Increased Heart Rate, Heightened Anxiety
Eight minutes.
In the grand scheme of things, no time at all. Walk around the block, take a quick shower, watch some stupid video on your phone. You can spend eight minutes on something without even thinking about it.
And yet, to see it reduced to a pair of timestamps makes it seem… trivial, somehow.
Twilight Sparkle
So anyway, I, er, I have been thinking about last Friday, and was wondering if you’d like to talk?In person, I mean. Just us two. Maybe I could come round to visit, bring some cakes or something. Of course, it’s absolutely fine if it’s too soon or if I’m being too forward.
I’m sorry, I’m just not quite sure how to approach this.
I meant what I said back then, though – I do want to understand. Hopefully, you can have someone to talk to as well.
Yesterday, 9:39pm
Sunset
okay, sure
Yesterday, 9:47pm
Funny. Those eight short minutes felt like an eternity at the time.
Eight minutes of restlessness, of uncertainty, of messages tapped out but never sent. Eight minutes of thoughts – so, so many thoughts – never put into words.
Eight minutes of leaving her on tenterhooks, wondering if she’d said the wrong thing.
Last Friday. Against my better judgement, I cast my mind back to that evening. The evening that Twilight found out about my unfortunate habit, that the dynamic of our friendship became forever tainted as being between “the good one” and “the broken one”. Just the latest in a long, long list of mistakes. Underlined. Highlighted. Probably written in red permanent marker.
Of course, the conversation quickly moved on from there, filling up the remainder of that evening with mindless, feel-good chatter. But for whatever reason, I can’t stop myself from reading and re-reading that stupid two-word response and regretting every letter of it.
I put my phone down. Dwelling on past failures wasn’t going to help now. I’d already said yes, we’d already agreed on a time, and knowing her she was probably on her way right now. I’d spun around in my head again and again and again exactly what to say, every possible answer to every possible question, yet I know that as soon as I see Twilight’s face they’ll all disappear.
Nothing else to do now except wait.
But my hands refuse to rest, and my fingers brush over my exposed arms instead. I feel every bump, every ridge, every indentation and overly-smooth patch of scar tissue. Each mark tells its own story, has its own failure attached to it. Be they words never said, or words said poorly, or a friend let down.
It’s calming, in a way. The same way you might poke a bruise to make sure that it still hurts. My fingers glide over the skin, before coming to a harsh, scratchy halt over a trio of rough scabs, barely a few days old.
Eight days. You know exactly how old they are, and you know exactly why they’re there.
So much for not wanting to dwell on past failures. Again, my mind taunts me about everything that happened that Friday evening. The awkward introduction. The retreat to the kitchen like a coward at the first sign of social interaction. The unassuming black notebook. The latest entry.
Friday, 10:14pm.
Wound size: Five centimetres.
23 minutes to stop bleeding.
All of a sudden, the scabbed tissue feels like needles against my fingertips. My mind won’t shut up. Just for a minute, I need everything to stop.
And you know exactly how to make it stop, don’t you?
I stand up and walk to my bedroom, barely even aware of what I’m doing. The bedside drawer slides open, revealing books, trinkets. But beneath all that, shamefully tucked away in a corner, is what started this whole mess. A black handle, an intricate red-and-yellow floral pattern adorning its length, with a well-maintained blade sharp enough to-… I blink. What the hell was I even thinking? Scowling, I slam the drawer closed, startling myself with the sudden noise. Startling myself out of doing something stupid.
But my eyes linger on that closed drawer just a little too long, until a sharp knock on the door makes a spike of anxiety surge up inside me. Eyes shrunk to pinpricks, heart hammering in my chest, even though I know it’s Twilight I’m still launched into fight-or-flight mode. We’d already arranged this beforehand. She always gives the same three short, sharp knocks. She hasn’t seen anything, she’s at the front door. You didn’t do anything.
But the pleas from the more rational part of my brain are being drowned out. What if she came in? What if she looked through the window? What if she heard the drawer slam?
What if she thinks you’re hurting yourself right now?
Closing my eyes to steel myself, I walk over to the door and force myself to meet the fear head-on. My heart’s still in my throat, but at least now I’m not quite sure why. Stretching my hand out towards the knob, I pause, realising that my arms are still bare. A moment’s contemplation later, I reach over to the coat rack and put my jacket on.
Because that would be a brilliant start, wouldn’t it. Open the door and the first thing Twilight sees are the hideous things you’ve done to yourself.
Can’t dwell on that now. Can’t dwell on the thoughts telling me to ignore her, to pretend I’m not in. Can’t listen to that stupid little thing in the back of my head screaming at me that this is a bad idea. The door swings open.
“Hey Twilight!” The best way to ignore those thoughts. Autopilot. Pleasantries.
Lying.
“Hi Sunset!” And yet somehow, Twilight’s voice shines with a genuine interest, a genuine happiness to see me, framed by a soft, disarming smile.
It’s the same smile she always gives me. Or at least, she thinks it is. There’s the faintest of cracks in it, right at the edges, betraying that it’s hiding something else. I should know. I’ve worn it enough times myself.
But I step aside anyway, welcoming her into the apartment, keeping up this charade of politeness in some subconscious attempt to ignore the reason we both know we agreed to this. Not that it shows in Twilight’s voice, of course.
“So, how are you doing?”
My response has the bright and airy tone of a casual greeting. It’s nauseating. “About the same, thanks, how are you?”
“Good, good. And how are you… you know… doing?”
My voice loses its cheerful edge. “About the same.” Already, I’m retreating to the kitchen, though whether to hide myself from Twilight for as long as possible or to keep up the façade I have no idea. She sits down on the sofa, patiently waiting for the drinks to be done, while I stay in the kitchen, out of sight, hunched over the worktop as the kettle boils.
We both play our little roles. I make the drinks, because apparently that’s the done thing when you have someone over. She waits patiently, settling into the cushions. We both exchange empty words, just to fill the space.
I walk back into the lounge, drinks in hand, and Twilight’s there, at the exact spot she found out about my little vice. My eyes flick over to where she saw the notebook, and in its place is… a homemade cake. A very homemade cake, two slices cut out of it and neatly put to one side. For the first time this evening, I smile.
“You baked something yourself, just for this evening?” It’s weird. An ultimately fairly meaningless gesture, and yet there’s a warmth in my voice that I can’t fight back.
“Hahaaah… that obvious, huh?” Twilight responds, laughing gently. It’s self-conscious, but not uncomfortable.
I crack into a full-blown smirk, placing the drinks beside each slice and rushing back for a pair of plates. “No, no! It’s… it’s rustic! I like it, honestly. As stunning as Pinkie’s stuff is, there’s just something homely about a cake that isn’t festooned to the ceiling with decorations.”
Twilight arches an eyebrow, but shoots back her own little smirk. “By which you mean ‘Thanks for the cake, it looks like it was made by someone with two left hands’?”
We share a genuine laugh together as I plop down next to her, and in spite of everything, I almost forget why we’re even here.
But in amongst the brief pause, I eventually remember.
All good things.
“So go on, you’ve cornered me, I’ve got nowhere to run. What do you wanna know? What’s eating away at you?” My voice tries to remain steady, tries to stay casual, but there’s no hiding the mounting dose of adrenaline snaking its way through my veins.
Shock registers on Twilight’s face as she squirms uncomfortably, completely taken aback. Her mouth moves for a short while before the words catch up.
“I mean… right away? I don’t mind but… I don’t want to rush into things and make you uncomfortable or anything.”
Like what you’ve just done to her right now.
I shrink back in on myself, having made the first mistake of many: Jumping into a conversation that I’m halfway through in my head already. I curse myself – how many times have I pulled that one in the past.
“Sorry.” I respond, any semblance of self-confidence cracking under the weight of my shame. “But, well… we both know why we’re here. I just figure…” A dry, bitter laugh. One that sticks in my throat. “What’s the point of dragging it out, I guess.”
“Fair enough.”
Twilight looks down at her hands, momentarily lost in thought. Most likely she’s considering her words carefully, piecing together the perfect way of condensing a myriad of conflicting emotions into a single sentence, the start of a conversation that neither of us are going to enjoy.
Or maybe deep down, she’s just as scared of this as I am.
“So I guess… to start off with, well… why?” Twilight doesn’t even look at me as she asks the question, and to be honest I don’t blame her. “I mean, I’m not judging, I don’t want to pry or ask anything that you’re not willing to answer or say anything that’s insensitive or could be taken the wrong way. I just- I really don’t know how to go about any of this and it’s actually quite sc-“
“Twilight.” I really hope my voice is as reassuring as I wanted it to be. “It’s fine. Really.”
Twilight visibly relaxes a little, her shoulders easing away from her neck. “Sorry. So yes, I guess my first question would just be ‘why?’”
A perfectly reasonable first question, to be honest. The question that no-one wants to ask. The question that no-one wants to answer.
I take a breath. I don’t mean to come across as melodramatic. It’s just that I don’t want to say it, and she doesn’t want to hear it. She’ll listen, and she’ll nod, and then she’ll judge me for the failure that I am.
And I’ll deserve it.
“Because it works.”
Twilight looks like she’s been shot. I must look like a psychopath for how calm I sounded. I’ve known it for so long, the thought’s gone through my head so many times, but to say it, out loud, to someone else… it really does seem to make it a whole new level of messed up.
Then it begins.
Are you serious?
That’s it?
That’s the best you can do?
All that build-up, all that preamble, and those three stupid words are the best you can do? Your friend, who is sitting right there, puts her heart out for you, puts herself in a horrible, vulnerable position just because she wants to help you, and that’s all you can come up with. You really are-
“There’s a voice.”
No reply.
Great, now she thinks you’re clinically insane.
I clench my eyes shut, trying to continue. “I mean, not, like, a voice voice, but… you know. Intrusive thoughts.”
Twilight’s still staring at me, completely stunned. I don’t think she’s even breathed since I uttered those three stupid words.
“Intrusive thoughts that tell me I’m worthless. That I’m a failure, that bad things should happen to me because of all the bad things I’ve done in the past, all the bad things I’m going to do in the future. That I need this to… almost validate how awful I feel, because if I’m doing this to myself then obviously it’s for a reason, right? Intrusive thoughts telling me that… that I deserve it.”
“You cannot be serious.”
I flinch, my eyes snapping to Twilight, her words knocking the breath out of my lungs. Her hardened gaze pierces straight through me, but it’s written on her face that she’s only trying to hide her fear behind a veil of sternness. I just can’t tell if she’s doing it for her benefit or mine.
“You’re… you’re a wonderful person, Sunset! You’re a great friend, a confidante, you practically lead our entire group… if it weren’t for you, we’d all be in a much worse place. You can’t think that of yourself, Sunset.”
My face twists, contorts into a bitter smirk. I’ve been down this road before. The only difference now is that I’m dragging someone else along with me.
“And yet, for all I know you’re right, for all the good I do, I don’t think I’ll ever believe that myself. This little voice tells me these things, this little thought that digs itself into the back of my head and doesn’t let go, and eventually it drowns out everything else. Doing this…” I shrug my arms, just barely, but I didn’t even need to – of course she understands, “it helps quieten down that voice a little bit. Not by much, and not for long, but… yeah. It works.”
Yep. Sounds just as messed up the second time round.
Twilight’s silent for a good minute, her expression completely unreadable beyond “unhappy”. Which, to be fair, is a pretty reasonable response.
But just how abruptly she changes topic does make me a little curious.
“So, how long have you been… you know…”
She can’t bring herself to say the words. I can’t blame her, but try to diffuse things with a wry smile and a sarcastic tone. The words come out like I’m choking on them.
“Since shortly after I was… let’s say shown the error of my ways.”
Twilight’s face scrunches up. In disbelief? Confusion? Disappointment?
“Wait… Back during the Fall Formal? But that was almost- “
“Yeah, I know.” I cut her off, smile twisting into a grimace. I really don’t need to be reminded.
Silence saturates the air, and it’s not worth filling. The girl beside me, normally so inquisitive, so enthusiastic, looks like every question she can think of is tearing her apart from the inside, bit by bit.
“Does it hurt?”
“Not really.”
“Wh-what?” Twilight gasps, taken aback. “You’re… hurting yourself, and it… it doesn’t even hurt? How?” I almost smile. Her fear is in her voice this time, masking confusion with incredulity. It’s probably on her face too, but I can’t bear to look at her. If my pathetic attempts at justification seemed messed up, then this line of conversation wasn’t heading anywhere better.
“I mean, how do you even… How do you…” Again, Twilight can’t finish the sentence.
“How do I cut myself?” The bluntness of my words surprises even me. Twilight holds back a whimper, desperately trying to keep herself together.
“Self-harm”. What a lie. Look at Twilight and tell yourself you’re not hurting her right now.
My face softens, though out of sympathy or shame I’m not sure. “Are you sure you want to know?”
Twilight’s going to hate the answer. She knows it. I know it.
But still, she nods.
And so I answer. I slowly explain my method, my ritual, to the friend who barely a week ago didn’t even know I did this to myself. With every new detail, every step through the process, Twilight breaks down bit by bit. But she never stops listening, and she never tells me to stop talking, and for that I had to respect her. I try to omit the worst details – the worst of the injuries, the worst of the thoughts – though there’s only so much you can do to try and make cutting yourself with a pocket knife sound pleasant. But it’s not the thoughts, or the emotions, or even the cutting that seems to hit Twilight the hardest.
“And then I just… sort of sit there for a while.”
I pause as it suddenly strikes me just how casual that sounded. Twilight speaks for the first time since I started explaining, her voice tight and raspy with emotions choked back, spiderwebbing cracks forming in the dam.
“What do you do?”
Again, the nonchalance in my own voice is unnerving. “Nothing, really. Just close my eyes… let the world go by. Let myself bleed.” I cringe at the addition – so much for omitting the worst of the details. Rather than dig us both into a deeper hole, I keep my mouth shut.
A car passes by outside, the first noise for what seems like hours, and I glance over instinctively. Instead, my eyes settle on Twilight: The brave soul who wanted to offer a listening ear to the scarred, mangled failure sitting next to her.
She’s barely even breathing, completely lost in thought. Her eyes are rigidly fixed on her lap, nervously twirling her hair round her fingers. She opens her mouth, but closes it again. Awkwardly shuffles around on the sofa. Blinks, too slowly to be autonomous. My gaze snaps back to the carpet in front of me and stays there. With each passing second, the guilt of what I’ve done, of what I’m doing, digs into me deeper and deeper.
You’re torturing her.
“Would…”
Twilight can barely even be heard over the sound of my own breathing, but even then her own voice momentarily scares her into silence.
“Would you be okay… I mean, just to make sure they’re safe…”
“Hm?”
“If you… if I could see them?”
I barely even blink – it’s fair enough that she’d ask at some point. “Oh, yeah. Sure.” I move my hand to roll up my sleeve, but think better of it. Instead, I just take my jacket off and put it to one side.
Immediately I hear a gasp from Twilight, followed by the trembling breaths of hyperventilation.
“Oh my-… Goddess, S-Sunset, they’re… They’re everywhere…”
I feel my face morph into a scowl, but I’m still staring at the floor. My voice is calm; steady, but terse.
“What were you expecting to see, Twilight? I know you – you won’t have gone into this conversation blind. You’ll have done your homework, probably even researched common complications, so what exactly were you hoping for?”
Twilight lets out a shaky breath before trying to regain her composure. She can’t. “It’s just… it’s so different when you see it on someone you care about. Sunset, I’m… I’m sorry. Please, I’m so sorry.”
And just like that, I deflate. There’s no way I can be upset with Twilight. It wasn’t her fault that she found out about my vice. It wasn’t her fault that some idiot left all the evidence on a table for her to see. The only thing she’s ever done was try to help, even to the point of asking for something she knew would hurt, just to make sure that I’m safe.
“Ugh… No, Twilight, I’m sorry. I… I really do appreciate the concern, and you’ve already done so much to help. I shouldn’t have reacted like that.”
And just how, exactly, were you expecting her to react? “Gee golly there sure are a lot of cuts on your arms, you want to go for ice cream?”
My scowl returns, but it’s no longer directed at Twilight.
It never was.
Seconds pass, allowing for that thought to embed itself a little more firmly in my mind. I flick my gaze towards Twilight again. Her eyes are still locked on my arms. I don’t mind really – it wasn’t her who took the jacket off, after all – but it’s like she can’t tear her eyes away from what I’ve done to myself.
Eventually, I get the answer to the question I never bothered to ask. Her breathing starts to return to normal as she speaks. She refers to me, but she’s not talking to me.
“I mean… I mean you’re clearly taking care of… of them. The wounds don’t look dangerously deep, and they seem to be healing and scarring over normally. They… they aren’t in places that could cause complications, there’s no sign of infection, and even the more… the more… recent… ones, it looks like they’ve been dressed properly and kept clean.”
I suddenly realise why she’s staring at my arms, why her murmurings seem to visibly calm her down, and I do the only thing I can.
I laugh.
I laugh because I have to, because the only alternative is to cry, to reduce myself to an absolute wreck right in front of Twilight. Twilight herself is just staring at me; I can’t even begin to read her expression through my breathless chuckling.
“I’m sorry, I’m so sorry, this is awful…” I’m apologising, and I’m meaning every word, but for some reason the smile won’t leave my face. “It’s just… trust you to science your way back into calmness. It’s… it’s so you, you know?”
“Hah, yeah, I uh… I guess…” Twilight smiles back, but it’s a meek thing. An unsure thing. A few moments pass, her eyes still glued to my arms.
You made fun of Twilight’s coping mechanism. At a time like this. You really are beyond disgraceful.
About two minutes too late, that stupid smile leaves my face. I linger in that pit for a few more seconds before Twilight’s voice pipes up again.
“What are you thinking at the moment?”
“That I’m a horrible person for making fun of you just now.”
My eyes snap open. I did not say that. I did not just say that out loud. A spike of adrenaline stabs through my throat, and I can’t speak. Am I even breathing? Stupid, stupid, stupid! Is this an awkward silence, or has it been half a second since I closed my mouth? I never should have opened it. I need to get away from this, get away from this mistake, but I can’t. I can only sit here, stewing in the words I never should have said, until Twilight confirms all my fears. Or worse-
“What? No, no no no!”
Or worse, she refutes them.
“No, not at all! I mean, uh… hah, you actually have a point… We’ve all got our ways of coping, right? Science is one of mine. I guess… I guess humour is one of yours.”
My eyes slowly meet Twilight’s. She’s smiling again, and although it’s still small, it’s at least genuine now. Deep in those violet pools, I start to lose myself, and the adrenaline starts to fade.
But it never goes away completely.
Twilight briefly looks away. It’s almost imperceptible, but just enough to make out the tiniest of awkward grimaces. I blink and avert my gaze, momentarily joining her in the uncomfortable silence. Ah. There’s that spike again.
Idiot.
“I mean… humour is just one coping mechanism, Sunset. You… you can find another one, you can talk to someone who can help. A professional.”
And we were doing so well.
“Ah, thank you Twilight.” My voice is bitter, venomous at the joke of a suggestion. “In all the time I’ve been doing this, through all the restless nights of dwelling on failures, of wrapping myself up in my own self-absorbed pity, never once has that thought ever crossed my mind before.” I sigh, most of the poison draining along with my breath until all that’s left is the exhaustion. “Do you really think that little of me?”
And just as it had before, just as it would again, Twilight’s composure begins to fracture. Every step she took in meeting me halfway, I was right there to push us apart. Every suggestion she made, I was there to spit it back in her face. And though her posture resembled a child admonished, the truth was that she was being more mature, more brave, than I had been for years.
“I’m sorry, Sunset.”
She needn’t be. You know damn well whose fault this is.
Even though she continued, it wasn’t to justify or defend. It was just to explain. Hesitantly, as though carefully treading through broken glass.
Or a minefield.
“I… just don’t know what to say. I don’t know if there even is anything to say, and even though I want to help you so, so much, I…”
And then the truth. The uncomfortable, inevitable truth.
“I don’t know how.”
She says the words like she’s failed, like they’re a blight on her character. Hanging on her shoulders, dragging her down to my level. It makes me feel sick.
Because there’s only one failure here, and it’s not the girl who’s trying to redeem the irredeemable. It’s the girl who’s twisting her friend’s words into things they never meant. The girl who, twice now, has taken compassion and kindness and turned it into a weapon, all so she can give herself more reasons to cut herself off from the world. Because Goddess knows that your presence in it is not doing any good.
The thoughts dissipate at the sound of a violent sniffle coming from beside me. It’s strange how a thing like that can help in the most imperceptible of ways, and she’ll never even know.
“All I know is that I can’t bear to see you like this. Whether you hide it or live with it or whatever, you deserve so much better, and we all think that. Sunset…”
Twilight’s entire body is shaking. Her eyes glisten with fresh tears. Pleading.
Please don’t say it.
“You… you need to stop, Sunset.”
I’ve stopped breathing. My body wants to shatter, my brain wants to implode. I want to close my eyes, I want to end, just breathe out and let the darkness swallow me up. I want to run, charge into my bedroom like a coward and open that damned drawer and get my knife and-don’t you dare even think about that you idiot, she’s sitting RIGHT THERE.
But I can’t even muster up any tears. Just shallow, fitful, whimpering breaths.
Pathetic.
“I… I can’t.”
My own heartbeats are choking me. I count them until one of us tries in desperation to fill the silence.
“I can’t make that kind of a promise, Twilight.”
I can’t even bear to look at her, but I know, I know how she’s looking at me right now. My breathing quickens as my voice raises – this is going to be pathetically melodramatic, woefully exaggerated, but I’m past caring by now.
“I can’t. Because eventually, something’s going to happen, or I’ll think that something’s going to happen, and I’ll need it. That little thing, that stupid little thought in the back of my head will offer its solution, and what? I’m just expected to wait? I’m just supposed to let it sit there, let that cancerous little idea grow and morph and eat away at me until…”
I can’t finish the sentence. I don’t need to. In its place, silence. The kind of silence that seems to strangle the air out of a room and fill it with void.
The kind of silence that makes those thoughts come back.
Twilight finally speaks, barely even audible above the deafening quiet.
“It’s okay.”
No it’s not.
Against my better judgement, I turn my head towards her. I blink, momentarily stunned by the sight. Twilight looks exhausted, defeated in a way I’ve never seen her before. Her entire body begins to slump and collapse in on itself, as though her very spirit has been punctured, as though a hole has been torn in the foundation of her beliefs. She turns to look at me and her eyes are… empty.
“It… there really are moments when it’s the best thing for you, aren’t there?”
Suddenly, her demeanour makes sense.
She finally understands.
“Yeah.”
The silence that follows is all-consuming. There’s no awkward fidgeting, no anxious gasps for breath. Even that little inner voice, normally deafening at a time like this, doesn’t offer a single thing.
Because finally, dreadfully, there’s nothing else to say. There’s no excuse, no justification, nothing that can soften the blow. There’s just the truth. The uncomfortable, frightening truth that we all wish didn’t exist because it might mean that we would have to admit something about ourselves that we don’t want to.
But it’s there, and it always was.
Surprising even myself, it’s me who breaks the silence first.
“How are you holding up?”
For a while, Twilight just sits, the same blank stare on her face. But she knows that eventually we need to wrap this up, let this scene play out in spite of ourselves.
“It’s a lot to take in.”
There’s no reason to say it. It’s not going to help. But…
“I’m sorry.”
Twilight’s response is immediate, but still in that same exhausted monotone. There’s something about it that nags at the corners of my mind, but I can’t put my finger on it.
“Please don’t be. Honestly… thanks, Sunset. I can’t imagine it was easy for you to talk about something like this.”
The twisted, self-deprecating smirk returns to my face once again. While Twilight’s monotone is contemplative, mine is unmistakably deadpan.
“Yeah, the unyielding courage and fearlessness to look a friend in the eyes and say ‘Hey, I’m broken in the head, and I wanna throw some of that burden onto you’.” I scoff.
“I’m being serious.” Twilight responds, the faintest hint of a frown marring her otherwise stoic expression.
She’s probably right. And she deserves to know that, but for some reason the words won’t form in my mouth.
“Do you want to crash here tonight? You look a bit…” What’s the most polite way of putting it? “Out of it.”
Not that.
Twilight shakes her head, almost imperceptibly. “Thanks for the offer, but…” – a brief pause to scratch at the back of her neck – “I think I could do with the time alone, to do a bit of thinking.” A flick of the eyes, downwards, before back up. “Plus it’s been a long day. I’m pretty tired to be honest.”
I’d recognise those excuses anywhere. The hesitation, the vagueness, that slightly withdrawn tone, as though she’s still coming to terms with her thoughts as she’s speaking them. The body language.
It’s like looking in a mirror and I hate it.
“Twilight, are… are you okay? I mean-”
Recognition flashes on her face immediately, head spinning to look at me in worry. She always was a smart one.
“Oh! Oh, no, no no no, don’t worry, I’m not going to… no. I just need some time to come to terms with this, I promise.”
A weary gaze bores deep into those shocked violet eyes and finds only honesty and genuine concern behind them. Against every other instinct, what prevails inside me is trust.
Would you trust those words if they were coming out of your mouth?
The thought lingers in the back of my throat, a bile that threatens to spill out and do terrible things to someone that doesn’t deserve them. But I keep it down. Repressed.
“How about you, though? Are you going to be okay?” Twilight asks, and again there’s nothing but honest concern, even though the tiniest of smiles is gradually forming. In her voice, if not on her face. “It… I mean it can’t have been pleasant to be bombarded with questions like that.”
“I’ll be fine, thanks.” I answer quickly. Too quickly. She picks up on it immediately and fixes me with a stare that pierces right through the façade. Damn it. Say something, anything to put her at ease, just-
Don’t fuck it up now.
“Honestly, I’ll be okay. Don’t worry.”
Better than nothing, but only just.
But it’s enough. Walking to the front door, and what is there left to do? A heartfelt hug? A handshake? What’s anyone supposed to do after an evening like this? An evening that no-one wanted but that happened anyway, the baring of a truth that no-one wants to hear even if their words say otherwise. A failure exposed.
Twilight settles on a solemn nod. Of thanks, or of worry, it didn’t matter. The door opens and a cold evening breeze hits me, snapping me out of any introspection.
“Thanks again, Sunset. I, er… I hope you got something out of this as well. Being able to talk, I mean.”
I offer a weary smile and really hope it doesn’t come across like a grimace. “Thank you, Twilight. Really.”
The purple girl turns back briefly, and offers the same advice she did last time.
“Take care, Sunset, yeah?”
The same advice that I threw away the moment her back was turned.
“Yeah.”
The refreshing breeze cuts off with the softly-closing door, and I remain there, briefly motionless, staring into the nothing of the wood’s grain. A sigh later, I turn around to be greeted by the drinks and slices of cake, taunting me. They’ve barely even been touched.
But at least it’s something to do. I pick up the mugs, now lukewarm and insipid, pour their contents down the sink. The cake, lovingly made by Twilight, her own little peace offering, is still in the lounge, turned dry and faded from exposure to the stale air. How symbolic.
And so my mind wanders. Those voices, once suppressed by conversation, again start their incessant whispers. But the most disturbing thing is that they’re not all bad.
I can’t believe it. It went… pretty well. The conversation that neither of us wanted, about something that we’d both have rather pretended didn’t exist, ended up going okay. I got a few things off my chest that had been eating away at me for months, Twilight was receptive, hell, understanding of a deeply uncomfortable truth. There were a few hiccups, sure, but all things considered the evening was… fine.
By any objective measure, it went as well as it possibly could have.
And yet.
And yet I’m still trudging to my bedroom. I’m still opening the drawer. I’m still reaching inside and grasping for the knife and going to the bathroom and getting the first aid supplies and laying them all out on the coffee table in the living room. Some pathetic self-fulfilling prophecy, too weak to even acknowledge that something halfway good happened this evening. I’m still opening the notebook, exposing my past failures and preparing to mark another one down.
Because I know, I know…
You deserve it.
Saturday, 11:38pm.
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This is easily one of the best portrayals of the mentality behind self-harm I've ever seen. It really peels it back layer by layer ( <_< ) until we get to the foul truth at its heart. Awful, life-ruining addiction aside, the horrible reality is that sometimes it feels like the only option where she'll still be around to wake up on a hopefully better day.
There's a lot of symmetry in this story, which I love. You did a phenomenal job, and being only your second story I gotta say, the moment-to-moment quality of your writing is some of the best I've ever seen. It's super impressive. Almost like you're really good at it and should write even more :o
Usually "I'm sorry" manages to be one of the most unhelpful, insincere things that people say. Doubly so in the every day, where what's supposed to be a sincere expression of something being wrong is on par with hearing "thoughts and prayers" and about a dozen other platitudes I can think of. I think it's managed to become one of the things I hate hearing the most. Yet, when Twilight said it to Sunset here it managed to be meaningful and caring. As a reader, I could tell how much it meant to Sunset because sometimes there are people who can say that and it'll still be real.
10451192
...Wow. I was not expecting that first comment. And honestly it's one of my goals of both Noradrenaline and Serotonin: As disturbing and fundamentally "wrong" as it is, to show that there are genuine reasons behind it. I've seen interviews with people who've said that self-harm has saved their life, and in a horrible way I can understand why.
Interesting you mention symmetry. I guess aside from the occasional reference just to keep the themes consistent even after Twilight arrives, it kinda just fell together naturally. Thank you.
10451207
It's funny. Every time I thought of adding in that word, it always felt a bit sour for exactly that reason: All too rarely is it sincere, and even less often does it help. It's nice to hear that even if it didn't come across as being helpful (which honestly was my intention), that it was at least meaningful. Thanks for your comment.
10451292
I think that it was a good way of showing Twilight cared, even if she didn't know what to do. Sometimes that helps in itself.
This story hits hard, and that is definitely a compliment. There are so many reasons behind self-harm and some of the hardest ones to acknowledge are the legitimate ones. It’s such a damaging idea: that someone can, and should, just stop.
I think what you did here, both with Sunset’s mental processes and Twilight’s reaction to them, is exceptional. The way Twilight just lost her steam the moment she realised she couldn’t help was really poignant. The flow of their conversation from hopeful to analytical to soul-crushing acceptance really hit the right notes. Good work.
10451459
Honestly, "hits hard" is about the highest praise I can think of because that's exactly what I aimed for - thank you. As uncomfortable of a topic as it is, I think the legitimacy of self-harm and other unhealthy coping mechanisms is important to get across (being cynical for a moment, if only to counteract the swathe of media in which self-harm or suicide is used as a cheap way of adding drama).
And I gotta say, your last note absolutely nailed Twilight's realisation here - one of the aspects that I was worried might not come across in among a 6k word fic.
Ooooo gosh this story hurts. The entire thing was smoothly executed right doen that timestamp and aaaaaa! Both Sunset and Twi (and their struggle) felt so real!
(And im sure theres much more that ran thru my head but im bad at comments, so trust it's all really good)
Great work!
That is some decent work. It is unwelcmingly real and not exagurated.
The characters act as i would think they'd act in such a situation. Confused and Carful.
10452236
That's actually reassuring.
I enjoy stories that are painful to read and revel in making other people feel uncomfortableuh I mean thanks for your comment it's good to hear that the conversation came across as grounded and, as you said, a struggle.And credit to JackRipper for the great idea of utilising the timestamps of messages to enhance a narrative which I then
shamelessly stolewas inspired by.So, basically guilt?
What does that mean?
Honestly, I wouldn’t even try and help her anymore if I was twilight.
10493774
More than guilt, but self-criticism and self-loathing to the point of depression and anxiety.
It's just a reference to Twilight's body language showing that she's uncertain.
And it's that kind of stigma, that kind of betrayal of trust, that can quickly send someone into a depressive spiral that they can't get out of.
10493774
That attitude right there is exactly why people grappling with mental illness have so much difficulty getting the help they need even when they actively seek it out—let alone when that illness is making it hard for them even to look for it. Congratulations, you are one of the people contributing to the problem. And yeah, I’m speaking from personal experience with the challenges involved.
10494485
How is that a betrayal of trust, if you do everything you can and it doesn’t work, what else is there to do?
10494513
First of all calm down. Second of all what else is there to do?
10494532
You can be there. You can support. You can help rather than demand. One of the messages I try to get across in these stories is that problems like these don't get fixed by a single conversation.
If someone's broken their leg, you don't throw them out of the wheelchair after two days. If someone's struggling with addiction, you don't give up the moment they relapse. And if someone's struggling through their inner demons, you don't invite them to confide in you, then abandon them at their most vulnerable.
10494657
But what I’m trying to say is that sunset doesn’t seem to want to stop. And twilight did everything she could.
10494538
First of all, no. Not when this dismissive attitude is a significant contributor to the world’s woes, and when the response to being called on it is to double down on the dismissiveness.
Second of all, just about anything but abandoning someone the moment telling them “hey, be happy” for some reason just doesn’t seem to work. Being supportive takes a wide variety of forms, most of them actually, well, difficult. TamiyaGuy’s list barely scratches the surface, but it’s a place to start. Another good place to start, in my opinion, is doing some research so one is acting from a position of knowledge, even a little, rather than a position of ignorance.
I’ve said my piece, and I won’t continue with this. Either the lesson will be accepted, or it will be stonewalled, and in either case further pursuit is pointless. Further deponent sayeth not.
10494738
Whatever you say.
Thank you for writing this story (and Serotonin). It hurts, and it connects.
10505760
Thanks for your comment. In a way, I kinda hate that it connects with people, I just hope it does respect to the topic of depression & self-harm.
10493774
10494657
The analogy of a broken leg is a useful one. Most people are at least aware of bone breaks, and the method of splinting them in emergencies. Effective long-term treatment of a broken leg, however -- correctly identifying the nature and scope of the problem, setting and imobilizing (e.g. cast over) the break, following up on the healing process, and rehabilitation once the limb can be used normally -- is in the purview and patience of very few trained individuals and caregivers. In all this there are direct parallels to mental health, with the difficulty compounded by being unable to, for example, x-ray a broken psyche.
Pete100, you have a valid perspective: that helping -- truly helping in a direct manner -- someone with depression or such is both very difficult and exhausting, and cannot be expected from most. Even Twilight is not that in this story; she is a friend, who is every bit as crucial as the professional help Sunset needs (and yet has thus far rejected!). However, refusing to be a friend because of a person's difficulty can be argued to be akin to refusing to associate with a "cripple" with their cast and crutches.
TamiyaGuy, thank you for writing this. Keep up the superb effort.
10510057
I think I get what your saying. Because she’s a friend she can’t give up no matter what? Also, how is that the same thing as refusing to associate with a cripple?
10510738
Twilight is a friend who chooses to remain as a friend. She could 'give up' on her friendship with Sunset, but she does not because that is her wish. Furthermore, she is aware that it is not her responsibility (or even within her capacity) to 'fix' Sunset, no matter how much she might wish to.
I did not say 'the same thing', I said 'can be argued to be akin to'; the comparison is imperfect, but not without purpose. Say you have a friend who broke their leg and is in a cast. You can't go on walks with them, for example. You can't heal their leg for them; you didn't put the cast on them or write the scrip for the crutches. You can't (within reason) stop them from putting weight on the cast leg if they so choose. It's inconvenient and difficult to interact with this friend in their temporary situation.
Similarly, interacting with a friend with a mental illness can be hard, even when not having a first sit-down as Twilight does in this story. Twilight cannot stop Sunset's cutting, nor the thoughts that drive it.
I, for example, struggle with social anxiety; just as going on a walk in a cast, being pulled into a gathering at a bar with my mind would not go well. (...ahh, 'normal' times with open bars and the like.)
The situation with Twlight and Sunset is much more subtle and frightening, so the comparison breaks down somewhat... as they interact moving on, Twilight will likely be hyper-aware of what Sunset hears and says, worrying that something she (Twilight) said or did tripped that horrible wire in Sunset's mind -- comparable, perhaps, to accidentally tripping over your friend's cast leg.
Coming back to the point: it is not Twilight's (nor your!) responsibility to heal a mentall-ill friend any more than to heal a broken leg. (If you are a physician, um... Oops? Imagine you are a non-physician for a moment.) That being the case, both physically- and mentally-ill people want and need people -- friends -- available to them.
And being such a friend can be difficult, for both sides.
10510820
Wow, you must have studied Psychology, because I think I understand what your saying.
Also, if twilight gave up on her friendship with sunset, not gonna lie I would be pissed. Because I’m not saying she should give up on her friendship at all if that’s what people are thinking.
Plus that bit about the bar was a little funny.
10510820
Wow, thank you so much for your comments, they said everything I could possibly hoped to have gotten across and more, and the way you took the analogy of a broken bone and ran with it in a way that's both descriptive and empathetic is absolutely fantastic. I genuinely enjoyed it as both a brilliant read and an interesting perspective on mental health and how it can affect both the person suffering and those who are supporting them.
And, of course, you make a very valid point in your first comment, about how rejecting professional help leaves a gap that often cannot be filled by a well-meaning friend, even though said friend is needed as a source of support. Personally, I deliberately didn't allude to Sunset either going through therapy or outright rejecting it (I felt that was a different story for a different time, plus I haven't had the best or indeed much experience with counselling myself), but the point stands on its own.
10510859
You know what, I want to apologise for being overly harsh in my reply to your first comment. To explain, mental health issues are so, so often misunderstood and unfairly judged - phrases like "just be happy" and "all you have to do is stop" are often said by people who simply don't care about these issues, but want to convince themselves that they're knowledgeable. From your first comment, I initially thought that you were one of those people. This is also why I didn't explain my answers in detail - lots of people simply don't want to listen to an uncomfortable truth that goes against their own opinions.
But the fact that you are willing to listen to an explanation and at least try to understand a different perspective is really good to see, and is quite a rare thing to find on the Internet. Genuinely, thank you.
I guess to combine both of your comments, in Noradrenaline I ultimately tried to write about how depression and self-harm are incredibly complicated topics, both to the person suffering from them and to anyone who tries to help. They're sensitive and difficult to discuss, they're very unique to each individual person, and deep-seated anxieties, traumas or psychological flaws cannot be "fixed" with a simple conversation (which, of course, makes them even more difficult to discuss since the person trying to help can feel like they're failing).
On top of this, I've seen so many stories, both in fanfiction and more mainstream media, that show a real disrespect to self-harm and suicide. Either considering it as a simple problem to be "solved" or, at worst, using it as a shallow attempt to add drama to a scene and spitting in the face of anyone who's experienced it.
I suppose that all I hoped to do was write about how complex and difficult self-harm can be to talk about, and hopefully get across that as uncomfortable as it might be, although other people might not understand, people do these things for a reason. It doesn't make it easy to talk about and it definitely doesn't make it okay, but it's the truth.
Oh, and I wanted to shamelessly project my weird-ass brain problems onto fictional characters. That too :).
10515667
It’s ok
I can understand the misunderstanding.
You are welcome, and thanks for the compliment. I myself have a therapist and we would sometimes spend our time analyzing and talking about the stories I read.
As for getting your message across, I’d say you did good of a job.
I wasn't expecting this story to be first-person perspective, given that Serotonin was third-person. The change was a good choice though, IMO. Really helped the reader get inside Sunset's head even more.
While I've never gone through what Sunset's gone through, I've gone through enough to know how this feels. I felt the fire coming off this line. Damn. Brilliant.
As Ice Star said in his comments, a lot of times, "I'm sorry" sounds insincere or forced. In a lot of contexts, it's basically a reflexive statement. However, the times it was used in this story (three, I believe) were all very effective. Both Sunny and Sci-Twi are trying their hardest, in their own ways, to both cope with the world and with each other, and the apologies are for the gaps in between.
The conversation here was almost like a tug of war... in a good way. Sunset trying not to be angry or upset, Sci-Twi trying to understand and offer more then cliches, and both of them conceding their positions at various points. Another honest look at the subject and the reality of it, rather than something that tries to simplify it one way or the other. Dark, but evocative, and real.
Have another fave, and a follow!
10581934
Hah! Honestly? I wasn't expecting this to be first-person either, it just sort of came together
if it wasn't obvious enough that I was shamelessly projecting last time.That dynamic between "helper" and "helped" is really interesting IMO. It almost presents this game of two otherwise similar people considering each other equals, yet somehow, subtly, not.
That hits hard, actually. Brilliantly put.
"Tug of war" is a really interesting take on it, and I see what you mean - there's no shortage of conflict here, even though they each want to concede, to a point. Personally, I think it akin to a shared journey towards the other's point of view. Twilight starting out with the goal of getting Sunset to stop, but slowly coming to understand her state of mind and the fact that "just stopping" is almost a non-option. Conversely, Sunset's initial position of having far too much experience of that mindset, and having to ease her friend into it simply because Twilight has only just been introduced to this horrible little inner world that she's known for ages.
Thanks again for sharing your thoughts, it's perspectives like these that make the effort totally worth it.
You know, this story puts to a light an interesting train of thought, that in so much as self harm is an addiction or a justification, or a 'cry for help'...you make clear, unintentionally or not, that there can also be a portion of spirituality to it. the very precise and ritualistic manner of action, used as an appeasement to an unseen entity for wrongs one has believed they have committed.
Sunsets actions feel almost like a blood letting for a sickened soul, and it doesn't in anyway justify the action, but I think it adds weight to the reluctance to stop...don't know if you've ever tried telling a devout to stop going to their place of worship, but I can tell ya...it will likely end up ending unfavorably for you, lol.
Anyway, amazing story, great insights, wonderous angst, and I can not wait to read more from you!
10701953
The sometimes ritualistic nature of self-harm is a great point to make, and ties back to the sense of control that harming can give someone. It extends to the method of self-harm as well - it's not uncommon for people to use a particular tool, or prepare in a certain way. Indeed, it's one of the techniques sometimes given to help someone stop self-harming: To go through "the ritual" right up until the point of injury.
And you're right - penance and the feeling of failure are massive contributors to self-harming tendencies. Personally, I might not quite go so far as to compare it to religion, since that can skirt dangerously close to romanticising the behaviour which isn't my intention, but you still raise a good point.
Thanks very much for reading, and for your thoughtful comment!
I just want to give version of Sunset a hug.
God, I have no words this time because I was worried feeling and, and-- aauuggghh You'll see my live reaction on the chat sagfdsgad Im trying to think of something more serious and sensitive to say, to stay with the tune of the story, but all I do is let out a shaky breath.
Goddamit, pal, u writes really well
11902383
I mean honestly, the fact that you're struggling for things to say makes me all the more happy to hear it! Hell, this was back when I barely even knew who Sunset Shimmer was, so for her interactions with Twi to feel alright (well, I hope they came across as alright at least) is a shot of validation if ever there was one. Seriously, thank you so much for the kind words.