I took a deep, mental breath. I didn’t want to alarm him or make him feel bad. After all, this was a relatively common condition that many young ponies suffered from. Cutie Mark Dysphoria to be exact. Don’t worry. Despite the scary-sounding name, it was actually fairly simple to diagnose and cure. The objective of the therapist in this situation should be to calm the patient and assure him that he can still do what he wants to do despite whatever the mark on his flank shows.
Now I know what you’re thinking. But Cozy, isn’t this a fundamental defiance of the way that the natural pony world works? And to some extent, it is. But we live in a time period now where no one wants to force themselves into a field or hobby that they’re uncomfortable with for the sake of satisfying some destiny.
And besides, just because a cutie mark shows one thing, that doesn’t mean it should be taken at face value…
“...Alright, Whip,” I said with a smile, “It sounds like you suffer from a simple case of Cutie Mark Confusion.”
There was no way in Tartarus I was using an overly complicated term like ‘dysphoria’ to a foal. It would only serve to concern and worry them more than when they first stepped hoof in my office.
The little pegasus colt flapped his wings--a natural reflex. “Well that makes sense, I guess. But what does this mean?”
I decided to use what I knew from the conversation, and feed it back to him to get a proper communication loop. “Well, you said you like to paint and practice other forms of art, correct? Would you mind explaining that a bit more?”
“Oh, okay.” His face lit up a little bit, and he sat upright on the couch. “Well, it’s simple: I have loads of paint supplies at home. In fact, I even have a stand dedicated to showing off my canvases. Someday I hope to open an art exhibition in a museum or something so I can show off my skills to everyone.”
Alright! I was getting somewhere. Now I just needed to know the finer details regarding what exactly he enjoys about it. Then I could use that to find another interpretation of what appeared to be a buckball court on his flank. After all, not everything is meant to be accepted one way…
Plus, it helped that I was also really interested in art.
I leaned forward with an excited grin on my face. “Ooh, really? What do you like to draw, Whip?”
“Lots of things,” he replied, equally excited, “But my personal favorite thing to draw would probably be landscapes.” He lifted his hooves into the air. “I love flying high into the sky and drawing whatever comes to mind from a bird’s eye view. It’s so...relaxing, you know?”
I spread my wings. As a fellow pegasus, this was something I could easily relate to him on. “Uh-huh! It’s super fun to be able to just swoosh right into the sky and relax on a cloud or just take a lazy flight on a relaxing Sunday.”
“Mm-hmm,” he agreed with a nod. “That’s what I do sometimes to get away from the stress of school. It’s fun to be able to think for myself.”
Now those words concerned me. ‘Think for myself’? ‘Stress of school’? Just how much was he stressed out on a regular basis?
“Think for yourself?” I asked, looking down at my clipboard, then back up at him, “Are you having any trouble at home or at school?”
His answer was direct and swift, but not super ‘in-denial’ levels of swift. “Huh? No, not at all, really. I do just fine in school despite some of the homework being a bit...long-ish? And my parents are great. They both support me well and want me to pursue art…” he turned away and hung his head. He looked at the floor with a disappointed sigh. “...But we’re all so confused as to why my cutie mark is this buckball court. It doesn’t make sense.”
I tapped a pen against my chin, and looked closer at his cutie mark. To be more specific, it was an outline of the various lines that made up a buckball court. No color at all aside from the green hue of his body. Was there a deeper meaning here, or was I grasping at straws?
That’s when I thought of something. Instead of doing the customary inkblot or word association test, I wanted to take a different approach with this colt. “Okay, whip. I have an idea.”
He shifted his eyes upwards, his cheeks resting on his hooves. “You do? What is it, Dr. Glow?”
I got up from my seat, and trotted over to my desk. If this was going to work, he was going to need some good materials. I retrieved a set of colored pencils and a blank notepad from my drawer. I kept them there so that my patients could draw out what they were feeling.
But in this case, I wanted Whip to draw from his heart.
Once I acquired the items in my wingtips, I approached Whip and offered him the drawing supplies. “Here it is. I want you to draw me something that speaks to you. It doesn’t have to be about how you feel. It could just be anything that comes to mind.”
The young pegasus grabbed the book and pencils. “Oh? That’s all you want me to do?”
To give him some space, I sat back down at my desk, and looked over some paperwork. I knew it’d be hard if I was looming over him and his work, so I wanted him to feel comfortable.
What I didn’t realize was that it’d take over an hour. Every so often, I’d look up and see him with one colored pencil in his teeth, and others held within his finger-like wingtips. He was clearly hard at work, and I could’ve sworn I saw a few beads of sweat run down the side of his face.
Just what was he scribbling?