Mlp creepypastas

How can I help

By CrackedInkWell

It took me three weeks at most to gain the courage to knock on the school counselor's door. Like most, it is awkward to turn to a complete stranger for the sake of guidance to one's own problems. Especially for someone who had the crushing assumption that everyone was against me. At the time, having to take a portion of Lunch Hour to seek out help was a low point in my life. Call it an act of desperation as I felt that I had no one else to turn to.

Even before I came to her office, I already knew the purpose of a school counselor. Basically, someone who acted as a psychiatrist who had to deal with student's problems as well as acting as a sort of advocate on their behalf. Up until then, I didn't see much need to visit any of them as I figured that my problems aren't worth being heard. However, I felt that as it was made clear that no one was giving me much thought in how I thought of felt... I was left to turn towards the counselor as a last resort.

Now, for the sake of this story, I'm going to call the counselor Doctor. G for the sake of protecting her identity. Of course, before I turned to her, I have seen her now and then. Usually with a student or one of the teachers, seemingly busy with tackling with whatever problems that came in her way. In a way, I didn't go to her at first simply because of how busy she always seemed to be. However, on the day I knocked on those double doors, it came with the hope that maybe... just maybe... she would have time to hear me out.

"The door's open," I heard her voice as she called out to me. Pushing them open, I found the office that I kinda expected that a typical School Counselor would have. Rows of books and scrolls. Pictures of happy looking places and ponies. Some kites hang from the ceiling. A desk that had some nick-knacks and right across it, a green couch. And there organizing some books, was Doctor. G herself.

"Am I interrupting anything?" I remember asking her.

"Not really," she told me, "just trying to figure out where these new books are gonna go. Give me a sec..." Within a minute she was behind her desk, and waving a hoof towards the couch, encouraging me to take a seat.

"I don't think we've met before," she said as I sat down, "at least, I don't think I've seen you in my office. I'm Doctor G. What's your name?"

"Cinnamon Stick, ma'am."

She waved a hoof, "Oh there's no need to be so formal around me. I'm not one of the teachers. So, what brings you here?"

From there, I began to talk to her that I was miserable, how I was convinced that the entire world was out to get me, especially from my parents. Now, don't get me wrong, I wasn't much of a problem child that gets into constant trouble. My family, however, certainly treated me as such. I told her that growing up, I had to come straight home by five o'clock every day, which severely restricted my playtime. I wasn't allowed to go over to any of my friend's houses or over to mine. Apparently, my family cared more about being well-read than socializing. I told Dr. G that I had to finish my homework as soon as I got home from school, regardless of how long it took or what it was. My parents only bought me educational games and forced me to read books and immediately follow up with a book report to prove that I had indeed read them.

I explained to her that although those lists of rules were frustrating to grow up, that wasn't what upset me the most. If anything, it was the ice-cold way my parents had treated me; they had a lack of compassion. Mom constantly made me feel guilty over accidents – regardless if I caused them or not. And dad... well, I hardly saw him express much emotion towards me except disinterest or frustration; especially when the few times he did spoke to me was to yell at me for not passing on a test or proceeded to beat me for misbehaving.