"Do not fall in love with people like me.

I will take you to museums, and parks, and monuments, and kiss you in every beautiful place, so that you can never go back to them without tasting me like blood in your mouth.

I will destroy you in the most beautiful way possible. And when I leave, you will finally understand why storms are named after people."

― Caitlyn Siehl

"I'm honestly a strong guy. Both in mentality and physicality. But never, have I ever felt so weak. Felt so awful.

I suppose I should start from the beginning. My name is Kyle Robert Broflovski, I'm a Jewish redhead who just had to fall in love with the resident Nazi-Ginger-Hater-Fat-ass, and I totally didn't expect him to break my heart into a million fucking pieces, right? And I totally didn't expect him to leave me for my some mystery guy.

So now, my life is falling apart. My husband left me. My best friend, who I thought would be here for support, is in fucking Kokomo with his wife for an extended "no contact with outside forces" vacation; my son has run away in search of his father, and I just...can't. I feel like killing myself, and I just don't understand why this all had to happen to me now?! What did I do to deserve this?! Does God hate me?!"

The curly haired Jewish man sat on the blue striped fabric couch, his eyes teary and red. He looked good, as always, in his posh, upscale blue suit with the black velvet on the inside, and that one tie Eric got for him overseas one year. He straightened his tie, pushed his black socked feet deeper into his shoes and crossed his legs while his therapist took in his rant and wrote notes.

"W-Well, Kyle, can I call you Kyle?" The blonde therapist took the silence as confirmation. "You need to relax and think 'what have I done to make this happen? How can I fix it?' then we can work this out, together." The man smiled with genuine affection in attempts to affirm the poor man who'd come into his office forty-five minutes prior.

The redhead sighed with exasperation and dug his thin white fingers into his thick jungle of curls. "That's the thing! I haven't done anything different in the past sixth months that's changed how Eric feels! That's when he started acting weird. He works as the district manager for an insurance company, so he usually came home around 6, but he started coming home later. First it was 6. Then 7. Then 8. Then 9. I could rarely see him. He started leaving on 'business trips', and wouldn't phone for days. And when he'd come home, he was just...really distant. I mean, I was stressed what with all the cases I've had to deal with, and Jack needing help in his schoolwork definitely wasn't easing my stress. But him being there helped, ya know? I just...I don't know." His eyes were watering profusely, and his nose was slightly running. The blonde therapist across from him scrambled for the box of Kleenex behind his desk, making sure to pick up a notebook on his way back to his blue striped armchair.

"N-Now, Kyle, I'm going to give you this notebook, and you write anything you want. Your favorite color, puppies, kittens, anything. Now, our hour's almost up, so I'm gonna finish my notes, and you can go book an appointment with Laura, okay?" The man smiled, his eyes crinkling. He wrote long and slow for what seemed like forever, then rose and shook the quite shaken red-head's hand.

"Thank you, Doctor Stotch."

"No problem, Kyle." He smiled again as his patient walked out the door and down the hall.

The notebook was simple- spiral bound, with a yellow cardboard front, and 70 pages inside. He tapped it unconsciously as he drove, his fingers itching with unpracticed grace to open up the flimsy, cheap book and write until his fingers cried out in pain. He drove for what felt like forever, the rain hitting the windows made everything seem even gloomier than they were before.

He managed to find his way back to South Park, having driven to North Park for his appointment, and back to the house his husband had grown up in all those years ago.

He walked up the small steps,stepping over the one that gave out a little every time your foot so much as brushed it, and opened up the dark brown door, all the heat from the inside going out, and the smells of home into his nostrils. No one was home, like always.

"Ahhh, Cheesy Poofs and tears, my favorite." His eyes were still bloodshot from all the tears, including the ones he sported in the car. He scanned the living room until he spotted what he needed on top of his son's unfinished homework. "Great, a pencil." Without the residual creak of age in his bones, he lowered himself onto same seat he had sat in only a week prior with his whole family and wrote until the early hours of the next day.

Okay, hi. I think I'll do the A/N at the end, as to not ruin the flow of the story. Basically, the next chapters will be journal entries. I'm not sure how long they're gonna be, but I'm adament on actually finishing this. I feel like this is a pretty decent story, and I want major feels. So, please, fav/follow/review.

I love getting those in my email- it makes me happier than you know! Literally, whenever I see "Fanfiction: Story Review/Favorite/Follow", my heart skips a beat. Please don't laugh at me for that.-. So, please don't reject me, I can't take it! Please accept me as your God and leader. ;-;

Also, shout out to MajusculeMilqueToast. She's freaking cool as hell and writes really good stories. She's like a crazy assed Creek shipper, too.

Okay, that's it.

-Zaki-Chan

P.S: Question: What's your favorite South Park ship? I'm kinda torn on Cartyde and Kyman. I love Creek, but not as much as those. Everyone wants Cartman. Everyone. EVERYONE.

P.P.S: I don't care what Matt and Trey say- Cartman has the biggest dick in the game.

Okay, now I'm done. Bye