• Published 28th Mar 2020
  • 4,588 Views, 28 Comments

Serotonin - TamiyaGuy



Sunset Shimmer is in her apartment, alone, because it’s for the best. But it’s fine. She knows what she’s doing.

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The Happy Chemical

Serotonin is a neurotransmitter, a chemical that sends impulses between neurons in the brain and the body. Its functions are numerous and complicated, affecting perception, memory, and even the digestive system. It goes by a few names: Serotonin, enteramine, 5-hydroxytryptamine. Indeed, thanks to its popular association with happiness, some people even jokingly refer to it as “the happy chemical”.

Serotonin is also the chemical that is released when you are cut. It helps blood clots to form.

Sunset Shimmer considered this briefly as she looked at the wound on her arm, the knife in her other hand leaving no doubt as to where it came from. A trail of bright red seeped out of the cut slowly, weaving along her skin as it followed gravity.

Of course, maybe it wasn’t serotonin. Maybe it was adrenaline or dopamine or beta-endorphins, any one of the miasma of chemicals swirling around in her mind.

Or maybe you’re just so messed up in the head that you’re trying to scientifically justify taking a knife to yourself.

Or maybe that.

Sunset sat alone in her apartment on a worn couch. The lights were off, leaving the last vestiges of her namesake trickling through the window as her only illumination. The sounds of the outside world always seemed muted at this time, as though the universe itself was slowing down and getting ready to give up for the day.

At least, that was what was happening outside her window. Against her better judgement, Sunset pondered what led her here tonight. Pinkie Pie had arranged a little get-together for that evening – the details eluded her – and of course all the girls were enthusiastically invited. Of course, all the girls immediately said yes. Except, of course, for her.

Instead, Sunset thanked her friend for the invitation, made her excuses, and declined.

And now you’re sitting here, alone, watching yourself bleed.

With gentle but disappointed smiles, the girls asked why. Sunset couldn’t even remember what response she’d picked this time: She was busy doing some nonspecific “thing”, or she needed the evening to study, or she wanted to get ahead with the cleaning. That she was fine, just a little tired after a long week, and that she’d be sure to accept next time. Put on the mask, carve a plastic smile onto your face, and fire away with that endless supply of answers you always keep on you.

It was a lie.

Of course it was a lie.

Of course it was a lie because magical rainbow blast or no, having the gravity of your own failures laid out bare, having seen the years and years of hurt, pain and anguish you’d caused to others, having struck yourself with the overwhelming revelation that the singular goal, the one light at the end of the tunnel that you had obsessed over for so long was misguided, was evil, was undeniably and fundamentally wrong…

That left scars that couldn’t be healed by an outstretched hand and a second chance.

Sunset’s eyes drifted over to her bare arms. Even in the dim light, she could easily make out the crisscrossing lines traced over her skin, reminders of what she’d done before and what she’d do again. History, written out on her body, ranging from months-old lines almost faded to nothing to angry purple scar tissue from just days ago.

Spread out on the glass coffee table in front of her were a selection of first aid supplies, tissues, and an unassuming black notebook. Her diary. But quite unlike her elaborately-bound and decorated journal, this was a diary of failures.

Emotionless, scientific notes were jotted down on the pages, each following a rigid structure: Date, approximate size of wound, time taken to stop bleeding. Sunset told herself that she did it to keep track of her unfortunate habit. To make sure that she stayed safe. To make sure things didn’t get out of control.

But you don’t even know why you do it, do you? It’s just become part of the ritual now, another thing for you to beat yourself up with. When you go too deep, when you don’t go deep enough, when you remember why you did it… Even you understand how pathetic that justification sounds. What would someone else think if you told them? What would the girls-

Stop.

Breathe in.

Draw the knife across the skin.

Breathe out.

Why did she even gasp like that when she cut? It didn’t even hurt, not really. There was some kind of feeling, certainly, but she wouldn’t have described it as pain. Not that it mattered, as it faded soon enough.

Sunset closed her eyes, and eventually even her breathing seemed to fade into the distance. For a single, blissful moment, the only sound in the world was the rhythmic pat pat pat of blood droplets hitting a glass tabletop.

Seconds passed. Aeons passed. Minutes. Years. Who knew. Who cared. Eventually, she opened her eyes again, and the world slowly shifted back into focus. But it was calmer now. Easier. Her breathing was more even, her hands had stopped shaking, and her heart no longer felt like it was trying to hammer its way through her throat. She spared a glance at the cuts on her arm. By now they had stopped bleeding, some of the bright red trails now faded to drying carmine stains. Sunset looked at her phone instinctively.

Fourteen minutes. About average.

Taking a breath to steady herself, Sunset reached for the first aid box and got to work with practised ease. A damp cloth to clean up the worst of the stains on her arm. Sterile dressings for the wounds – two this time – cut to size. Bandages to hold them in place. Tissues for extra padding, and in case they re-opened. Finally, household wipes to clean up the small pool of drying blood on her coffee table, and to clean and disinfect her knife.

She was well-acquainted with the act of patching herself up, and before long she was done. Injuries wrapped up, bloodstains cleaned – if it weren’t for the used first aid supplies scattered about the table, it was almost like it had never happened. There was something perversely calming about it.

The three sharp knocks on Sunset’s front door shattered any semblance of calm in an instant.

Immediately, her eyes snapped to the door and she froze. She became a deer trapped in headlights, and she was waiting for the oncoming car to leave quietly.

Another three knocks, another three skipped heartbeats. No such luck. Then a voice, faint but unmistakable:

“Are you in, Sunset? Your lights are on, I guess…”

“J-Just give me a sec, Twilight!” Sunset’s mouth began moving before her brain could catch up. No backing out now. “I just need to make myself a bit… a bit more presentable!”

Wow, you almost told the truth there.

Sunset shot up from her sofa, staring at the pile of sin she had amassed on the coffee table, and got to work. But gone was the slow, methodical ease from before – this was the ruthless efficiency of panic. Grab a jacket off the coat rack and throw it on, anything to cover up the cuts. First aid supplies – bathroom. Stained tissues – bin. The knife… screw it, her jacket pocket would have to do for now. Clenching her eyes shut, Sunset walked over to the door. Deep down, she knew that she was going to regret this, but she’d put herself in this situation the moment she opened her mouth.

“Hey Twilight!” She said as she opened the door. Fake enthusiasm permeated her voice like a cancer and she wore a plastic smile to try and convince her friend that she wasn’t a complete wreck.

“Hi Sunset!” The bespectacled girl offered in return, a soft smile adorning her face and a small plastic box tucked under one arm. “Just thought I’d drop by and see how you’ve been, if it’s not too much bother. I, uh, I hope I haven’t interrupted anything.”

“No, not at all. Come in, come in!” Ten seconds in, and already she knew she couldn’t keep the façade up much longer. She needed something to deflect with. “How was the get-together?”

Twilight’s face lit up. It worked. “Oh, well, you know what Pinkie’s get-togethers are like! Great fun all round, laughs, food, the works! Shame you couldn’t make it, to be honest.” Bite your tongue. “That’s one of the reasons I dropped by, actually. Pinkie was trying out a new recipe for sriracha cupcakes and just insisted that you tried a few.” Twilight gently shook the container, the baked treats rustling about within. “They’re better than they sound, honest!”

Sunset offered what she hoped was a friendly grin. “Aw, Twilight, you shouldn’t have!” No, you really shouldn’t have. “I swear, you are just too good for me sometimes.” Yeah, she really is.

Surely Twilight could hear the insincerity in Sunset’s voice, but if she did, she ignored it for the sake of politeness. “Oh, it’s not a big deal. I mean, this is Pinkie Pie we’re talking about. Even with everyone there, we still had tons left over.”

Sunset almost smiled at that. “Hah, the phrase ‘portion control’ just doesn’t exist in that girl’s vocabulary, does it?” She instinctively headed towards the kitchen. Whether it was to buy herself time, or space, or something else entirely, she didn’t even know. “Can I get you some tea to go with them? No, wait, you’re a coffee girl, aren’t you?”

“Coffee would be great, thanks. Decaf, if you have it.”

The moment Sunset stepped into her kitchen, her cracked smile shattered like glass, leaving only an exhausted grimace in its place.

It’s amazing just how quickly you put the mask back on, isn’t it. How long ago was it that you were sitting in the dark with your blood all over the table? Five minutes? Ten?

What the hell was Twilight doing here? Perhaps more to the point, why was Sunset letting this go on? She turned the kettle on anyway, and busied herself with preparing the two drinks.

“So anyway Sunset, how are you doing?” Twilight’s voice echoed through from the lounge.

Lie. Deflect.

“Yeah, good thanks, what’s been going on with you?”

There was a short pause before Twilight called back, her voice… slightly uneasy?

“No, I mean… like, are you… you know, doing okay?”

That wasn’t right. No-one goes through that pleasantry more than once unless they have reason to. Sunset opted to grit her teeth as she carried the two cups back towards the sofa before setting them down on the coffee table, next to the container of cupcakes and… an unassuming black notebook.

Sunset froze.

An unassuming black notebook, that was right there, for anyone to see, opened to a page that spelled absolutely everything out in plain English to anyone with half a brain.

Fuck.

Pinned in place by an adrenaline shot of anxiety, Sunset’s eyes met Twilight’s. Concern was etched onto her face. Sadness. Horror. Fear. Disappointment. Shame. Of course Twilight knew what it meant. She wasn’t an idiot.

“You didn’t read that.” It wasn’t a question.

“Sunset, I’m so sorry. It was just lying open and I didn’t mean t-“

“You did not”, Sunset snapped, trembling, “read that.” Gone was the mask, replaced with a stare that could melt steel. But this wasn’t the cocksure look of intimidation that she had wielded in days gone by. This was the panicked glare of a cornered animal.

Twilight opened her mouth, but closed it again. Through warring emotions painted across her face, shock slowly gave way to a begrudging understanding, and she nodded. Neither of them spoke for a minute, the only sound being Sunset’s fitful, panting breaths and the blood rushing through her ears.

“I’m… I’m sorry.”

Sunset winced, but otherwise remained frozen. It was all she could do to not fall apart right there.

“No. No, I’m sorry.” She slowly rose to a standing position and stayed there. The fight-or-flight instinct was screaming in her ears; there was no way she could sit down right now. “For… just for everything.”

“It’s okay.”

No it’s not. What’s happening right now is many things and “okay” is not one of them. You know it, and she definitely knows it. You made her lie to you. What kind of a friend does that?

Twilight piped up again. Her voice was… small, somehow. Searching.

“Do… do you want to talk about it?”

Sunset’s breath hitched in her throat, her eyes rigidly focusing on the floor.

“I… I don’t know. Half of me thinks that I should, that I need to finally say something just to get it out of my own damn head. But the other half is screaming at me that I can’t… I can’t burden you with a conversation like that. I wonder if that’s what it comes down to in the end: Feeling like a burden, like a dead weight, like a pestilence. Because considering everything I’ve done, considering all the ways I’ve hurt people, all the failures, why the hell would I… would I inflict myself upon someone as nice as you? Whenever I hang out with you girls, I have a great time, right? We all have a great time. We all smile and laugh and joke around and it’s great. But without fail, eventually this little voice pipes up in the back of my head telling me that you would’ve been smiling just a little more, laughing just a bit harder, if I hadn’t been there. And I know it’s wrong, right? That’s the weird part. It’s just that sometimes that voice gets a little too loud to ignore. That’s why I haven’t been seeing you girls as much lately, why I’ve been making excuses, telling little lies time and time again as to why I couldn’t hang out. In the isolation, I guess I just fell into… well, this. Somewhere between feeling like I deserve it, wanting to cut through this mess of conflicting emotions, and probably some weird psychological dependency or endorphin rush or whatever, I started… started hurting myself. And I don’t know what it did, but it did something. So I kept doing it. And I know, I know, that it’s messed up, that I shouldn’t, that it’s an addiction and I need to stop and I’m looking at you right now and hating myself that I ever even considered it in the first place, but the messed up truth of it all is that I do it because it works. It really, really works, and I think that’s the most terrifying thing.”

…was what she wanted to say.

But she didn’t.

Of course you didn’t.

“…Not really.”

“That’s okay.”

Silence returned to the room again. Unfortunately for Sunset, that just meant that her brain could start screaming again, drowning out every other thought. Her breathing, Twilight’s gentle sniffles, the barely-audible ruffling of her jacket as she moved, it was all getting too loud to bear. Until a timid voice, like the touch of a feather to her ears, burst through the noise like an axe.

“Do you want me to leave?”

“I don’t mind, really. Whatever you want.” Sunset’s response was instinctual, a reflex. Twilight could’ve asked anything and her answer would’ve been the same.

But Twilight’s firm retort surprised her. “No, Sunset. This isn’t about me. It’s about you, and how best to help. Do you want me to leave?”

The orange girl’s eyes snapped back to her friend, still on the couch. Past her dainty stature, post-party hair and tear-streaked face, Sunset saw a fire in Twilight that had long since burnt out in herself. Twilight would’ve moved heaven and earth if it meant helping her right now. More than the judgement, more than the sympathy, more than the kindness, that was what made Sunset finally crumble. Even she could barely hear the answer she whimpered forth.

“…Yes.”

“Okay.” And Twilight stood up from the couch, slowly, as if any sudden movements would make Sunset do something rash. Maybe they would. She barely made a sound as she made her way to the front door, keeping a soft, unconfrontational posture the entire way. Sunset had to say something, even in this state she knew that she couldn’t end on a note like this. But this time her brain was able to catch up. She knew she’d regret it, and she did it anyway.

“Twilight.”

Twilight paused.

“Thank you. For understanding.”

Twilight turned back around, averting her gaze in part-submission, part-confusion.

“I mean, I… really don’t.” She gave an uncomfortable grimace, as though not understanding the broken shell of what used to be her friend was a bad thing.

“No, you really do.” Sunset continued, and for the first time since she broke down her voice was clear. “If you’re willing to leave me alone and give me the space at a time like this, then you really do understand. Perhaps more than you think. So, thank you.”

Twilight blinked and her expression shifted, but to what Sunset couldn’t tell. Fear? Hope?

“It’s no problem. I’d… I’d like to understand, though. When you’re ready.” She turned the door handle and stepped out into the cool night air. “Take care of yourself, Sunset.”

And with the quiet click of the door lock deafening her like a gunshot, Sunset was alone again. Just like she wanted. Just like she asked for.

Her breathing was ragged. Her hands were shaking. Her heart was pounding against her chest.

Slowly, instinctively, Sunset reached into her jacket pocket and closed her fingers around the handle of her knife.

Comments ( 28 )

Hey, do you want to hear a piece of shit project for three thousand words? TOO BAD I’VE GONE AND DONE IT ANYWAY.

(I guess this comment can serve as the author’s notes since it seems… thematically inconsistent to put something like this immediately following the story itself)

So full disclosure: I haven’t actually seen any of the “canon” appearances of Sunset Shimmer. This whole story, as well as her interpretation here is shamelessly ripped off of heavily inspired by the works of Scampy, so many thanks to her and go check her stories out if you haven’t already. Add to that a spoonful of Inky Shades’ intrusive inner voice from It’s Not Fine, and you end up with a one-shot that combines story aspects from two great authors while being significantly worse than anything either have produced.

I’m not a writer by any stretch of the imagination. So take this thinly-veiled vent piece for what it’s worth, and thanks for stopping by.

10151327

This whole story, as well as her interpretation here is shamelessly ripped off of heavily inspired by the works of Scampy

Not even a little, my dude. Every bit of this story is laced with a steady, unique insight that's entirely your own. I really, truly appreciate that I've had an influence on you, and, you've taken the ideas and themes of my stories and used your own experiences and feelings to create something truly breathtaking and new. Thank you so much for writing this story, honestly. The way you write Sunset's inner voice, inner wishes, outward actions and teetering emotional state is painfully true to life. This is everything I was hoping it would be and more.

I’m not a writer by any stretch of the imagination.

Yes you are! I know this because I just read something, and someone had to write it, and that someone is you! You're not an "aspiring" writer or a hobbyist or anything of the sort--you're a writer. Own it! Be proud of it! Cuz I'm sure as heck proud of you!

sriracha cupcakes

Eugh, I'd cut myself too if I was subjected to shit like that on a regular basis.
In all seriousness though, this was a good story. I've seen many which try to convey the philosophy behind self-harm, and the clinical approach was not only unique, but I personally think that it's a good representation of how those who have suffered depression over a very long period of time view themselves and the world around them. The emotions are there, but there's another layer too - this grainy film that sucks the color out of everything and leads to a detachment from both worldly and personal issues, and it neatly wraps back to the clinical overtone at the beginning of the story.

I also really like how you didn't romanticize the... eugh... experience of self-harm, which is something I've seen way too much of on this site. Your Sunset only really does it out of habit, with little more meaning to it, and that wraps back to what I mentioned about chronic depression - it's a habit, and however it started, she only does it now because it's become her routine. Another meaningless experience out of all the seemingly meaningless experiences viewed from behind the grey film.

All that being said, there's one glaring technical error that I can't in good conscience ignore. That huge, monolothic wall of text right in the latter third of the story doesn't need to be there. In dialogue/monologue, if someone is saying something (I know Sunset didn't really say it, but it still applies), and that something is taking a lot of space, you should break it into paragraphs like you would anywhere else. The proper format for this is:
"First paragraph
"Middle paragraphs
"Last paragraph"

Back to the story: While I'm not too much a fan of self-harm stories (namely due to gross over-saturation of the "genre") I liked this well enough to, well, give it a like! You took a disgustingly overused concept and freshened it up to the point where a discerning reader can extrapolate meaning from it, which is something that not just anyone can accomplish.

Ohhh heck, this is really good! Sunset and Twilight have so much personality to them, even if we're only seeing things from Sunset's perspective. Also, you wrote Sunset (and the whole story) really darn well. Not just her character, but also the stuff she does, her inner thoughts (intrusive or otherwise), and everything else, really. This work gave the self-harm topic a lot of respect, and I appreciate and respect you for that.

Also also

is shamelessly ripped off of heavily inspired by

What hecc you're darn tootin this story is not a rip-off! Sure, the subject has been done, but you wrote it in your way with your voice. You made it your own! I hope you keep on making stuff your own.

Wow, this turned long. Or maybe it just looks long on my phone?

I think what I'm trying to say is "well done!" If you weren't a writer before, then you are one now! Congrats!

Oh I almost forgot.

sriracha cupcakes

Oh my god you monster

10151699
Bloody hell, I wasn't expecting anything at all from this, let alone a comment this detailed. Thanks so much for sharing your thoughts!

Interesting that you linked the detatchment that depression can cause to the scientific, clinical "justification" at the start - I was honestly worried that the beginning would've felt out-of-place considering where the latter half of the story went.

One of my few goals when writing this was to absolutely not romanticise self-harm, because frankly there's nothing romantic about it, and there's nothing romantic about depression. Rather, I hoped to convey the uncomfortable truth that there are reasons behind it beyond your cliché "cry for help" or "attention-seeking" answers, even if that reason is fabricated for the sake of convenience.

Honestly, thanks for the criticism there. I was torn between wanting to format the story in the way you'd described for the sake of readability, and keeping it as a monolithic text dump to try and convey that "runaway train of consciousness" feeling. And while I hope it does do that... good god it's hideous to read.

sriracha cupcakes

Hey, apparently there are recipes for it and they don't look half bad. Other than that... I'll just say "because Pinkie Pie".

10152076
When the actual authors start leaving comments, things have officially gone too far.

Honestly, I've got no clue what Sunset's/Sci-Twi's character even is canonically - this is really just the amalgamation of several other fanfic interpretations (of which Rise Again contributed to, so thanks there). Really, all I hoped to do was give the topic of self-harm the respect that, in the opinion of this petty, melodramatic individual, it deserves. So it's really good to hear that I... haven't quite failed there.

Genuinely though, thanks so much for the comment.

Oh my god you monster

And now I'm half-tempted to go on a tirade about how chocolate and chilli is a well-known combination in baking and if you haven't gorged yourself on a tray of white chocolate and chilli brownies until regret and butter permeate your very arteries then you haven't lived yet.

Man, this is just...painful.

This hurt. Particularly the wall of monologue. Because I've been in that headspace - not to the point of self harm, just that I've heard myself saying that to myself before. And you just reminded me that even with everything else going on in my life, I'm in a better place today.

Thank you.

Haven't gotten around to reading yet, but in the meantime, given the topic, I'll say this much.

To anyone reading this who may be struggling with thoughts of suicide, please know that you can be helped. Your life matters, and the world will be emptier and darker if you are gone. Even if by some twist of fate no one noticed (and it's almost certain someone would know and care), there would still be a phantom pain - an absence that no one would know the source of, but would be felt all the same. We would be diminished by the loss of you. If that wasn't true, then why is it that people willingly choose to spend their days professionally helping complete strangers to realize their own self worth? You matter. Please talk to someone who can remind you of that.

Suicide Hotline: https://suicidepreventionlifeline.org
List of International Suicide Hotlines: https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/List_of_suicide_crisis_lines

Wow, that was an intense story. Here I go thinking things for Sunset will get better, but in the end they remain the same. She’s holding herself back, but for what reason she doesn’t understand. It’s like she’s forcing herself into her unhealthy routine rather than actually needing to do it, sort of like how an actual addiction would be like (I’m not a big expert on that, though).

There are a lot of similar plots with Sunset like this out there, but few of them capture that “vicious cycle” emotion like this one. Well done!

10156018
That was kind of my goal with the ending, to subvert the "pulled back from the edge" trope that we all really want in these types of stories. That oftentimes, a single heart-to-heart talk isn't enough to miraculously fix everything. It's why I tried to characterise Twilight as wanting to understand instead of fix - as you mentioned, there are a fair few stories where such a kind of depression is a problem to be solved as a plot point, rather than an all-encompassing theme. And to your credit, "addiction" is a pretty appropriate word for it.

I mean, that and I just love stories with a depressing ending. Guess I'm kinda weird like that. Thanks for the comment!

10157863
You’re welcome!

(And don’t worry, I’m weird in the sense that I like those kinds of stories, too! :raritywink:)

Saw this story pop up in the 'also liked' section of mine. Good job. I can really feel Twilight's concern and total lack of certainty over whether she's making the right choices to help. That "maybe you do understand" is really distressingly not helpful.

10173823
Thanks - I guessed that a character like Twilight would want to understand but wasn't quite sure how she'd react. I've seen that confusion is pretty common when it's not a knee-jerk reaction, so I went with that.

I'm curious about your thoughts on Sunset being really unhelpful by saying "[...] you really do understand", would you mind expanding on that? It certainly wasn't my intention, more to show appreciation that Twilight wasn't forcing things, taking agency away from Sunset even when she's been put in a vulnerable position.

10174781
Ah, I was like 95% sure that was what she meant. Just an appreciation for giving her space and not jumping down her throat and trying to force her to miraculously turn everything around on the spot.

But then I started wondering if it could also be interpreted as "thanks for being cool and looking the other way on this". With Twilight wondering if this is being seen as tacit approval to continue or even escalate, and whether she just screwed up big time and this is the last conversation she'll have with Sunset. Granted, from what we know of Sunset from the rest of the story, she's likely not about to go slit her wrists open after this conversation, but Twilight doesn't have access to the same look inside her head that we do. To her, it's not exactly clear what that "you understand" is supposed to mean.

Or it could just be I'm drastically overthinking it because my fic involved Twilight overshooting nonconfrontational support straight into enabling and reinforcing. I do think such second guessing would be right in Twilight's character though.

10174848
I, er, intended for the line to mean the first option. Though to be fair, I do see what you mean about your second interpretation. With a character style that might jump to conclusions, especially with how Sunset does not want to talk about things right now, there's a fine line between not wanting to push the issue and make things worse, and being complicit by pretending the conversation never happened.

And hey, isn't drastically overthinking things, like, the whole point of fanfics? I mean, now I'm trying to figure out how to headcanon together this, Just Thoughts and probably something like The Time We Have Left. Hell, why not finish it off with Last Light and woop woop everyone's dead.

10175968
Everyone being dead is truly the hallmark of a great expanded universe.

10175968
10176274
So what I'm hearing is that the three of us need to collaborate on an Extreme Angst story

I mean she can’t get upset that she found the book. Also, I was really hoping she would tell her everything.

Please I've had suicidal thoughts before and I imagine you have too.

Choosing to open with such clinical descriptions and information was an interesting choice. I think it really served the story well though, supporting the atmosphere of detached, almost depersonalized habit throughout. The journal was another facet of this, truly illustrating both how little (and how much) Sunset thinks of herself and her addiction.

Great work on the character interactions. The tension between Sunset and Sci-Twi was palpable, but not overdone. Sci-Twi's measured reactions are both true to her character, and realistically helpful. Like Sunset says, she understands more than she thinks she does, as contradictory as that can seem.

By ending the story like you did, you neither romanticize the subject, nor trivialize it, which is a delicate balance with these type of stories. It leaves the door open for the possibility of a better conversation (and day), but doesn't shy away from the truth of how difficult process is/can/will be.

Great job on this.

10581921
Thanks so much for the insightful comment! It's really interesting that you're the second to point out the analytical tone at the start: I originally feared that it would come across as cold or even jarring, particularly since this is ultimately a story of (repressed) emotion. But you make a great point - I suppose there's a thread of "logic" that runs through the whole thing, as flawed as it is.

I'm intrigued about how you felt Sci-Twi's approach to the topic was "realistically helpful"? That was definitely the goal, and it's great to hear you think I pulled it off. Dunno, I guess I figured Twilight would be the "learn, don't judge" type, and that a topic as delicate as self-harm could test that to its limits.

you neither romanticize the subject, nor trivialize it

That was really my main concern for the whole story. Ultimately, I went for brutal reality, and damn how callous it might seem. But you're right - support and recovery can come through these moments, not just in spite of them.

Thanks again.

“You didn’t read that.” It wasn’t a question.

I would immediately remove her from my residence. Absolutely not. Nosey. Bad.

I've never known anybody who cuts in real life, but from what I heard, it seems like you hit the nail on the head.

11441956
Thanks for your comment. It's genuinely nice to hear that what I've tried to convey makes sense from the perspective of someone who specifically doesn't have any personal experience.

10640946
Hah, thanks. In a way, I see what you mean - perhaps making it something as secretive and personal as a diary was a poor choice. There are plenty of things through which someone attentive might suspect what's going on: Long sleeves in strange circumstances, unexplained bloodstains, defensive self-consciousness. I suppose I only intended the diary to be a stand-in for any one of those.

When is this suppoaed to take place?
At first it made like it was just after the first movie but then Twilight can't be there. If it is after the second movie it does not fit because of the resolution of the movie was Sunny moving past these feellings....
It would have worked well enough if it was Applejack/Fluttershy instead of Twilight in the scene I guess but nice narrative anyways.

For some reason reading this made me think of this interaction:
Alucard: Listen to me Draculina! You are so much stronger than you let yourself be.
Seras: How do you know?!
Alucard: Because behind those eyes, I saw something I lost long ago...The will to live.

11449373
I am so sorry, I completely missed your comment! Honestly, it's a good question, and the simple answer is that I have no idea when it's supposed to take place.

When I wrote this, I'd never seen anything to do with Equestria Girls - my interpretation of Sunset was based entirely off the excellent fics available here. As a result, you're right, this story is absolutely full of plot holes and inconsistencies (and in a few ways, I kinda wrote myself into a corner regarding Sunset's accommodation when I wrote Cortisol a few years later).

Maybe it's possible to work it into some kind of semi-alternative-universe, or possibly an alternative interpretation where Sunset's angst is just better hidden now, and only comes back to haunt her in solitude? Or maybe it's just a silly foray into angsty bollocks.

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