Dear Diary,
Mother said I should write down my troubles, and that writing them will help me forget them in the moment and remember them later, and that perhaps the act of writing them out will help me determine the answer myself. She said it always helped her, when she was a filly, and that she had the notebooks full of doodled hearts to prove it.
I think she just wants to keep an eye on me, and that she doesn't quite know how to ask how I’m really doing. Perhaps she thinks that I wouldn't tell her the truth? Sugar Berry said that her mom does the same thing, but I don’t think it’s the same. Her mom isn’t a Princess, and she wasn’t born a...
A freak. Nopony says it but I’m sure they’re all thinking it. “What did YOU do over the summer, students?” “Oh, I just almost leveled the palace because I got a really bad cold and sneezed too hard. Your vacation to Las Pegasus sounds really fun, though!”
Father says it’s not my fault. He says it’s mostly his and Mother’s, that I’m the way that I am. Auntie Twilight’s still fretting about how any child of hers and Rarity’s could grow up to be as powerful as me, so I don’t think they’ve told them yet. Only Sunburst knows, and he’s… well… he’s Sunburst. Not quite friend material. And don’t get me wrong, Sugar Berry is great and fun and I’m glad she’s my friend, but she just doesn’t understand me. Not the way I need.
She says she’s a freak like me, so that’s got to count for something, even though being the only unicorn in a class full of crystal ponies isn’t quite the same thing. Still, at least she’s here, even if she doesn’t get it.
Mother says it’ll get easier with time, but she can’t really understand either. Sure, she was a teenage alicorn, and her whole “dealing with puberty when you’ve got the hormones of all three races driving you mad” talk was horrifying, but she’s still missing a big part of who I am.
Or, rather, who I’m not. I'm not her. I'm never going to be her. I was born different from all the crystal ponies I live around, and there's nopony who can tell me what I'm supposed to be doing with myself and my life.
Do I sign these things? Mother wasn’t specific enough. If I’m the only one reading them (and I doubt that very much. Why else would Mother have insisted on them?), then it shouldn’t matter. I know who I am.