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My name is Stan Marsh. I am 17 years old and pretty fucked up. I’m a drunky, but I’m not an alcoholic, I swear. I’m not my piece of shit dad (…right?). He doesn’t care about me, and my poor mom had more fights with him than fights at my school. She and Shelly are gone now, so it’s even worse with Dad.
Moving on from my pathetic family, I have this really amazing super best friend, Kyle Broflovski. He’s the best friend anyone could ever ask for. Scratch that, it isn’t true. I’ve never said “I do not mind him much” when someone mentions him. However, when someone mentions him, or his mere presence, makes my skin crawl. Not in disgust or displeasure, but in admiration and…attraction. Yes, I li-actually no. I would never treat him like my ex, Wendy. I liked Wendy. But I do not like Kyle. I love Kyle. He’s my first love, and my only love. I fell headfirst. A leap to my ultimate death. A fall that gives me broken wrists, where I cannot climb the walls.
I am so fucking selfish. Can I tell a sick joke? Alcoholics don’t get far. And that’s what I am bound to become. A sick, selfish, self-pitying alcoholic. Let’s go for a ride! I can already envision myself on the road, about to pass out from my ninth shot of vodka. I hope I crash. How could I ever tell Kyle how I feel? He’ll be fucking nauseated. “You’re messed up, Stanley Marsh. I’m not sorry, never talk to me again, you’re fucking disgusting. How could you ruin something as good as our friendship over your pathetic feelings?” I could never tell him. I can’t ruin what we have for something as stupid as this. But I can’t take it anymore. My friends don’t care. Not even Kyle at this point. He won’t talk to me, not until I’m “better”. He told me to “work on myself”. The problem is, I don’t know how. Every time I try, I fail. That’s what I always do. That’s what I am, a failure, to my family, to my friends, even to my dead dog from years ago. Dad hates me for the Tegridy Farms incident, Mom and Shelly are dead, Kenny found new friends, Kyle won’t talk to me, and Cartman is his usual asshole self. I have no one to talk to, to help me. Even if I did, even when I did, I didn’t let them help me. I’m the cause of my own suffering.
The forbidden thoughts enter my mind. I had been smoking weed earlier and decided to put the world on pause for a while. I grabbed my pills, alcohol from my emergency stash, and started chugging. The more I drank, the more I got closer to the conclusion. Tonight is the night. I’ll drink to my death, die for everyone and die for my “friends”. I write this all down on a letter while everything becomes slightly hazy. I decide I’m not going to lie until the end. I write one last thing at the bottom of the letter.
“i’m sorry kyle. i fucking love you so much”.
As i grab the pill bottle, one thing repeats in my mind.
my skin crawls
my skin crawls
my s k i n c r a w l s
m y s k i n c r a w l s
m y s ki n c rawl s
………
m y…