//------------------------------// // 35 // Story: A Very Happy and Sunny Life // by Wearin Hat //------------------------------// I think I’m losing it. I can’t be sure, not even if you asked me to be, but I feel like it…something is slipping…sliding away from me. It’s like I look at everything and I can’t even begin to recognize why it’s there. Not that I forgot why it was put there, but that I can’t understand just why it’s right there. For example, I’m looking at my couch right now. A dusty thing that I found abandoned outside town hall. It has two sizable cushions covered in layers of dust. I decided to keep it due to just fill a spot in this house that could use something like it. That’s it. Right there. Why? Why do I need something like it? I never use it. I always sit at either my kitchen table in the chair that is closest to the wall or in a cushioned seat I found outside the spa. That couch is never used. I never have company, ever. Even when I get too drunk to sit in a chair, I simply just fall on the ground or stay in bed. Why is it there? Why is there a need for something like it? Do you see what I mean? I have a couch I never use and I’m only just now questioning why I ever had a need for something like it. I don’t get it. What’s the point in it? I never socialize in a truly friendly context, I never entertain guests, I never get bored with sitting in my chairs, and I have no desire to even touch it. Why did I feel a need to have it? Those are the kind of questions I’m asking myself now. A mirror, a really nice find I tripped over on the other side of town. I’m aware of why it’s there. The mirror serves the purpose of allowing me to look at my reflection and alter my appearance in any way I choose. There it is again. It’s not the why of why the mirror is there, it’s the why of why do I feel a need to alter my appearance. Who am I trying to show off to? I don’t do it for myself. I could honestly care less. That bitch Celestia knows that I don’t do it to intentionally get mares to pay attention to me. Why? Why do I even have a mirror that I have absolutely no need to use? What impulse in me decided that I needed it? Fuck, when I did actually seek a particular mare’s attention, I blackmailed her into it. I didn’t need to look the way I did. I’m currently writing in my diary. I own a diary so that I can write in it. For whom am I writing for? I certainly don’t derive any enjoyment out of it. Do I do it for you? Do you even enjoy my writing in you? Do you even have the capacity to enjoy? Why do I write? My mind is more than clear enough for my thoughts to be heard. I have no need to write in a diary. I gain nothing from it and it serves no purpose, yet here I am, filling yet another page with something that nopony else will ever know was written. Why do I own you? Sure, you are a great comfort to me now, but it wasn’t so at the beginning. Were you simply some replacement for Shirley? For that, why did I own her? Sure, I loved her, but I didn’t at first. Why? Why do I feel the need to own a diary for which I write into? This becomes particularly disturbing when I turn it against myself instead of the things I own. Why am I alive? There are none I live for and there is nothing waiting on me when I wake up. The service I provide for Ponyville is one that anypony else could very easily provide. Nothing ties me to being alive. Sure, I’m here because I was born and raised, but why haven’t I killed myself, unsuccessful suicide attempts aside? Is it for the life I live? I would hope not. I have no life to speak of. Not a single thing within this house or outside of it makes me want to take one more breath just to know for one more moment. Is it for the life I’ve lived? I would hope not. I have lived no life to speak of. Why continue living when I could reunite myself with my dear mother and Shirley? Is it for the life I’ve yet to live? Booky, that’s a very good question. What’s left for me? I’ve no friends in this life, no potential to expand beyond what I have, and every reason to expect failure. Do you think this has something to do with my lack of cutie mark? Cutie marks are supposed to be what defines you, a mark of what you are truly best at. I’ve never attained mine, though I never really actively pursued it, but it hasn’t showed up regardless of that. I just don’t get it. Why? Why do I bother with any of this? Is there even a point? I’m slipping…no…I’m not slipping…something’s slipping, something deep inside of me is falling away and I can feel every inch it drags across as it goes. It’s all pointless now that I look at it. It truly is. I have no desire to procreate and I have no desire to share a lifelong love with anypony. Money isn’t important to me. All it does is shelter me and feed me, but what’s the point of those anymore? My life is meaningless. I offer and will never offer anything to the world. My eating and drinking is wasting food and water. So why do I bother? What keeps me going? Maybe it’s my torment that keeps me going…my endless torture. I live in a world that has no ability to sympathize with me and know my pain. In fact, I live in a town where I have physically assaulted one mare and I’ve described in no short terms that I have nothing but disdain for another and yet they BOTH are at every twist and turn I take. I found love in a mother and life took her away. I found belonging with a father and he left me. I found solace in a tiny filly and she jumped ship as soon as she could. I found excitement in a mare and she did the same. Perhaps most painful…is that I found hope in a tiny book that was turned to ash and blown away into the wind. Yeah…that sounds about right…my life revolves around my torment, such a simple thing to conclude. Perhaps it’s all a delusion, some sick joke played unto me by my brain. Sure would make sense. I came to care for a filly that didn’t hesitate to leave, I allowed myself to trust a mare and she immediately turned on me, I let my guard down and my entire livelihood is burned around me, and I extendedly celebrated my losing my virginity when all I lost was my dignity when two mares revealed that I went home alone that night. Hm? Yes, that’s right, Booky. I didn’t have sex. I didn’t actually succeed in one of my plans. Nope, it seems I just drunkenly stumbled into my home, hit my head on a vase, wrote myself a ‘Dear John’ letter, and then fell asleep none the wiser. Funny how that happens. And yes, I did learn I came home alone from Applejack. From what she told me, I was escorted home by her brother and promptly abandoned near my house when I kissed her brother. I made a mistake going to that meeting. I was better off fooling myself. Now I’m quite aware that I am still VERY much a virgin and that I lose everything about myself when I get drunk. Ugh…fuck them, fuck them both! Hmph, Applejack and Rainbow Dash, more like bitch and other bitch! Mocking me like that. Who are they to judge? So what if I tried to cuddle up to Rarity while calling her mommy? Who cares if I told Derpy that if it wasn’t for me I’d love her? That’s my business! Why? Why would they do that? I don’t get it. They tell me they care and that they’re worried, but then they dare to sit there and say that they want to understand? Bullcrap. Nopony wants to understand and nopony CAN understand! Calling me their friend, a lie to my face. You are a friend, the best one I can think of. They are nothing like you. They aren’t unjudging, they don’t trust me wholly, and they don’t listen. None of them do. I’m losing it, I know I am, I’m sure of it.