Dear Princess Celestia,
Sometimes it’s good to feel sad.
If you feel sad, then at least you feel something. It’s not bad to feel. In all honesty, I miss a time when I felt sad, because that meant I was able to feel anything beyond this heavy weight in my head and my chest. I feel as though somepony unscrewed my head and poured molten lead inside of me, filling me up to the point where I can’t even move.
At first, I couldn’t understand what happened to me—I am in no way a candidate for depression, at least not in my understanding of it. I have a constant stream of adventure, of social interaction, of a complete love of life. I have evaded death at the hooves of others so many times that it seemed absurd that I would want to embrace it willingly by my own actions. And yet, there is an impossibly thick blanket of apathy that has been cast over me, and I cannot shrug it off.
When the feelings began, I did some research into both the illness and my own life, and I was unable to dig up an exceptional amount of information on it. Most cases of depression, which are rare in Equestria to begin with, crop up in cities where the natural desire to roam free in nature cannot be fulfilled. It seems that beyond this reason, depression strikes randomly and indiscriminately, but you know me like I do, Princess. I do not accept “randomness”.
And so I dug deeper into myself. The only possible cause for this depression is the time I spent estranged from the few friends I had in Canterlot, buried deep in my books. The seeds for suicide must have been planted there, but they hibernated for a good long time within me. You tried your best, Princess, you really did, and for that I thank you dearly. But I couldn’t stave it off forever.
I now wonder if Moondancer suffers as well? Was I enough to save her? I’m not sure, because I had you, Princess, and even you couldn’t save me. Maybe you can still reach her.
The book detailed how when depression reaches its climax, often in the form of suicidal action, the sufferer can only see two options left in their life: feel pain forever, or be dead. And even knowing this, even being aware of how I feel, I don’t see any other plausible option. It’s bleak, and illogical, but no matter how many times I run it over in my head, I can’t find a way out. I am trapped in a grey maze, wandering endlessly, bumping into locked bars and turning away from caved-in tunnels.
I have not spoken to anypony about any of this. Words only push a pony so far, Princess, and I would prefer not to cause undue strife where it is not needed.
There were but two other pieces of information I was able to ascertain from my research into depression; the first was that ponies with depression will often carry on, pretending everything is alright, and I must say that I did that in surplus. Even my most recent journey to Canterlot and my delving deep into the world of dreams, now that I reflect upon both events, were cases of me acting—sometimes overacting—to make up for the gaping void inside of me. Yet this goes back further still.
The second piece of information that I gleaned from the book is that depression comes in waves—there will be a period of time where it affects the pony caught within its terrible grasp quite strongly, and then it will subside for a short period of time before returning.
The bleakest part of that news remains the fact that the final stage of depression for many is a state of incredible apathy, where positive emotions no longer exist and the sufferer can no longer tell apart the negative emotions—instead, they all blur together, becoming a haze of misery... and I believe I have fallen into this final state.
I hoped I was wrong. I hoped that one day I would wake up and laugh at the absurdity of everything, the sheer ridiculousness of my situation. I wouldn’t even care how foolish or miserable I had been in the past, because in that moment I would be free of the agonizing state of being that encapsulates me now. But those moments don’t come. I wake up every single day, the weight from the lead growing heavier and heavier. And now I have reached the point where the weight is so intense that I will collapse into a singularity if so much as a milligram of mass is added to me.
I briefly considered heading down to the Ponyville General Hospital and asking for help, but I knew the kind of help that I would receive there. Pills. Piles and piles of pills. I would lose my depression, but instead gain an addiction—and not even at the guarantee of losing my depression. Other times, they work too well, and they give you even more medication to control that, and so on and so forth... until all you are is a pony made of pills and prescriptions. No personality. Just pills. I couldn’t put myself through that... because I would not be myself after that. I’d be Pill Pony #1727, not Twilight Sparkle.
I’ve sent Spike away. He has been living with Rarity, something I arranged for him to do. He’s helping her with a massive order that she received a few days ago from Sapphire Shores. The timing couldn’t have been better—I don’t want him to suffer through this any more than he has to, and being witness to what I’m going to do will certainly do that. I’m not entirely certain how this will reach you without his powers, as I cannot muster the magical strength to do so myself.
The unfortunate reality I am forced to face is that suicide does not make the pain go away; it merely hands it off to others to deal with. When the first thoughts of suicide crossed my mind, I banished them instantly. Even as I lost all will to carry on in myself, I resolved to live anyway. If I had to live, I would live for others. “It’s incredibly painful,” I said to myself, “But it is a pain I will have to endure.” But after quite some time, I could no longer endure it, and suicide became more and more appealing. And as it is such an incredibly selfish act, I did not know for the longest time how I felt that I could partake in it. After a few nights of silent contemplation, however, I came to the only, terribly sobering, conclusion:
I have lost who I am. The bright, curious little unicorn who was tempered in the fires of friendship and who battled against so many of Equestria’s enemies with love in her heart and a determination to keep her life whole, and her friends safe, to become the fourth piece of the Alicorn Tetrarchy, has died. There is only the empty husk of a mare who stalks the cold halls of a crystal palace, forcing herself to breathe in and out. There is but a tiny sliver of me left, a tiny sliver which would easily be claimed should I resort to pills to try and solve this, pushing with all her force to keep going.
But what point is there in pushing on if all you push against is a brick wall?
The world is a beautiful place, and I am no longer afraid to die. At first, I thought that I was selfish for wanting to leave such a world, but as time goes on I have come to terms with my feelings. If I cannot feel, if I cannot love, then I no longer fit inside the mechanism of this world.
If I could still feel for my friends, I would, but I cannot. The only things close to being positive within me at this point (and it certainly more a neutral feeling than anything else) is a curiosity as to how they will take my passing. That is the tiny sliver of me that is left, and it is the tiny sliver of me that I shall die with. I do not want any more pain than is necessary to be felt over my passing. I would like to present full closure. That is the purpose of this letter: to make sure there is no mystery to my actions. And even if I cannot stop them from crying and lamenting their loss, I would like to make it known to my closest friends and family that they did nothing wrong, and that I couldn’t have been saved. It will hurt, knowing this, but perhaps it will help you fully reconcile with my passing.
I wonder now what is worse for those close to me: having to bury my body or having to live with a mare who, even though they can see, feel, and talk to her, is not really there, and is merely existing, not living?
Words only push a pony so far, Princess. Anything you could have said to me, at no fault of your own, would have fallen on deaf ears, on an empty mare who could not take them to heart. I would feel as if you didn’t mean it, when logically, I know that you would. The same goes for words from Rainbow Dash, Pinkie Pie, Fluttershy, Applejack, Rarity, Princess Luna, Princess Cadance... even my own mother. I won’t make you waste your breath on me.
The time for useless melodrama has passed.
i’m sorry
Farewell and goodnight,
Your faithful student, Twilight Sparkle
The parchment lay next to a half empty bottle, the quill lying neatly next to it. A thick book sat on the left edge of the scroll, keeping it from blowing off the desk it was seated on. The book possessed a dull greyish-blue cover, and thick black lettering displayed the title as “The Big Gloom: Depression And How It Affects Equines Of The Three Pony Races In Urban Settings, Volume 1”.
The sun had set, but there was still enough light to cast deep, dark shadows, grossly exaggerated in length, across everything in the room. In the crepuscular shades, a single shadow originating from the next room over swung slightly from side to side. A gentle breeze wafted through the rooms of the now empty crystal castle, carrying with it a few purple feathers as the final twilight set.