The chapter title "Jewfro" is making fun of Kyle's fluffy afro. In the movie The 40 Year Old Virgin there is a portion where the main character, Andy, takes his girlfriend's daughter to a free clinic and there's a Jewish boy who thinks he's all that. His dad makes fun of him, saying he has a "jewfro"

This chapter is depressing, but I think it's beautiful. I try really hard to make this story awesome, it's my first angst story and I wanted it to be depressing, but REAL. I researched bulimia and clinical depression and talked to a lot of people and I tried to put myself in the head of Cartman in this situation.

The songs were chosen by me because I thought they fit into the breaks in the story. I am working and reworking these chapters to death. I tend to write parts of this story when they come to me, regardless of where I am in the story, but then I save them and work them into my current chapter as I write it, that's why the chapters take so long to be produced.

OH! I haven't done this before, but I felt that I should. Self-abuse is a horrible downward spiral that does you no good. Bulimia and anorexia are DISEASES and if you suffer from either of these, you should look for some help, my darlings. I want you to be safe little kidlets. Cutting yourself does you no good either, I know this one personally. So if you need a person who can't be there to judge you, I'm here, tell me your story, I'll help you as much as I can. I can't judge you. I can't do anything except be the ear you need and the advice you want. Love you all!

Main Pair: Eric/Kyle
Secondary Pair: Stan/Wendy
Featured Pairs: Kyle/Rebecca, Bebe/Clyde
Mentioned Pairs: Tweek/Craig, Butters/Token

Warnings: In this story, Eric becomes bulimic and begins cutting. There is mention of homosexuality, sex, violence, and abuse. This story is all about angst. So deal. There is a lot of focus on recovery and self-mutilation, both physical and emotional. Those with weak stomachs should not read this.

Dedications:This story is dedicated to every reader and reviewer. It is dedicated to every person who has ever forced themselves to vomit or cut. To every person whose parent has ever struck him. To every person who has ever been abused at school for simply being themselves. This is for you. This is to let you know, you are not alone. There is always someone out there who wants it to improve for you. I am here for you.

South Park © Trey Parker and Matt Stone

Songs:

"Overkill" by Colin Hay
"Return To Self Loathing" by Mest

Chapter Three: Jewfro

Life is a tube that is spiraling downward. It lets out into a huge pile of maggot-infested manure; and as you sit in the pile of stinking shit, trying to pull the chunks of it from your hair, you realize there are maggots attached to you because by the time you get all the crap out of your brain, you're dead.

I feel emo today…

I'm a failure as a teen, as a son, as a student, as a friend, and as a human being. No one will ever want me for who I am because I am repulsive.

I disgust myself…

Slowly, I feel my sanity slip through my fingers like water trickling through a strainer. I watch if filter down the drain and wonder where it goes to.

I'm sorry…

I can't get to sleep

I think about the, implications

I'm diving in too deep

And possibly the complications

Especially at night…

I worry over situations

I know will be alright

Perhaps its just imagination

Day after day, it reappears

Night after night, my heartbeat shows the fear

Ghosts appear and fade away

Come back another day…

I unlocked the door to my house, when I opened it, the sharp scent of sex and meat hit my nose. I crinkled it up, trying to block out the odor…

I let my backpack slide off my shoulder and onto the floor. I kicked the door shut behind me and unzipped my red coat, pulling it off and tossing it on top of my discarded bag. I trotted through the yellow living room and into the kitchen where a huge plate of oversized pork chops and potatoes were soaked in gravy. The food was piled so high it was falling off the plate. The whole thing was wrapped in saran wrap, with a small pink note folded on top. I picked the note and unfolded it. I frowned as I read my mother's winding script.

Dear Poopsykins,

I have to work tonight, sweetie, so I made my little man some dinner. Remember to eat it all and go to bed on time. I love you!

Love, Mommy

I snorted. The woman was impossible. She acted all smiley and sweet all the time, but she was really just a disgrace. She was a whore and I always felt like she didn't understand what she was doing to me. She thought that feeding me would solve all my problems, not realizing that it created more.

I always liked to translate her notes to me into what I thought they meant.

Dear Fatass,

I am going to fuck half the town for cash. So I'm gonna shove food into your fat mouth so you can get even fatter. Go to bed so I don't have to look at you when I get home. I love you.

Love, The Whore

I sighed; I wasn't all that hungry… but, maybe eating a little would soothe my pain. I picked up the plate and tossed it in the microwave, punching some buttons. While it heated, I grabbed a paper towel, a fork, and the salt shaker and threw them on the table. I opened the refrigerator and snatched a Coke, kicking the door shut as I turned around.

When the small ding indicated the completion of my meal, I pressed the open button and moved my hand aside as the microwave's plastic door swung open. I grabbed the warm plate and tugged off the saran wrap, tossing it on the counter. I pushed the microwave door closed.

I carefully balanced the salt on the corner of my plate. Tucking my Coke under my chin, I snatched my utensil in my other hand and walked into the living room, shuffling around Mr. Kitty as she wound through my legs, mewling for food. You'd think we never fed the thing…

I flopped onto the couch and put my feet up on the oak coffee table in front of me. I grabbed the remote from its home, wedged in between the pillows on the couch and flipped the television on, absentmindedly channel surfing. I dumped salt over my dripping pork chops and mashed potatoes, ignoring it completely if I missed the food and poured salt on my legs instead, what did I care? I was disgusting, anyway…

I popped off the pop tab and was greeted with the pleasant fizz of carbonated, caffeinated, liquid sugar. I took a sip of Coke and set the can on the table next to my feet.

As I watched TV I ate without noticing what I was putting into my mouth or how much. Mr. Kitty had fallen asleep at my side, her fuzzy gray head rubbing into the side of my leg. Her soft breath was barely audible over the television. I was watching Dawson's Creek. I glowered at the actors. All of them were so beautiful, so smart, so funny… so… thin.

The more they flaunted their unattainable beauty in front of my eyes, the more food I stuffed into my mouth, eating without tasting it.

Before I realized what I'd done, I was scooping an empty spoon into my mouth. I snapped back to reality and looked down. The entire plate was cleared. I chastised myself. I had just eaten at least two pounds of food. I disgusted myself! In a fit of anger, I tossed the plate on the floor, startling Mr. Kitty with the clatter. She quickly regained composure and went to lick the tiny reminisce of gravy from the plate on the floor.

Angrily, I pushed myself up and stomped up the stairs, the pounding shook the house. I went to my bathroom door and slammed it open. I walked to the mirror. I stared at my reflection.

I cursed myself. I cursed my fat face. I cursed my slimy brown hair. I cursed my piggy eyes and round nose. I cursed the rolls of flab that draped off my sides. I cursed myself for all that I was and all that I had become. A jerk, an idiot, a fatass…

Tears stung my hazel eyes as I glared at my reflection. "I hate you…" I glowered at my face, my blood began to boil; I gripped the sink, leaning into the mirror. "I HATE YOU!" I shouted. The voice that escaped me was barely my own, spitting hate with my words like venom from the mouth of a snake. In a moment of pure insanity, I wrapped my fingers around the sides of the medicine cabinet and ripped it from the wall. "I HATE YOU! I HATE YOU! I HATE YOU!" I screamed, as I slammed it against the floor and watched the glass shatter, my image spilt into a million pieces.

As it hit the hard linoleum, the hinges on the cabinet's door cracked and the door swung open, revealing hundreds of pill bottles and personal toiletries as they spilled out onto the floor. A few pill bottles opened, and the multi-colored pills exploded from the clear orange cylinders. My shaving cream had split open and a small pool of white foam frothed and bubbled on the tile. My razor had flown across the room and hit the base of the toilet. My toothpaste, in its winded ball (as I was near the end of the tube) rolled slowly to a stop against my foot.

In an instant, my anger vanished and I began to sob uncontrollably. I dropped to my knees, feeling some glass against my bare skin. There had to be a way to fix my body… to fix… me… TO FIX ME SO SOMEONE COULD LOVE ME!

I gripped my stomach in my fat fingers and pulled at it uselessly, as if trying to yank it off. I had to get it all out of me. At that moment, my eyes caught the shining porcelain white glow of the toilet seat. It glowed like a gift from the gods in my crazed mind. I came to an impromptu decision.

I pushed myself across the icy tile, crawling on my knees to the bowl. I flipped the lid up and stared into the water. The pure, clean, innocent water…

Not for long…

I shoved my index finger as far down my throat as I could. I gagged and felt the warmth of the vomit as it rose up my throat. I removed my finger and puked into the toilet. Releasing, it felt, all of my sins into the smooth ceramic bowl. I watched as the chaste water turned dark with my self-loathing.

That's what I do, though. Make pure things dark. Dark like me…

Sick of the way I am feeling.

Waking up watching myself slipping.

Should I just take out my eyes?

No longer want them for this life,

Acting strong only on the outside.

Hiding shame and pain on the inside.

I've tried to block my mind of this, and pretend it doesn't exist…

Losing my mind once again.

Stranding my thoughts,

No matter what I said…

I must've flushed the toilet at least thirty times, and gargled with mouthwash twice as many… I cleaned up the bathroom as best I could. I swept up all the glass and fitted the cabinet back onto the wall loosely, though it now had no mirror, just a few shining shards still attached in the corners. The door hung for its life on a loose hinge. I piled the pills back into random bottles, without regards to the prescription and shoved them into the slanted cabinet.

Now, I was lying on my bed, dried tears still on my face; a fuzzy taste into my mouth. I ignored it, trying to swallow down the cotton mouthed feeling.

I rolled over and was face to face with Clyde Frog. The poor stuffed animal was beat to shit… sewn and resewn, patched and faded. I stared into his hollow plastic eyes.

Once, when I was about five… I lost him.

I recalled my reaction to his disappearance. I turned the town upside down, sobbing, barging into people's homes, tearing them apart; looking for the doll. I was so devastated that I managed to find myself at the basketball courts, where Stan, Kyle, and Kenny were playing. I cried, begging for their assistance. Kenny and Stan shoved me off, turning back to their game.

Kyle however, stayed. He looked at me, suspicious, his green eyes probing me, inquisitive, "Are you lying, Cartman?" he asked.

"N—No!" I sobbed, unable to keep my usual asshole-ish attitude. I was truly devastated, when his green eyes looked into the sincerity of my hazel ones. He smiled.

"Okay…" he nodded, the flaps of his hat hitting his face. In spite of myself, I grinned. He held out his hand, green gloved fingers spread invitingly, I entwined my fingers in his and he pulled me off into the town.

Kyle assisted me in my search until well into the night. We ended up finding Clyde Frog in the forest, where some asshole (probably Clyde) had tossed him up into a tree. I tried, desperately, to climb the tree myself, but my fat body and lack of athletic skills prevented me from doing so. Kyle scaled the tree in a matter of seconds.

When he reached the branch where Clyde Frog was sitting he picked him up and looked at him. Kyle stared into the doll's eyes for a full minute, before smiling and looking down at me. He dusted the stuffed toy off and threw him down to me. I caught him in my pudgy hands, unable to wipe the look of surprise and happiness from my face as I clutched Clyde Frog to my body.

Kyle hopped down the tree branches like an acrobat and landed at the bottom. He smiled at me. A smile that made his green eyes glow like shards of emerald, "You owe me, fatass…" he grinned.

Now at fifteen, I reached out and took the stuffed animal in my hands, pulling him close to me and remembering the beauty of Kyle's smile and how much fun we'd had. How happy I was when he said he'd help me. He was a really great guy. So smart, so cool, so funny, so handsome…

I sat up.

Why was I thinking these things about Kyle? What could I possibly be thinking!? Why did my stomach turn every time I saw him smile? Every time I see his freckles glow in the sunlight? Why does my breath catch in my chest when he speaks to me? Even when he insults me? Why do I like to hear his voice so much? Why does my heart flutter when I see his gorgeous red hair? His… jewfro…?

That's when it hit me…

I was in love with Kyle! I was butt fucking crazy about Kyle James Broflovski! But that could only mean that… oh-no…

I was gay.

- 0 -

Eric Cartman, racist, anti Semite, Hitler reincarnate, jerk, fatass… fag?

God hates fags. That's what Mel Gibson said and I believed him. I always believed Mel Gibson. So I was going to hell…? Well, couldn't be any worse than being an overweight, angry, depressed, bulimic, fag in a tiny mountain town in the middle of a constant winter.

There's always a discussion of a divine plan. I wonder about that. Does God really want me to suffer?

Probably…

- 0 -

I didn't know what to do, so I ate. I ate and I ate and I ate. A box of Oreos, a carton of milk, six bags of popcorn, four packages of Ho-Ho's, two bags of barbeque chips, two Hershey bars, and three two-liters of Coke. I ate it all, and then I forced myself to puke it all up and them some.

When I'm scared or upset, I eat, and just discovering you're a faggot and wanna fuck your Jew friend, no, your straight Jew friend. All of these are good reasons to binge, in my opinion. So I did. I binged. But for every binge, there must be a purge.

I want to be thin. I dream of being someone else. I long to be handsome, attractive, beautiful… maybe then Kyle will notice me.

Maybe…