Dear tracker,
Do you ever feel like a ghost?
You know. Just an invisible mess leaving behind trails of ectoplasm wherever you go? That's me! After the um...the 'tragic' death of my parents, Tweek and Craig suggested I go to a therapist. It's nice that they care for me, even if I don't deserve it half of the time. Anyway, the therapist gave me what I call ' happy pills'. They're anti-depressants really. The work in a way that it balances the neurotransmitters in my brain. They were working, just not as good as they were supposed to. So recently, she took me off them. I feel like a RAGING PILE OF FUCKING GARBAGE! Apparently this would be a 'preferred alternative'. She thinks I'm too young. That's why it didn't work. The pills top heavy the neurotransmitters just making me worse. I learnt all this in therapy. I don't know why it gets such a bad rep. I still don't get how I can go to school tomorrow. I'll figure out.
23/07/18
Butters stotch's POV:
I tear my hand from the tiny red book. I like it, and hate it. That's a problem for me in a lot of ways. I'm always so tempted to spilling ever last dirty detail in there, but I cant. There's a lot of things no one, not even my therapist, knows. I let out a yawn fall backwards onto my head from the counter top. I hiss and lie there. The longer I stare at the ceiling, the more deformed it gets. It scares me. It thrills me. A broken refection of me appears. It whispers about how good everything could be if I took my pills. All at once. I sit up with shivers down my spine. It happens all the time, yet it still scares the absolute shit out of my body. I sat lifelessly for a good 30 minuets or so when I heard my loud ass door ring. I tumble downstairs leaving new, fresh bruises against my pale ass skin. I sigh and reach for the door.
It swings open unexpectedly and nearly took off my whole face. I say that as if I would care. Behind the mass killer door is a familiar face. My best friend since... since a few weeks ago! I raise an eyebrow.
" W-what are you doing here?" I queried, Wait why'd I stutter.
" Um just checking up. Not talked in a while. Can I come in, it's cold." He demonstrated that last part by wrapping his forearm around his elbow. I sigh and smile.
" Sure thing fella!" I grin, sickly sweet. I hate when I say fellas. I mutter something inaudibly. He follows me to the living room. The couch is small and rugged, so we take a seat on the floor. In the corner, I see him by his orange parka fidgeting relentlessly. I put an arm over his chest.
" Ugh just stop." I groan. He looked back at me in confusion. It's because I'm never one to tell someone to stop nevertheless in such a tone. I don't know why, but I smirked triumphantly in his face. Either way he stopped. I turned the news on. It was about suicide. Yay. I'm not tuning in until I hear a familiar name.
" As today a young boy known as Scott Malkinson.." I gasp in disbelief, covering my face in shame.
" H-hey what's wrong?" He carefully pried my face from my hands. Clear tears fell onto his hands. He turned the source of the pain off.
" I need to go." I got up but he pulled me back down. My hearts began to fall ever so slowly to my stomach.
" Tell me please. I-I'll help you." His voice was so smooth it was gnawing at my heart. My knees buckled and I fell into his arms.
" T-that bo-boy.. I s-saw hi-m h-urting himse-lf ... I S-aid. I-I'll he-lp you th-through thi-s. I f-ailed h-him.. he's-he's..." My face gradually turned to blank TV. I took a look at my reflection except. It wasn't me there. It was that boy. His body's thin and scarred as his face. What can I even say... His eyes look like a drab day in autumn. Nothing alive anymore. His hope must've been stripped from him a long time ago. I stop crying. I growl and turn to McCormick. My fists balled and teeth gritting.
" You. Need. To. LEAVE!" I screeched at him. He nodded his head and left the room. I hugged myself. I'll never see him again. Why am I such a screw up? Why do people leave me? Why do people love me? Why am I me? Just God why... I grasp a pillow and project my anger and fear on to it. The end result is a torn apart piece of fabric with stuffing that's soggy from tears. I dug for my blade underneath the couch. There was already an array of them on my forearm. I smiled and dragged the blade across each 10 more times. Each mistake equals 10. No matter what. It's the same as a dad hitting a kid for 'discipline', isn't it though?
I peer out the living room to see Kenny in the corridor. He sees me and instinctively I hug him.
" I'm sorry... I know you didn't come here just to see me break down, did ya?" I chuckle. He bits his lip in a concerned manner as he draws his hand across my blonde hair.
" That's what I wanted to talk about. Craig told me that your off those pills. I wanna do everything in my power to make you feel better." He murmured, picking me up. I was pissed off and so happy.
" So if I was still on them or if Craig kept is mouth shut then-then you wouldn't have come." I was purposely digging to piss him off. I don't know why. He shook his head and laughed. I did too. Again, no reason why.
" Butters don't you talk to charlotte anymore? She seems to make you happy." He asks with the slightest, and I mean tiny, amount of distain in his voice.
" A-always busy. That or she hates me.." I lay my head in the crook of his neck. He tuts and says that's no way for a good girlfriend to act. I giggled.
" Ken can you t-tuck me in? And r-read me to b-" Before I finished the rest of that embarrassing request McCormick was already on his way upstairs and into my room. He softly laid me down and raised my fluffy covers up to my neck.
" What story?" He asks. There's 4 to choose from.
" Um... My big sister takes drugs?" I suggested.
" Wooh! Someone's trying to get nightmares." He smiled. He pulled the beige book out and sat down reading it out.
3rd Person's POV:
A while had passed by. Kenny had finished and Butters was fast asleep. He laid a gentle but rapid kiss on his forehead before leaving.
" Don't let th-the monster hurt me..." Butters whimpered.
Dear tracker,
Do you ever feel like a ghost?
You know. Just an invisible mess leaving behind trails of ectoplasm wherever you go? That's me! After the um...the 'tragic' death of my parents, Tweek and Craig suggested I go to a therapist. It's nice that they care for me, even if I don't deserve it half of the time. Anyway, the therapist gave me what I call ' happy pills'. They're anti-depressants really. The work in a way that it balances the neurotransmitters in my brain. They were working, just not as good as they were supposed to. So recently, she took me off them. I feel like a RAGING PILE OF FUCKING GARBAGE! Apparently this would be a 'preferred alternative'. She thinks I'm too young. That's why it didn't work. The pills top heavy the neurotransmitters just making me worse. I learnt all this in therapy. I don't know why it gets such a bad rep. I still don't get how I can go to school tomorrow. I'll figure out.
23/07/18
Butters stotch's POV:
I tear my hand from the tiny red book. I like it, and hate it. That's a problem for me in a lot of ways. I'm always so tempted to spilling ever last dirty detail in there, but I cant. There's a lot of things no one, not even my therapist, knows. I let out a yawn fall backwards onto my head from the counter top. I hiss and lie there. The longer I stare at the ceiling, the more deformed it gets. It scares me. It thrills me. A broken refection of me appears. It whispers about how good everything could be if I took my pills. All at once. I sit up with shivers down my spine. It happens all the time, yet it still scares the absolute shit out of my body. I sat lifelessly for a good 30 minuets or so when I heard my loud ass door ring. I tumble downstairs leaving new, fresh bruises against my pale ass skin. I sigh and reach for the door.
It swings open unexpectedly and nearly took off my whole face. I say that as if I would care. Behind the mass killer door is a familiar face. My best friend since... since a few weeks ago! I raise an eyebrow.
" W-what are you doing here?" I queried, Wait why'd I stutter.
" Um just checking up. Not talked in a while. Can I come in, it's cold." He demonstrated that last part by wrapping his forearm around his elbow. I sigh and smile.
" Sure thing fella!" I grin, sickly sweet. I hate when I say fellas. I mutter something inaudibly. He follows me to the living room. The couch is small and rugged, so we take a seat on the floor. In the corner, I see him by his orange parka fidgeting relentlessly. I put an arm over his chest.
" Ugh just stop." I groan. He looked back at me in confusion. It's because I'm never one to tell someone to stop nevertheless in such a tone. I don't know why, but I smirked triumphantly in his face. Either way he stopped. I turned the news on. It was about suicide. Yay. I'm not tuning in until I hear a familiar name.
" As today a young boy known as Scott Malkinson.." I gasp in disbelief, covering my face in shame.
" H-hey what's wrong?" He carefully pried my face from my hands. Clear tears fell onto his hands. He turned the source of the pain off.
" I need to go." I got up but he pulled me back down. My hearts began to fall ever so slowly to my stomach.
" Tell me please. I-I'll help you." His voice was so smooth it was gnawing at my heart. My knees buckled and I fell into his arms.
" T-that bo-boy.. I s-saw hi-m h-urting himse-lf ... I S-aid. I-I'll he-lp you th-through thi-s. I f-ailed h-him.. he's-he's..." My face gradually turned to blank TV. I took a look at my reflection except. It wasn't me there. It was that boy. His body's thin and scarred as his face. What can I even say... His eyes look like a drab day in autumn. Nothing alive anymore. His hope must've been stripped from him a long time ago. I stop crying. I growl and turn to McCormick. My fists balled and teeth gritting.
" You. Need. To. LEAVE!" I screeched at him. He nodded his head and left the room. I hugged myself. I'll never see him again. Why am I such a screw up? Why do people leave me? Why do people love me? Why am I me? Just God why... I grasp a pillow and project my anger and fear on to it. The end result is a torn apart piece of fabric with stuffing that's soggy from tears. I dug for my blade underneath the couch. There was already an array of them on my forearm. I smiled and dragged the blade across each 10 more times. Each mistake equals 10. No matter what. It's the same as a dad hitting a kid for 'discipline', isn't it though?
I peer out the living room to see Kenny in the corridor. He sees me and instinctively I hug him.
" I'm sorry... I know you didn't come here just to see me break down, did ya?" I chuckle. He bits his lip in a concerned manner as he draws his hand across my blonde hair.
" That's what I wanted to talk about. Craig told me that your off those pills. I wanna do everything in my power to make you feel better." He murmured, picking me up. I was pissed off and so happy.
" So if I was still on them or if Craig kept is mouth shut then-then you wouldn't have come." I was purposely digging to piss him off. I don't know why. He shook his head and laughed. I did too. Again, no reason why.
" Butters don't you talk to charlotte anymore? She seems to make you happy." He asks with the slightest, and I mean tiny, amount of distain in his voice.
" A-always busy. That or she hates me.." I lay my head in the crook of his neck. He tuts and says that's no way for a good girlfriend to act. I giggled.
" Ken can you t-tuck me in? And r-read me to b-" Before I finished the rest of that embarrassing request McCormick was already on his way upstairs and into my room. He softly laid me down and raised my fluffy covers up to my neck.
" What story?" He asks. There's 4 to choose from.
" Um... My big sister takes drugs?" I suggested.
" Wooh! Someone's trying to get nightmares." He smiled. He pulled the beige book out and sat down reading it out.
3rd Person's POV:
A while had passed by. Kenny had finished and Butters was fast asleep. He laid a gentle but rapid kiss on his forehead before leaving.
" Don't let th-the monster hurt me..." Butters whimpered.
/ Yes my big sister takes drugs is a real book/