Sunset was sitting in the library at school, her journal sat in front of her. Her friends were all in class so Sunset was by herself. She liked the silence of the library where she could just rearrange all her thoughts and be alone.
She was twirling her pen through her fingers, thinking.
Ever since her sophomore year of high school, Sunset had cut almost regularly. It was a compulsion, she just couldn’t fight it.
That’s the reason she journaled. To take her mind off the urges to slit at her wrists. She was trying to stop, but it was hard. There was a pocketknife in her backpack and she just wanted to leave the library, go to the bathroom, and draw blood from anywhere on her body there were no scars. Her wrists were covered in scars. There were many mornings she spent slathering foundation all over her wrists until nobody would notice the markings.
But she resisted. She opened her journal to the next blank page and started writing.
November 15th
I still remember the day I got my pocket knife. It was when I first came to this world. I used what little money I had picked up off the street to buy it and a small bag of chips.
Originally, it was for protection. Living on the streets, you never knew when somebody would come up behind you and try to hurt you. So a knife was a good idea.
One day I felt like ending it all. I really truly wanted to die. I didn’t want to bully anymore. I wanted to just die and leave behind everyone. I was bitter and wanted to die and never see Princess Celestia again.
So I started slitting at my wrists. I didn’t cut enough to bleed out and die, but I became hooked. Cutting gave me just the rush I needed to keep going. It was like a drug. It still is. It’s like all the good things about alcohol and weed. You feel on top of the world, but you also get this amazing rush that makes you never want to stop. But it’s immensely painful and it burns and you have to stop sometime.
I only make one or two slashes when I cut now. I have to give it time to heal before I can do it again. Cutting is just enough to keep me afloat. To keep me from jumping off a cliff or something. I don’t know why.
Maybe I just tell myself that, and my friends are really the reason I stay alive. I’d like to think that they are, but I’m not sure still.
I’m really trying to stop. I know it’s harmful and I can’t keep going, but I don’t know how. I’ve thought about talking to the school guidance counselor, but I don’t know if I can trust her. If she found out I was homeless she would get me thrown into foster care. If I told her I cut she would call the police and probably get me out into a mental health hospital or something.
I should tell the girls. They could help. But I don’t fully trust them to keep my secrets just yes. There’s so much they don’t know about me, and I’m not sure I want them to know. Not right now. Not yet.
For now, it’s an escape. A way to get away from the horrors of life. I just try to keep rolling with the punches of this cruel world.
- Sunset Shimmer
Sunset closed her journal and sighed. She looked up at the clock. She still had half of her free period to go. She should probably do some homework, but she just didn’t feel like it.
She still pulled out her books and put away her journal. She reached into her back pocket, feeling her pocket knife sitting there, waiting.
Sunset rested her head in her arms, just wanting the day to be over already.