Toymaker's Creation Trapped inside a Crystal Ball.

Happiness. What happiness? She felt like smirking at the idea but she just had no more energy left to do so. The usually smiling pink face now was fixed into a hopeless, expressionless face. She used to cry. She used to cry a lot. But what was the point anymore? It wouldn't make things better. She tried. She knows. Yearning to feel alive when she was already dead was a feeling that filled her every second of the day. The pictures that hung loosely on the wall captured a happier time, a happier her. Now, it just felt alien. She forgot what that felt like. Her mind drifted to the knife on the table on the right, and her gaze followed. It was one of the things that made her happy, because that's the thing about pain – it demands to be felt, and it doesn't matter how dead you are on the inside, the pain on the outside, your skin will never fail you.

She got off the chair and walked to the knife slowly. Keeping the same slow pace, she slid that knife onto her belly and pressed. Instant gratification, instant sensations of wonderful, blissful happiness rushed through her veins as the red blood seeped out. She was so happy she laughed and she smiled, and her eyes were overcome with the same joy that she showed her friends and deceived them with, only this time it was genuine. And once more she cut. She couldn't stop; because she knew the second she stopped she would go back to her misery. But she did, for the adrenaline faded and her heart stopped palpitating madly. Only then did she see the nine red, angry marks on her skin. She had to count.

She may have stopped, but the blood hadn't. It oozed at a comfortable pace out, the opaque crimson the most beautiful colour she had ever seen. She watched incredulously as it continued its flow, and she could watch forever. She dapped at the blood occasionally with a tissue. But blood wasn't on her side either, because it stopped bleeding after a while and she grew impatient as the speed of the blood forming a bubble and then flowing decreased immensely. She nudged the cut a little, and she pressed the cuts a bit. But good things don't last. She was well acquainted with that fact.

Who cared? She felt better than she did half an hour ago. She was once again strong enough to face the world and the ponies in it. She fluffed up her happy hair, practiced her wide grin in the mirror, threw on a sweater and galloped joyously out of the home. She could pretend, she had lots of practice.

Block it out, please, she begged to no avail. Through the tears streaming down her face, she couldn't see much, but she didn't need to have her vision on her side to see that a tissue was being outstretched to her. Pinkie wanted to push the hoof away so bad. But she couldn't Her already broken part was torn into further pieces as she tried to deal with the scene in front of her. The counsellor waited for her crying to stop. She waited patiently and silently. But all the words she wanted to hurt the counsellor with were stuck behind her teeth.

She prayed for her life to end. There are a million wonderful ways to do it, all better than being her and being alive.

Her tears slowed down and she regained her vision. She hated it. She hated the fact she couldn't be strong enough. She hated that her friends found out. She hated that she couldn't take back the words she said to them admitting she cut herself, she hated the tears that accompanied those words, and she hated that telling them got her there in that stupid chair.

"Are you feeling better?" The counsellor stupidly asked.

"Yes." Pinkie lied. What was the point of the truth? The counsellor couldn't help. No one can.

The counsellor went on to suggest a dozen more ways to release stress and tension besides cutting and Pinkie went on to lie through her teeth a dozen more times that yes, she would try them and yes, they should work. Because tearing pieces of paper was as good as the exhilaration of bleeding and pain. As if.

"Try it!" The counsellor urged encouragingly as she took out a piece of paper for Pinkie to tear.

Effortlessly, the paper was split into two.

The counsellor paused, and then gave Pinkie 12 more sheets of paper.

"Tear them all at once." She said, smiling.

Pinkie wanted to cry, but the hopelessness in her demanded her eyes to be dry.

She tried a little, but the paper stayed together. She got angry, and the 12 pieces became 24. It did nothing to help, but the counsellor seemed pleased with herself.

Pinkie Pie was let out at last, and no sooner did she manage to get into a toilet did the tears come out again. She felt the knife in her pocket, however, and immediately sobered up.

Minutes later, she was bleeding and in so much pain. But more than that, so very much more than any and all of that, she was smiling and laughing.

Just like Pinkie Pie would.

She had everything to do, datelines to meet, work to submit and places to be. But it all didn't seem to matter anymore. An empty pit took the place of her heart, and the scars that were fading away were reminders of the knife she used to own. She remembers vividly how she lost it.

"I've had enough, enough of all this, Pinkie. You are not the pony I used to know. I don't want to know somepony like you, so do not beg me when I walk away because I am simply not coming back. It's gone on for far too long and I need you to snap out of it." Rarity fiercely scolded.

Pinkie had never seen her like this before. It was frightening, and Pinkie had started to sob. Pinkie's heart was getting tortured in so many ways more than one. It was getting ripped apart and ripped out from a soul that was so far gone and so dead. Each word cut Pinkie deeper, and made the tears spew out more. She loathed crying in front of Rainbow Dash, who just looked sad.

"All of us want you back. Not this empty shell of a pony you are now, but the old you, the one who didn't care what happened, who was always so strong. Where is that pony? Because I don't want to talk to you, I only want her."

Was this supposed to make her feel better? Because it just made her sob harder. She wanted to explain how difficult it was to live, how much she couldn't live without the cuts, but Rarity wouldn't understand.

"We all have our problems, Pinkie, but not all of us cut, like you." Rarity said, and walked away.

Pinkie just stood there, speechless, experiencing the worst kind of hurt that ever plagued her. The tears continued streaming, and she was too well aware of Rainbow Dash there, but not numb enough to sober up. Rainbow Dash walked over to Pinkie, and hugged her. Pinkie kept crying, but she finally felt some semblance of kindness, some friendship after being tortured. Pinkie was going to move away when Rainbow hugged her tight, so tight that Pinkie stopped crying, in fact.

"Rarity's right, Pinkie, you have to stop." Rainbow urged, but her voice was kind and soft.

Pinkie Pie gulped. "I know" She replied, her voice barely above a whisper.

Pinkie Pie knew they were right, and she knew what she would have to do. She dug around slowly in her backpack and conjured the penknife that brought her so much pain and happiness. She held on to it for a moment more, making a wish that she wouldn't need it anymore, thanking it for being there, and that she was sorry she had to let it go.

She outstretched her hoof, and gave it to Rainbow.

"I.. don't see the point of you giving it to me, Pinkie. You could always buy a new one." Rainbow responded to the gesture.

"I won't." Pinkie replied curtly, her spirit so weak and fragile she would shatter if she tried to manage more than a few words. But she was telling the truth. She wouldn't buy another knife.

Rainbow Dash pondered that for a while, and then took the knife.

"I'll have to get going, Pinkie. Stay strong!" Rainbow said before flying off.

Pinkie couldn't even manage a goodbye.

Now, though she didn't regret giving up the weapon to Rainbow, Pinkie wanted to cut so badly. She couldn't do anything without it. It's been two weeks since she cut, the scars are gone but the pain was still there.

She would give absolutely anything just for it to be over.

She knew that she would die just to feel alive.

This is a poem Pinkie Pie wrote after her counselling session in the previous chapter. It's labelled:

Understatements Of Imperfect Disasters.

---

Emotions ignored and words as if unspoken

What does it take to take away the broken?

Tales, lies and stories of discomfort

Disappointment can leave one so hurt

After so many and after so long

The question remains: I don't know what's wrong

It's more than that, but how do I explain?

For nothing else can ease me of my pain

Aggravation caused by the untrue

Oh I must think myself such a fool!

Even if they know I'm not that tough

So often intent is not enough

Her hopeless eyes fixated on the wall. Her faint heartbeat was a constant reminder of how bad she was getting. It didn't beat normally – instead of the regular thump, a dull, softer, more cushioned beat was there. Her body ached; her veins throbbed with a dull pain. She was starting to perspire, but she felt so cold and vulnerable she hugged her quilt tighter around her. Hot tears formed in her eyes and fell uncaught onto her bed. She was too weak to live, yet not weak enough to die.

The pink pony, once plump and strong, was now so thin. She didn't care about how she looked, but she just lost the appetite to eat. And she didn't eat. She skipped meals, went days with a biscuit and didn't realise she was doing it so much, until now.

How long had she gone without eating now? She remembered how it first hit her yesterday.

She was just standing around feeling hunger at its worst. It stabbed her stomach and made her unable to stand still. She tried taking a bite from the biscuits she had in case she would need them. She was hit with an instant urge to regurgitate. She banished the biscuit to a bin, but she was now overcome with a feeling that commanded her to either puke or faint.

Who'd ever think Pinkie was anorexic?

Pinkie screamed but no one was there to listen to her. She was left alone at home, alone with her thoughts once again and a subsequent tear-stricken face. Nothing was going right at all. She lost cake baking competitions she was sure to win and she lost chances to visit bakeries, and she just wanted to wallow in sadness and stay curled in a ball for being such a failure. But she couldn't. There were always more expectations, more demands, and more mountains to climb or to conquer.

But she couldn't, or at least believed she couldn't. Every small task was an impossibility; every completed small task was an achievement. Could she stay in this moment, breaking down and crying for eternity? Her thoughts were jumbled and she couldn't think straight and that's exactly how she would prefer to stay.

She was starting to eat again. She still felt like puking whenever she put anything into her mouth but she recognised the importance and necessity of it. Hell, she almost died a couple of times. She couldn't let that continue. It would hurt her friends too much.

It's been 25 days since she last cut, but that didn't matter now. All that mattered were the tears in her eyes and the knife at the corner of her eye that would get rid of the tears. She walked to the mirror, and in her eyes a disgusting figure appeared.

A lifeless and dead carcass embodied by the undead stared back at her. She was thin and imperfect, painfully so. Her arms were scar-less and empty now and there were no remnants of the pain or sadness that inspired the lines on those arms. She couldn't take it and took the knife and – remembering how everyone was sure to know she was cutting when she wore her jacket – cut her thigh.

She stopped crying. The emotional pain was forgotten and far away, and it was replaced by a physical pain, which was one so much easier to deal with. She stared at the lines slowly growing red and the blood that started to seep out in little bubbles.

Back to Day Zero.

Your cakes are horrible. I don't know why you try. The voice inside her mind told her.

"No.." Pinkie covered her ears with her hoofs and repeatedly whispered the word. She was on the verge of tears already and the voices just wouldn't stop.

You throw such a numerous number of parties that one day people will get sick and tired of them. You're not the only one who is able to throw parties anyway. They don't need you.

Pinkie hated the truth she saw within those words and all she wanted to do was reach for the knife and hurt herself so she could concentrate on the pain instead of the words, which cut far deeper and much more permanently than a knife could ever cut. But she couldn't. Rather, she wouldn't.

She promised Rainbow Dash she wouldn't.

She was immobilised by her own command. It sounds like a horrible thing to be, but she knew that if she decided to start walking, her body would not be able to be controlled by her mind and she'd go straight for the knife which she would then cut herself with.

But it was far too high a possibility she would lose it at any point now because that blade was dangerously close to her, almost within reach..

Within seconds, in fact, before she knew it, she was going headfirst for the bathroom. It took a few moments to understand why. In the bathroom she would be blocked by walls and a door from the sharp and cold enticement that sat amongst her other comparatively innocent stationary. She locked that door, and concealed herself from the outside.

The voices ensued.

How cowardly you are. Afraid of your own mind. You can't hide from me, Pinkie. I'll always always ALWAYS be with you.

Tears started streaming down her face and she was terrified. She curled up in a ball on the dry, unfeeling floor in absolute petrification of her own self. Shaking with fear, it was all she could do to cry. She shut her eyelids and gave up fighting on the floor.

Her heartbeat was rapid and strong, the perspiration that was beginning to form on her body made her increasingly queasy. And yet in all of this, the irony was that she felt somewhat safe and protected. For some reason, the voice in her head ceased. Maybe the voice decided that she's done enough damage to Pinkie and now that she's had her fun, she'd let Pinkie's mind rest for a bit.

Pinkie felt calm and relaxed compared to the time that immediately preceded this. She closed her eyes and (blissfully) had no thoughts in her mind. She simply listened to the heartbeat in her ears and reminded herself that she managed not to hurt herself - a huge accomplishment.

Maybe I function best when I'm broken, Pinkie writes, this way I'm more understanding and patient. Pinkie almost lost the pony most important to her, and it broke Pinkie deeply. Memories of Rainbow Dash telling her she doesn't understand her at all tormented her mind once more. Rainbow and Pinkie had decided to have a break for a while. Pinkie felt the ache in her heart begin to sing, and she just didn't know what to do. But then again, it wouldn't be the first time.

Pinkie has more time for her other friends. She's time to go out with them and play but somehow it doesn't feel right. It was a very familiar feeling as it's the feeling Pinkie lived with before Rainbow came along. It was a very productive feeling, it was pretentious (but of course she'd never show that it was), it was depressing, and it was the middle ground between being in one piece and absolutely falling apart.

But Pinkie knew she wasn't the only one about to fall apart. As she got up from the table where she was writing, she peered out the window and paid attention to the sounds from the outside. It wasn't quiet, but it was peaceful. People went by talking and children played amongst themselves. But no one she knew was in sight and she could only wonder what was of her best pony friends. How is Fluttershy doing? Pinkie pondered to herself. With all this silence and no one to talk or listen to, be it a good or bad thing, she had time to think to herself – something she used to do so very often until she met Rainbow and didn't have to do it to keep sane anymore.

Rainbow Dash.

Pinkie had so many questions in her head. How could she not understand the one she has spent so much time with? How possibly could she have ruined everything so quickly? How did she miss every hint and every line, how did she mess the replies up, and how in the world did she forget how to think? She hurts people and annoys people. She tells people things they've already heard and know. She hurt Rainbow.

"I guess I've never really understood much about myself and how I function", Pinkie whispered. She had to dissect herself to know herself. She had to write about herself to look at herself from another person's point of view to understand how she thought. And she was thinking, that maybe her decrease in the amount of time she thinks – or thought – affected her ability to reason.

Maybe Pinkie really functions best only when she's broken.

Broken bridges can't be sewn
And lost hearts can't be owned
The nature of who I was
Strikes me as the very first
Person who could easily see
Everything that all could be
And the person she wanted to become
Backfired, and then some
To retrace the steps of a forgotten path
Is it too little to call it tough?
But I've changed me and I'll do it again
Aching to spare me from more pain
The tragedy that I never saw
How much of who I was before
But that's it – I wasn't much
Brittle as a vase but strong to the touch
Saw the world through millions of eyes
And never – like me – resorted to lies
Snippets from what I remember
Shine like a dimly lit ember
But it is a fire and it can be spread
Otherwise I'll be nothing but regret.