Every time I tell you that I hate you, it's a lie.
I know you wouldn't believe it if I told you. I wouldn't, either, if I were in your position. That's why I don't say anything.
Sure, I've accidentally slipped up once or twice, but then I have to play it off as just fucking with your mind. Wouldn't be beyond me.
Every time you tell me that you hate me, it's the truth.
I really do realize that I'm an attention-grabbing asswipe. If I were sent to a decent therapist, they'd diagnose me with sociopathy, claim that I was doing all my actions for attention, and then hand me a jar of pills that were supposed to help somehow.
You know exactly what I am. And that's why you hate me.
Once again, I don't blame you.
You're the most intelligent person I know, and you always have been. That's one of the things that made me interested in you. You weren't a complete moron, unlike everyone else here. But did you know my actual thoughts?
Probably not. Or, hell, maybe you did, and you just didn't want to bring any of it up. Just keep it silent, it's as good as a no.
Another thing that always made you special was that you were able to put me in my place. I know. Contradictory, but...you were one of the only people that could. I don't know why. You've outwitted me, outfought me, and yet even if I'm about to win at something, I deliberately fuck it up because your smile is more important at my own expense.
It's kind of funny, actually. When I first realized all of this, I hated myself for it. Why you? Why not someone else? It didn't matter that you were a guy. I probably would've felt the same no matter what. But the fact that it was you, someone I'd see every day, someone I'd have to force my words, deliberately push myself to be what you'd expect...
It hurt. A lot.
I'd gone on the internet after a few days of dealing with it. Perhaps they'd have a way. Perhaps someone would be able to tell me how to solve this problem. Maybe make it all go away. I asked everywhere. Yahoo Answers, those shitty relationship-based tumblr blogs, and when that all fell short, I even signed up for a forum and posted a whole topic on it. Don't worry, I changed your name.
They all said that I should try to be kinder. Try to improve how I was around you. And I tried. I really, really did. But as you know, I'm more flawed than anyone else in the world, and that kinda bit me in the ass. The one time when I thought that we could be reasonably close...
You started dating her.
It wasn't my place, I know. For the most part, I had good intentions. I'd find her someone else, and I'd be able to finally get my words out into the open.
I think you hated me more than ever after that.
So we stayed the same.
Even then, there was an 'I love you' hidden amongst all the 'I hate you', there was a 'I need you' behind every 'leave me alone', there was every sort of fucking emotion behind 'I don't care.' Not that anyone could tell. I couldn't exactly tell anyone. Any dirt on me would spread through the whole town, and then it'd get back to you, and where would I be then?
Those thoughts were all when we were younger. As we grew up, we all kind of changed. There was our little cynic, our even-more-raunchy immortal (I know you won't understand that part, don't mind it too much), you, and I. We all stayed together, as we had before.
Remember that one time that we all got drunk at Kenny's place and I ended up falling asleep on your lap after telling you that I loved you? Or, perhaps, that one time when your parents were too busy with your little brother to go to one of your basketball games, and I was the only person that managed to come to it?
I guess I'm kind of obvious at times.
Even if you were to accept my feelings, there wouldn't be much problem with my family. My mom likes you. But yours...
It's safe to say that I've earned a spot on your mom's shitlist after the whole song-and-dance number. (Even if it was a while ago. I swear she still glares at me whenever I pass by your house.) So I don't think they'd take to any of it well, even if I forced myself to be the most polite and cordial person on Earth.
We'd probably break up every week, and get back together the next, which is what everyone would expect. I...I don't fucking know, alright? It's been this thing, for years, where I get these dumbass feelings and I don't know what to do. When that happens, you look at me, and I freeze up. It's almost physically impossible to speak, and then when I finally manage to speak, I burst out with something horribly offensive that I beat myself up over later.
I've wanted to protect you, but from what? Myself? You'd have a much better life otherwise.
I try to make you smile, but it always comes at my own expense and anyone who I rope into whatever I'm trying to do to let you play the hero. I think Butters actually has caught on by now, but, hey, he's not saying anything.
But, all things considered, I'm the villain, and you're the hero. That's all there is to it. I can't change that, it's set in stone.
I've seen your girlfriend. She's pretty. Really beautiful. Plus, she's nice to pretty much everyone, and that's something I could never manage. She's perfect for you, and I'm...I'm happy. For you both. That's why I should've stopped before I even wrote this, and if I don't throw this away, I'm just contradicting myself, because we both know I'm jealous as all hell.
But if she's the one that makes you happy, then I can't do anything about that. Please, stay happy. If not for my sake, for your own. That's all I really want for you.
And don't let me stop you. But...I'll just tell you what I've always wanted to say to you.
Ich liebe dich.
See, even now I'm too cowardly to say it in a way you'd understand. Let me try again.
I love you, Kyle. If this email actually arrives and you read it, it'd probably be best for you to ignore it. But...I just wanted you to know. I love you. I probably always will.
You're one of the few things I have left. Please don't treat me any differently now that you know all of this...but...I had to tell you. Before I snapped.
I'll...I'll just end it here.
See you at school tomorrow.
- Cartman