Falling Apart

I'm not What I Used to be

Pinkie Pie

A month of therapy. No visits. Hallucinations. Outbursts. Injuries. Suicidal thoughts. My life is an absolute mess.

I lie on the floor of my padded room, my straight jacket wrapped around me in a hug. My hot pink hair spills out all over the soft white floor in a tangled mess, even frizzier than normal.

The door opens with a loud creak and I gaze up at my therapist, entering the room with her dark blue hair pulled back in a tight bun. "Luna..." I mumble as she steps closer to to me, her periwinkle high heels sinking into the mushy ground with every step. I gaze at her with tired eyes and a delirious expression, small droplets of drool hanging from my mouth.

She sits down next to me, a sad smile on her face as she readies her clipboard. I can tell just from her face that she has been through so much. Betrayal, perhaps? I'm excellent at reading people, so I can find the best way to make them smile. But I don't do that anymore.

"Hello, Pinkie," she replies warmly, helping me sit up inside of my restraints. "How are you today?"

I sigh and my lip begins to tremble. This happens every time I try to talk about my feelings with my therapist; they ask one question and I burst into tears. I stare intently on the brace on her nose and the purple bruises surrounding her eyes. I am swept up with guilt; I know it was me. Those injuries weren't there when she visited me yesterday. "I'm fine..." I respond solemnly, lowering my head so she won't see me cry for the fifteenth time this week. "I'm just..." I pause, trying to grasp the correct words. "Not what I used to be."

Luna nods in an understanding way, jotting something down on our therapy sheet. "Do you have anything you want to tell me about? Anything unusual happening to you?"

"Other than the memory gaps and the nurses around me coming back every day looking more injured than the last..." I take a deep breath and bite my lip, swallowing the knot in my throat and stifling the sobs bundled up in my chest. "No. Nothing at all."

"Any more hallucinations?" she asks, staring intently at the paper as she scribbles down more marks in her blue pen.

"No, not since two weeks ago..." I answer, my voice shaking as I struggle to contain my emotions. I had hallucinated Rainbow Dash with me, talking to me, making me feel better. But there was nobody there. Dashie is dead because of me.

Luna sets the clipboard down and sighs, placing her hands on her knees as she kneels in front of me. "Can I see Pinkamena again?"

I'm baffled. "You've... seen her before?!" My eyes shift upwards to her nose and bruises and my heart sinks.

"By accident. But this time you're restrained," she explains, placing a hand on my shoulder comfortingly. "It's important for me to form a bond with you as we'll as your alter. I need to know her intent, her purpose, her personality."

My eyes widen in horror. "No way am I letting you see her!" I shout, scooting backwards. "She's not safe! She hurts people... kills them!"

"I am well aware of the risks, Pinkie," she states calmly, her energy so stagnant and poised. "But I need to heal you. You're sick."

I squeeze my eyes shut in fear, small tears trickling down my soft cheeks. "Ok..." I whimper. "I'll try..."