It's just gentle, and sweet, and so, so very comforting.

She looks around the tool shed.

It reeks of vomit and blood and white poop.

She didn't mean to cut her very first party so short by having one of her accidents right smack dab at the start, but this was the worst one yet.

'Oh, and I'd been practicing my baking so much, too!'

She pauses.

Her friends - her wonderful, wonderful friends - sense her unspoken question.

"Well, shucks, Ah can't say Ah really considered it 'til now, but it sure does sound like a possibility, Pinks. Ya definit'ly have been bakin' a lot more recently."

Signor Straw gives her a little nudge towards the door. He always knows when to push her to take care of herself without pushing too hard.

Her other two friends follow with them.

"Hmm...well, gosh, now that you mention it, I guess that could be it!"

Miss Music starts playing a soft lullaby.

She's never heard it before, but for some reason, it skips whenever she has to wash over her sore butt and pee place with a rag soaked with the freezing cold water from the pump just outside the back door of the tool shed.

She has accidents here a lot, so it's a familiar routine.

"I seenk zat eet may just be what happened!"

Monsieur Gâteau nods in agreement, frowning at her with concern.

Miss Music continues to play her slightly erratic tune until Pinkie's finished cleaning. When she stands, her belly feels like it's on fire.

Like it's bruised.

Like she'd been kicked.

She giggles.

That's ridiculous.

She's so lucky to have such great friends.

She's so lucky to know such great ponies.

She's so lucky.

Her friends fall silent as she lets her gaze drop to the muddy, cold, semen-stained ground.

Dark, straightened hair shields her face from the world.

She knows that when she looks back up, she'll find a mushy, damp, half-crushed cake, a frosting-stained gramophone that's still playing those same damn four notes, and a bale of hay stained with everything that came out of first them and then her.

She takes a deep breath.

Her tummy hurts.

She blinks.

Bright blue eyes sparkle.

Bright white teeth sparkle, all on display as she grins with the force of Princess Celestia's beautiful sun.

Bright pink curls fall around and frame her youthful face.

Bright pink coat, immaculately groomed and seemingly magically dried.

Bright pink, curly curly tail. Nopony is around to see the way it's held a little too closely to her flank.

The smile doesn't reach those bright, sparkly blue eyes.

Nopony is around to see that either.

Author's Note

So, continuing from the description...

Like I said, Pinkie is not schizophrenic, and this is not how schizophrenia works. There are many symptoms that accompany the disorder, and the ones that I've written into Pinkie do not fit the diagnostic criteria at all. What I was going for was a dissociative episode combined with the typical child's play of having imaginary friends.

Trauma of such a magnitude - especially prolonged and repeated trauma - can force someone into a duality of growing up too fast while retaining some elements of childishness up into their adult life, perhaps through their whole life. In later chapters (not sure if I'll write just one or more), you'll see that she retains these "imaginary friends" when she's placed into distressing situations where she feels the need to dissociate from reality and seek out the solace of her childhood playmates.

And (boy, look at thiswasamistake, going on a full-on character analysis in the author's notes section) Pinkie Pie displays this juxtaposition in canon quite well already. As Ponyville's premier party pony, she can often come off as quite immature and childish. If not childish, then at the very least youthful. However, in Magical Mystery Cure, when Pinkie Pie's skills as Ponyville's party pony are lost, the townsponies are all in a constant state of fury and/or just generally feel bad. It's an awful lot of responsibility to keep an entire town happy 24/7. We see her rushing to be the pony that everypony can depend on in several other instances, but I've rambled on for too long already.

Now, with that out of the way...

1.) If you're here to leave hate, at least do it constructively. Don't bitch at me about hating the content, because the tags along with the additional trigger warnings I placed were more than adequate warning for you to leave well before you reached this point. If you hate me because I have, in your eyes, viciously mutilated the English language, however, feel free to yell at me over that, because I am always open to suggestions for improvement. Alternatively, we can discuss our views on Pinkamena Diane Pie and why/how she is. That's cool too.

2.) I'm too tired to find links, but there are so, so many resources and communities out there for people who have been sexually abused (at any ages). What I can say right now is that I'm sorry, I can empathize, and I hope that you're seeking help and have support systems in place to assist you in your healing journeys.

Please take care and make sure that you're not consuming media like this as a form of self-harm; emotional self-harm is real, and it can be just as damaging as the physical act. You deserve better. Be kind to yourselves.

(Yeah, I'm well aware that I get preachy on my more serious/venty stories.)