Archive of Our Own ^beta

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"My therapist made me write this"

I'm not even quite sure if I am trying to convince myself with that statement. I've been going to therapy for roughly two years, and my therapist has told me that it would be a "brilliant" idea for me to begin journaling and putting down my thought's and feelings. So-- here I am. I doubt this will even do jack shit for me, and if you're reading this Mr.The-rapist-- I think you're a total phony. You do nothing but put me on medications that make me woozy and incapable of understanding my surroundings; however I feel like that's his whole goal. Maybe he wants me in a rough condition, making my parents believe he's healing me-- causing them to throw bucks at him like he was a stripper. Its rough, i wish my parents could wake up and realize this shit isn't working for me. I've tried to tell them plenty, but i always get the same damn response; "It will work, just give it time!" I've been going to this guy for two years-- and he can't even seem to dig his fingers through the crevices of my brain. He's tried everything, from CBT, Hospitals, Shocks, to just putting me on heavy medications. My parents don't realize but he has me on sedatives as well, but I don't take them; Seems the only benefit of a opioid addiction I've gotten was being able to read the labels and understand what's in medication. 

Well-, I SHOULD probably touch on that, however my sob story has to be the most boring thing you'll ever hear. Its even more sappy than Romeo and Juliet-- Just without the romance. You'll find out soon enough anyways, no big deal. Anyways I should probably get ready and throw on a lousy outfit that will cover up every little thing I fucking hate about myself. After years of torture caused by my brain, I have some serious "Evidence" of my pain and suffering. Showing any of my scars is like evidence being mailed to a judge-- and the judge is the public eye. My friends don't comment on it, but I often more than not feel their eyes lingering a little too long on the keloids that cover my wrists, or the dark track marks that cover my body. I used to inject a lot, and after getting caught a few times I got smarter when using. I'd inject on my hairline, the redness would hide behind my natural red locks. On my hairline has been my smartest move yet-- No has has seemed to notice yet. However-- before I got smarter, I'd shoot up in stupid fucking places. I'd do in between my arms which was too obvious, so I tried different places. I'd experiment with my armpit, and between my thigh. I stopped both of those places for two different reasons though. Maybe I'm getting in too much detail but whenever I shot up in my armpit -- I just didn't feel my buzz fast enough. It pissed me off badly, I felt like I was wasting my gold so--I stopped there. And as for my thigh, I got caught by it. I was about to have sex with my best friend that I had been dreaming about for the past years, but he saw the marks and that stopped VERY QUICKLY. The switch from getting dry humped to a pep talk about "Why my life matters" really did turn me off. We didnt end up fucking, and i ended up just letting him go. 

Anyways.. I put on my lousy outfit and cover myself up for the hell we all are forced to attend called school. My outfit consisted of jeans that hardly fit, they clung onto my hips hardly-- leaving enough room for a whole 'nother person. A white t-shirt and a baggy hoodie. I have to wear a binder since I am the definition of a phony man; i get told everyday, I am no man and that I act on illness, however I still choose to act on this illness; because I want to be happy and myself, not some...girl unhappy with myself forever.

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"Look at me getting off-topic.."

I mumble to myself. I'm ALWAYS mumbling; whether its to myself or some stupid snarky comment that slips out-- I'm always mumbling. After I got my outfit situation straightened out, it was now time to get breakfast. Eating the three meals a day was one of the hardest parts of my day-- to b quite frank I hated eating. If eating weren't required, I'd never eat a damn thing again. But. For the sake of being still alive, and not getting hospitalized again-- to the kitchen I shall travel. I walk to the kitchen, it's 63 steps away from my bedroom--however to get into the fridge is about 72 steps. My parents house is decently big I guess, I am aware were not poor by any means-- but i wouldn't say were quite rich either. There's this kid at my school-- Tolkien Black. His parents are definitely loaded, they live in the biggest house in South Park-- which is more like a damn castle. Honestly though, I do feel bad for the kid. I truly believe the fact that his family has more money than anyone else in the town actually distresses him. Once, I had seen him at K-Mart with his parents, spewing about how he got ripped on for having such luxury clothes at school- he wanted to blend in. Bless his parents souls, they talked him out and he got more comfortable at our school thank goodness. Anyways, I've seem to have gotten off topic again.

I wanted something simple to eat, but not heavy. I ended up grabbing eggs. I love the yolk to eggs, but not so much the whites; however the whites to egg did have less calories, and less cholesterol-- so that will be the only part of the egg I shall eat today. I allow my eggs to boil as I grab a clean pair of socks I always keep nearby the entrance door. I toss on the socks, getting comfortable in the tight grip they keep on my feet. Recently though, I do notice my clothes fit looser; Don't get me wrong-- I m a petite person. However, even my small clothes for most my age feels too big-- I watch the numbers on the scale drop down, my skin tightening over my bones, my clothes going from well fitted to clinging onto me. Sure it was slightly concerning, however it...felt good. Seeing my ribs flare as I lifted up my arms even slightly, my collarbones sharper than ever, hollow neck as I take a deep breathe. It make me feel special. When held, my friends can wrap their hands around my waist more tan not, most people thought it was impressive-- hot even; I needed someone to be impressed by something about me; and it was. My friends would go on rampage about how I were the standard for most girls, and that I should be the ideal woman a man should choose-- and most saying this were Kenny and Eric. They're both girl fuckin' crazy; but they can never hold a girl. God, I'm sure glad I'm not boasting about my stupid body anymore-- anyways. Kenny is hot shit at the school, senior must try! He lets honestly anybody hit. He's a great guy, funny, talented- But he has this habit. He always rambles about his dream girl, gothic, either hella' thin or hella' big; and that's the thing. We have a girl at the school that fits that description one-million and ten percent but apparently he is scared of committing to a monogamous relationship. god- this dipshit doesn't even know if she is poly or mono-- he just guessed. He has NO confidence when it comes to her-- her name is Henrietta by the way. But he'd pretty much tap anyone else. I do understand his popularity around the school though, he is a great sleep. I mean- is that a bad thing to admit? Sure; I'm his friend and it should stay that way but.. drugs do crazy things to you and the circumstances-- he's good and what he does, I'll give him some damn credit.

As for Eric fuckin' Cartman. God. I would love to say I have not been messing around with this fucktard, but that's not the truth. He's extremely irritating, aggravating. He also has that very tendency Ken' has; rambling about a dream girlfriend-- wanting a bitch to cook and clean while maintaining the skinniest weight ever possible. I don't get it; he's the fattest fucker I've ever met, yet he complains about women's weight. But; fuck.. Eric is definitely far from a bad lay.. and to be quite frank, I think he might've been my best lay ever. Something about mixing Antagonistic feelings and a mutual self centered ideologies makes up exquisite fuckin' sex; and I mean ethereal kind of sex. As I daydream about the pleasurable moments I have shared with Eric, my train of thought does get interrupted by a loud noise.

Baa-DINGG!!

It scared me to be honest, but hey-- It just meant my food was done. I walk over to the stove and grab the boiled eggs. I run the pot in cold water and grab two plates, my next plan? How to get rid of these egg whites without feelings guilty-- but as well as my family not suspecting me of getting rid of food I didn't even touch. I grab one egg, usually it takes about 12 seconds to peel each egg. I begin to peel the first egg, as I crack it, I allow it to run under the faucet to help slide off the shell. This is a tactic I had learned from my father when we were actually closely bonded. The shell slid off each conveniently, and I continued to do this for the last two eggs. I figured I could devil the egg yolk for my baby brother Ike-- he loved egg yolk deviled. My baby brother Ike, we are 7 years apart from each other. My parents adopted him from Canada after attempting for another child soon realizing they were incapable of having another one of me. They believed adoption from another country was more ethical than surrogacy-- and that every kid deserves a chance even if the kid wouldn't be theirs biologically. I still love him to death.. he's just turning into a pre-teenage fuckin' headache though. He's getting a rat stash, height, and a vocabulary that thrives on the words "fuck", "shit", and "ass." Still love him though. I end up finishing up the deviled yolk for Ike, and putting it in a bowl for him. I ended up writing a sticky note as well- to be fair I'm not even quite sure what I had written down. I believe it said something along the lines of "Eat up, you're welcome -dipshit."

Finally, that leaves me and my lousy meal ofthree egg whites and some pre-chopped cucumbers that I had hidden inside the fridge. I slowly ate my food, taking sips of water after every bite just incase I "needed" to purge it out later in the day. After finishing up my not-so-fulfilling breakfast, I quickly tossed on my shoes and checked the time; "6:23". Early. I reach up for my car keys and headed out the door. I quickly shuffled to my car and unlocked it, hopping into the front seat-- I was always an early bird-- and needed to be out the house by 6:30. It is at this point that I should probably mention I wear a bonnet, and to be quite honest I tend to forget I even wear one. Im sitting in my car, making sure I have everything I need for the day-- My backpack, chapstick, hair brush, Penjamin, hair brush...I forgot to brush my hair. I quickly pull out my hairbrush and went to pull my hair from behind my head to soon realize- "Ah. its all up." I quickly take off my bonnet and begin brushing, almost frantically brushing. Eventually my hair looks like a curly nightmare, but It'll have to do for the day. I check my watch again-- "6:29". Okay Kyle, time to get to school-- and stop at starbucks. just maybe.

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I pull up to Starbucks just in time-- right before the horrific morning rush. I need my coffee- badly.
I talk quietly, usually. I smiled as if the person behind the speaker could see me dissecting my order, and nervously push my hair behind my hair. "Hello? Oh yes, Hi! May I please get a Venti pink drink with 3 scoops of strawberry inclusion, 4 pumps of vanilla syrup, strawberry puree, and some matcha cream cold foam?" I finish my order and slightly face palm, my voice sounded so embarrassing-- so feminine.

Silence.

“Oh shit, Kyle?-- Kyle Broflovski?”

Oh my god...theres no way.. I hate being recognized-- and it's even more fucking horrific when you cannot tell who is the person that recognizes you. I'm just not praying its not Bradley or Scott- They're the type of people that talk their heads off once they recognize someone they're not even friends with-- burning time like a small match lit by another flame instead of a spark.

I nervously scratched my head, praying I could catch onto who it was before I pulled up to pay-- a part of me didn't want to admit it was me; but who else in this shitty town has poofy red hair and green eyes? I'm pretty much a walking street cone, I stand out. "That's me alright." I replied, I felt more quiet than I typically am-- and I am a quiet person. I let the car pulling up behind me conceal my voice, wanting to escape from this torturous interaction. Then from the speaker I got a loud:

"Pull up bro, I got 'chu!"

Who the Fuck did I know that spoke like that? It has to be either.. Kenny or Clyde. But as much as I wanted to drive over the plants and never come to Starbuck's again, I already began pressing on the gas pedal ever so slightly. I ended up coming to the window and letting out a deep breath, honestly preparing for the worst at this moment. As I looked up from my car window-- there he was. Kenny Mcfuckin'-Cormick.I loved this guy so much, but also it was just too fuckin' early to be singled out--by name. I didn't want to be a douche, he is my good friend- so instead of causing havoc I instead chose to be quite bogus with him-- even though I was quite happy to see him. I smiled very happily and as realistic as I could, my eyes wrinkling as I smiled and my voice going up a pitch-- just like a bitch who wanted to knock on a guys wood.

"Well I'd be damned to see you Ken, it's been quite the minute 'innit? How has life and earth been treating ya?"

I said probably as suave as I could. I wasn't trying to seduce him or anything, I just didn't want to seem opposing to his charming energy. Kenny seemed absolutely thrilled when I spoke, like he wanted to rip me from my seat and squish me half to death. His eyes crinkled as he wore a glowing smile and his eyebrows pointed downward-- he was genuinely happy. I think that caught me in a bluff for a brief moment because I had genuinely began to smile for a moment, forgetting about my coffee and the impatient Starbucks line waiting right behind me. Unfortunately, I got caught up in the moment-- and when that happens it just seems I can't help but become genuinely intrigued by everything as person has to say. Every words Kenny said was like threads to stitches, and he was healing up my broken wounds; however that didn't last very long when I got honked at by the person behind me--turns out I'd been hogging up Kenny for a good 13 minutes, and I was now behind on my schedule as well. Eventually our conversation  had to be wrapped in temporary bandages, and I told him to contact me after school-- God did that make my morning. I did miss him; A lot. Kenny had left South Park High to raise and take care of his younger sister Karen ever since his parents got arrested. He's been working a few shifts, and goes to an alternative school now. I try my best to communicate to him, but my best isn't enough. I'm sure Kenny will call me after school, once he's out of work-- maybe we can even make plans. Kyle- you're getting ahead of yourself. Get your ass to school.