Bad Thoughts

by Scampy

No Escape From Yourself

Wallflower Blush stood motionless in her bathroom, glaring at the pathetic, misshapen thing she saw in the mirror.

What a fat, disgusting pig, eating out of boredom to the point of making herself sick then turning around and starving herself for days. She couldn’t even do something as basic as eating right. No, she found a way to screw that up too.

At least that wouldn’t be a problem forever. Her putrid cycle of gluttony and restriction had to end somewhere. Either she’d eat so much that her stomach ruptured, or she’d starve herself to death—assuming nothing else killed her first. Still, it was nice to have such guarantees, assuming she didn’t ruin those somehow, too.

What a stupid, useless idiot, failing all her classes because she was too lazy to even get out of bed, let alone go to school. It’s not like her parents would scold her over it. They didn’t even know who she was anymore. No one did. To them and to everyone else, she was just another blurred, meaningless face in the crowd. Without them, and without the magic that tore her from their minds in the first place, she had no hope of supporting herself. At least that made it easier to guess which between starvation and overeating would kill her first.

But what was she supposed to do, not erase her family’s memories? They were better off for it, honestly. At least now they didn’t have to put up with her parasitic needs. Even outside her family, every interaction, every first impression, everything she did was wrong. At least if she erased it, she could have a second chance, right? Or a third, or a fourth, or however many it took to stop being such an awkward loser all the time. But no matter how many she had, it was never enough to outpace her own social ineptitude.

Now there were no more extra chances. Not that she ever deserved them to begin with. Definitely not anymore.

What a cruel, heartless brat, stealing away the friendships of a better person, as if doing so would somehow make up for being unable to make friends herself. Her selfishness cost her the only means of self-sufficiency she had, leaving her doomed to even greater poverty alongside her solitude. It’s not like anyone would be willing to help her after what she did. Her piteous half-friendship with Sunset was just a fluke, anyway. It’d die out soon enough, and she’d be on her own again.

The only reason Sunset hadn’t turned her back on Wallflower yet was that she didn’t know her well enough to be properly disgusted. No one would ever want to be friends with the real her. No one should ever want to be friends with the real her. They were better off without her polluting their lives.

Even if Sunset looked past Wallflower’s inherent irreparable flaws as a person, she would eventually discover an even more horrid truth—the scarred, mangled freak hiding beneath an oversized sweater. It was her ultimate deterrent against any kind of human connection. No one could ever love that.

She couldn’t hide it forever. It was only a matter of time before Sunset found out, and then? Then it was all over, just like it should have been from the start. Her family, gone. Her future, gone. Her one and only friend in the world, gone.

And the best part? All of it was her own damn fault. Whatever horrors the future had in store for her, Wallflower knew she deserved them all.

She brought this on herself. All of it. Truthfully, she’d be doing herself and everyone else a favor if she just threw herself off a building or something. Knowing how others saw her, she guessed it may even take a few hours for someone to notice her corpse on the pavement. A mild inconvenience in death, just as she was to everyone she knew in life.

But no, she was too much of a coward even for that. The one thing she could possibly do to right her wrongs, and she was too afraid to even try?

Idiot. Scared, pathetic little idiot.

Fear wasn’t insurmountable, though. She just didn’t have enough motivation yet, that was all. She had always been slow, as her mom used to put it—she needed a few more extra pushes to really drive her towards her goals.

Maybe she could put pictures of herself on the internet, use the lust of perverted strangers as fuel for her own self-hatred. No… No, of course that wouldn’t work. She was hideous to look at, even without the scar tissue scattered all over her limbs. Sure, she might get insults instead of getting dehumanized, but she couldn’t think of a single comment that would be more hurtful than the things she already told herself. Besides, the thought of it made her feel sick to her stomach.

Perhaps she could go about damaging her mental state as much as she was damaging her body. Alcohol and mood-altering substances, something to widen the cracks in her already-fractured mind. Who knows? Maybe having her inhibitions removed by drugs would be just the kick she needed to finally go through with it, but… No, she’d probably screw it up and just make herself sick. Wallflower had no idea how to use drugs, let alone where to even get them. Either way, buying alcohol was out of the question for the next four years, and there was no way she was going to wait that long.

Wallflower blinked. What the hell was she thinking? The solution had been right in front of her the whole time. The only thing still chaining her to life was her “friendship” with Sunset Shimmer—so all she had to do was cut that thread. Hatred and rejection by the only person close to her would be the perfect thing to finally push her over the edge.

The girl in the mirror shifted, sighing as she turned away from herself. Wallflower returned to the plain white walls of her undecorated bedroom, setting herself down on her mattress. There, she took one of the little razor blades on the floor beside her and rolled up her sleeves. Of course she was repulsive enough already, but it couldn’t hurt to make sure that Sunset would be thoroughly disgusted by the sight of her the next time they saw each other.

Comments

[Babroniedad]

Wow Scampy. That was dark. And painful.
And frighteningly relatable. Have some hugs.

[PonyAmorous]

Silly Wally! Scarring yourself up is only gonna draw Sunset in more by playing right into her heroic savior complex. You might as well try to drive away any of my Bioware RPG protagonists by having a traumatic backstory!

No, no. If you want Sunset to hate you, you need to start antagonizing her friends.

[Luna Aeterna Solutae]

Man ow my feelings

[Lofty Withers]

Relatable

[Duck]

Ahhhhhh this hurts. This fic holds nothin back when it comes to emotional self-destruction. Scampy why u always make my heart cryyy??

Well done, Scampy!

[Super Trampoline]

You know how people often can spot a Super Trampoline fic by its title and cover art alone? As soon as I saw this one’s title and cover art I knew you had written it.

[Ice Star]

This just threw my eating habits into my face. Quarantine doesn't help with that.

[TamiyaGuy]

And once again, you've put out a horrifyingly relatable short story that does not hold back. You perfectly put into words those 2am thoughts that come to us when we're alone, when all is quiet and we're left with that haze of inner voices. And yet, you still kept it well-structured as a story.

Reading the first paragraph, immediately followed by the last, it seems like an absurd leap. But going through the whole story, each little step, each little added bit of self-hatred and justification gradually gives this runaway train of intrusive thoughts its momentum, until all of a sudden that last paragraph terrifyingly starts to make sense.

Just... great story, Scampy.

[Sunny Starscout]

ooF

[CapNTilfy]

Yikes. Tough read as always!

Though I'm pretty sure Sunset would want to help Wallflower more after seeing the marks she's about to put on herself.

10205431
Funny you should say that. I wrote a story with the same picture, but I don't have the courage to embed it for... reasons.

[Carabas]

Powerful work, uncomfortably relatable, and a evocative depiction of those foul trains of thought that haunt quiet moments. Nae bad at all.

[Holy]

It's the whisper at three in the morning, your own cruelty finally gaining control when you're too tired to fight it anymore. When the sun has left you and your company is gone, the thoughts creep in like a predator circling for their final strike. Our only choice is to let go and watch in horror as we construct our own living hell, and the only escape from that hell is finally putting an end to everything. Others would scold those that even considered such an option, but they don't understand—the unending misery of constantly having to wake up into the nightmare we've made for ourselves is something they'll never fully comprehend. It can be a mercy, a fantasy even to imagine finally being free of those vicious thoughts, to finally find somewhere that isn't tainted by the person in the mirror we've come to despise. The finality and relief of it seem like our only option anymore as each sleepless night of wounding whispers tear us down that much more—so much so that we subconsciously see the last ties of positivity keeping us here as an enemy to that goal. The friends that care seem like nothing more than a chain binding us to the flame that's eternally inflicting pain throughout our existence.

But it's a lie. The voice telling us how horrible things have become is the negative influence that's completely consumed our thinking. After so long of letting it have control you can hardly even summon a hint of positivity to counteract it anymore. That's why friendship is so important in the end; when we don't have the strength to fight away the darkness enveloping us, there are always those that care that will lend a light of positivity to convince us not everything is hopeless. Wallflower might get what she wants by pushing Sunset away, but it wouldn't be what she needed. Friends like Sunset are the most precious things you could ever find in this life; they're the lighthouse in the storm to guide us away from disaster when we need it most.

Thankfully, nights like these always have a morning to carry them into being just a memory and the friends that are around to remind us we're not completely lost causes will still be there when we finally wake up. In our darkest times our mind tricks us into horrible things, but it's never too late to try to move past them and let those caring voices guide you into a happier life where the constant whispers of your mistakes no longer have to define you. It's never an easy process and trusting others is one of the scariest steps to take, but even a moment away from the constant torment in the arms of someone who can convince you that you're not the monster you see in the mirror is worth it, I think.

Hope you're doing better, Scampy.

[Wild Stallion]

10205913
I know, my own food consumption has been up, and then down, for years now.

[Gay For Gadot]

Man.

So, there is a quote out there that has been falsely attributed to Hemingway. It's one of my favorite quotes about writing. I'm not sure who said it, but it's powerful nonetheless. And I hope you'll forgive the vivid imagery in it, seeing how it relates to these Wallflower stories quite more than could be thought: "There is nothing to writing. You just sit at a typewriter and bleed."

The most authentic writing comes from somewhere deep within. This stuff is very authentic. While I can't relate to the self-harm, I can relate to what it feels like to stare your reflection down and see nothing but a monster staring back at you. Something you'd like to shatter, if you had the guts to do so. I don't see that anymore. I hope there's a day when Wally doesn't either.

More great work from you. I'm pretty sure I won't be disappointed with the rest.