It isn't really that fun, you know. Dying, I mean. It sounds stupid to say, but then again - how many people have done it and been able to tell you about it? I've honestly lost track of how many times it's been – 76 was the last I remember, but that was a few years ago.

The first few times weren't so bad. Actually, for a while, it was awesome. Coming back the next day meant I could get away with almost anything and not have to worry about what happened to me. I'd just end up back in my bed the next morning like nothing had happened.

I'm fairly sure I'm supposed to stay dead, but Damien keeps kicking me out of Hell. He says he doesn't want me around because I'm "too much of a distraction for him to deal with" and "too hard to keep in line". I didn't know they had rules in Hell. The things you learn. I find this all very amusing, considering where it's coming from. I guess until he decides putting up with me isn't so bad, I'll be making semi-frequent trips back and forth.

I know it's got something to do with the one time I caught him with Pip – who should never be in Hell in the first place – because, while I'm sure his father is understanding, I don't quite think Damien's allowed to just drag whoever he feels like down to entertain himself with. Even if said British boy is enjoying it. Thoroughly. Apparently there are some places in Hell I should not wander in to, and Damien's room happens to be one of them. Who knew?

In all honesty, staying dead wouldn't be so bad. It would mean getting away from the shit I put up with here. Of course, not dying at all would be fine too, but can it just be one or the other? It's starting to be a pain in the ass, and I'm getting kind of bored.

Not to mention, life is pretty difficult when you're not there all the time. I do well in school (shocking, I know) but it's difficult to keep my grades up when I'm dead for 3 out of five days of the week. Doing well in school is the only chance I have of getting anywhere in life – because it's not like I can afford college – so… really, life? Can we make this work?

The random deaths aren't so bad – getting hit by a bus, getting shot, being crushed to death. They hurt like all hell, but it's usually pretty instant - and at least it's all unintentional. But try having your back smashed in with a hammer. That's a load of fun. Or having a hot iron smashed on to your face. Shit like that is a blast, really, and I seem to be the only one that gets to enjoy it. Repeatedly.

The hammer? My dad, one night while he was drunk. It happens a lot – him getting drunk, I mean – but it usually doesn't go that far. I mean, he's hit me before, and I've been kicked a few times, but it never really goes beyond that. The least he could have done that time was kill me, but I guess he just didn't feel like it. Or maybe the guilt set in. Or maybe the scotch finally brought him to the point where he couldn't function. Who knows. All I know is that it fucking hurt. In any case, it was the first time I ever killed myself, because who the fuck wants to sit around in that much pain? I definitely don't. Luckily the house is a trash heap, so it wasn't hard to find something to do it with. Shard of glass? Hello new best friend, meet my neck.

After that time, I realized killing yourself works very well when you want to get out of things. Especially when you don't have to worry about actually dying. So I tried it out a couple more times. A couple gunshots to the side of my head, jumping off the side of a building. Worked pretty well. A lot faster than a hammer and a piece of broken glass, that's for sure.

I think the thing that bothers me the most is that everyone knows. Not that I think they know it's like this, not to this extent. But come on - there's not a person in this town that doesn't realize my parents are alcoholics. My friends never did anything about it, or said anything, although I don't entirely blame them . Even if they'd told someone, it's not like anyone here would do anything about it. They'd just shrug it off like they do with the rest of the problems we have in this fucked up town.

Part of the problem is that they realized it when we were younger, and at that point they couldn't do much of anything. And now that we're older, it's just another thing we've gotten used to. Besides, it's not like I'm the only one – Butters doesn't have the best home life, and I know Craig's moving out soon. And I know the rest of us have issues of some kind, too. It's sad that things like this are normal to us. But we deal with it.

Kevin moved out a couple of years ago. I don't blame him, I'd get out now if I could. But I know if I leave, it'll mean leaving Karen at home, alone with my parents, and I could never do that to her. They've left her alone this long – mostly because they know if they leave marks on her they're not going to go away – but I'm not trusting them any more than I do.

But you know – I'm poor as fuck, and unlike my brother who doesn't die every 3 days, it's hard for me to hold down any kind of job. So chances of me being able to save the money and get the hell out of here are almost non-existent anyway.

Still, I spend more time out than I do at home.

Eric told me I could stay at his place – surprising as fuck, I know. I guess having him as a best friend isn't entirely bad. Eric doesn't just offer that to anyone. I stayed there a couple times, but I didn't want to be a problem for anyone other than my parents. I still ended up on random couches some nights – Clyde's, Kevin's, Stan's (but never Kyle's, his mother would never have that.) I even got a bed on occasions, especially when I stayed over at Bebe's. But those nights were tricky, and climbing up the side of someone's house at 2am isn't the easiest thing to do. Not that it's easier any other time of the day, really, but it's certainly not as noticeable while it's pitch black outside and everyone's asleep. God knows if I'd gotten caught I'd have been beaten harder than my father could have ever hit me.

I did stay at Eric's most often though, and Liane's pretty much like a second mom to me now. Even if she still fucks up sometimes, I know she tries. She's a million times better than my mom ever was, and the fact that she cares is good enough for me.

And hey, it's not like she's bad to look at.

In any case, I know it's not going to change – not anytime soon, at least. We're all just going to go on with our lives like nothing's wrong – like everything's normal and none of us have problems – and we'll see how long we can go on for. Because I know for me, even if I don't want it to, it's going to be a while longer. And there's no way to get away from it.

This is the first thing I've written in... 5-6 years? I decided to get back into writing once I found a fandom I could play around with a bit more, and... it led to this. I love fics with death/abuse/all that cliche stuff that everyone hates, which is why mine turn out depressing and... well, like this. I could definitely use tips on improving, so if you feel like you can offer me anything, please do.

Thanks for reading!