Bottling It Up
By IceMan

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Premise from https://boards.4chan.org/mlp/thread/28666078

>"Anon, hi. um. Do you mind if I come in for a second?"
>"I'm sorry if I'm disturbing you but I really wanted to talk to you. It's been awhile."
>"It's uh.. kinda dark in here. With all the blinds closed..."
>"Oh, that's quite a collection of cider bottles you have there..." 
>*ahem* "Well uh, you see what I wanted to talk about was that.." 
>"I'm worried about you."

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>There’s a knock on your door.
>From behind the wood, comes the muffled voice, barely decipherable with the fog clouding your mind, of someone you know.
>“Anon, hi. Um, do you mind if I come in for a second?” Twilight Sparkle asks.
>Grumbling unintelligibly, you rise from your sprawled position on the couch and stumble over to the door, fumbling with the knob for a few seconds before finally opening it.
>“I'm sorry if I'm disturbing you but I really wanted to talk to you. It's been awhile.”
>You say nothing, but let Twilight enter.
>“It's - uh - kinda dark in here. With all the blinds closed,” she says, looking around your apartment.
>Other than the couch, there’s only a small coffee table with some plates and books stacked on it; a flickering television set playing some blasted commercial for Barnyard Bargains or some other idiotic blasted store or product; and the kitchenette, with the sink overflowing with white dishes and steel pans covered in unidentifiable, crusty brown stains.
>With a click of the remote, you turn the TV off. 
>“Oh, that's quite a collection of cider bottles you have there,” Twilight says, noticing the pile of glass lying in a heap near the couch.
>There was also that.
>You’d taken to cider lately because it was in season, and you had a store of it stashed away that would last you a couple weeks because your boss had given you a bunch as a gift. 
>“Well uh, you see what I wanted to talk about was that…” 
>She shifts her hoof back and forth against the grey shag carpet.
>“… I'm worried about you."
>You blink mindlessly, like some sort of great grazing cow, the words slowly worming their way to your prefrontal cortex for processing.
>Like an analog computer coming up with a solution, the unlubricated (which was funny considering the amount of liquid you’d consumed) gears of your mind clank and grind past one another.
“Why?” you ask.
>“I don’t know. I just am. You always seemed to be cooped up in here doing… whatever it is you do.”
>You grope towards an intangible flask at your hip, before realizing you don’t have a flask and that your last bottle of cider is on the table.
>Turning around to reach it, you raise it to your lips and take a swig, the sweet nectar running smoothly down your throat.
“Well, I’ll tell you what I do then. I go to my job to pay the rent and get by. Wake up at seven-thirty every morning, Monday to Friday, head over to the farm, work my ass off till five, and then I come back here and open up my first drink. Four hours later, I open my last one, hopefully drunk enough that I can just pass out on this couch.”
>Twilight frowns.
>“Is working for the Apple family going well for you?”
“Yes, it’s fine.”
>“If you need Applejack to give you raise, I could always just -”
“No. I don’t need more money. I’ve got enough as it is.”
>Taking another long drink of cider, you suck out the last of the alcohol and drop the bottle on the floor with a soft clunk.
>With her magic, Twilight picks it up, along with the rest of the pile, and neatly places the bottles in the wastebin.
“Thank you,” you mutter.
>She nods, a quiet means of “You’re welcome” which somehow pleases your dulled senses.
>“You’re unhappy with something,” Twilight says.
“How do you know that?”
>“Happy ponies, or - uh - humans, I would assume, either by consequence or by cause, do not usually loaf about doing nothing.” 
“Well, I’m not unhappy.”
>“Look me in the eye and say that.”
>You do as she commands.
“I’m not unhappy,” you repeat.
>“I don’t believe you,” she says. “So you’re going to tell me what’s wrong.”
“There’s nothing wrong with me.”
>“Okay, then maybe I need to point out what’s wrong with you, because it’s right in front of your face.”
>She points with her head to the pile of green glass in the trash.
>“You do this every night, you said? Do you think that’s healthy?”
“What doesn’t kill me makes me stronger,” you answer.
>“More like what doesn’t kill you immediately kills you slow instead. You know what alcohol does to your liver, right?”
“I don’t need a science lesson from you. Don’t tell me how to live my life.”
>“That’s going to be a difficult thing to do then, because clearly you need an intervention.”
>You can’t help but chuckle.
“Where’s the camera crew then? Pull out horse Jerry Springer or whoever the fuck and let’s get started.”  
>You walk over to the fridge to grab another cold cider.
>As you take it, Twilight’s telekinesis finds its hold on the bottle, lifting it and setting it on the counter by the sink, a few steps away from you.
>“You’re drinking to stifle something, to shield yourself from some pain,” she says. “What is it?”
“That’s for me to know, and you to never find out.”
>“That’s too bad, because I’m awfully good at figuring out people’s problems.”
“Maybe you should be a shrink then.”
>“Could be. Too bad I’m too busy running a library. So, let’s see. Lie down on the couch.”
“Gladly,” you say, lumbering over there and flopping onto cushions with the grown of over stretched springs.
>“Alright,” Twilight says. “So you’re clearly not unhappy with your job or living situation, otherwise you would have told me about it. I think we can rule out things directly about your life in Equestria entirely. So that just leaves… you miss Earth?”
>You roll your head over and look into the other cushion.
>“You do,” she says.
“I don’t miss Earth,” you say, your voice muffled by fabric and cheap foam. “My life there was worse than it is here.”
>“But you had your family there, other people you cared about. Friends?”
“My family wanted to disown me and I didn’t have any friends.”
>You turn over to face her.
“Twilight, I literally wanted to die every single day for as long as I could remember. Then, I finally did. Even that was robbed from me.”
>Silence.
>“Anon, I… I’m so sorry.”
“What for? You didn’t make me the way I am. At least here, I have a job and a good roof over my head. I’d rather not take the same gamble twice. The next circle of Hell could be so much worse.”
>Twilight’s ears droop slightly.
>“I want to help you. Please. Just tell me,” she says.
“You can’t help me,” you say. “I don’t want your pity.”
>She thinks for a moment.
>“Do you know what I do when I’m feeling sad?”
“What? Read a silly book?”
>“Well, yes, I do that too, but, when I’m feeling really sad. I go out on the balcony and look at the stars. Do you think that, maybe, you’d like that?”
“I don’t know,” you say.
>“Would you try it?”
>You shrug.
“Sure. I guess I have time.”
>Twilight lifts her chin with her hoof so your eyes gaze directly into hers.
>The vibrant twin pools of amethyst entrap what little thoughts you can have.
>“I know at times it can seem like the world hates you, and that there’s no point to anything, not even living. But we have to fight against that feeling with all our might. Giving in or bottling it up… that doesn’t do anything,” she says.
>A rising pressure fills your chest, and a tingle of fluid drips on your eyelids.
>With a heaving sob, you collapse onto Twilight’s shoulder, hot tears running down your face.
>Despair runs forth like a bursting wine barrel.
>You would no longer give in.
>You would no longer bottle it up.