How long ago did he last do it? 3 weeks? 4? Who cares.
Stan Marsh was prone to addiction, so no wonder he got caught up in drugs and alcohol when that was all he was surrounded by whilst growing up. He tried to stop, he really did. But the sweet burn of the alcohol flowing through his veins along with the light, floating feeling of the marijuana reaching every inch of his body was, amazing.
This happened every time he was stressed and depressed. He drowned his sorrows in this light happy feeling. Innocent enough, right? Wrong. Because every time he did it, he lost control. Every time he was intoxicated he managed to choke up all of his repressed feelings onto his nearest victim. And the feeling of unbearable guilt swallowing him whole was one of the most painful feelings he had ever experienced.
Yet here he was, a sloppy drunken soul sprawled across his cold, hard wooden bedroom floor quietly sobbing to himself along with the occasional need to crawl to his trash can to excruciatingly vomit into it.
Whats wrong with me?
Stan lay in fetal position with his knees tucked to his chest and a thumb in his mouth rocking back, and forth, in the end, he had grown into nothing but a tall child.
He felt an ache in his chest, right where his heart was. It was such a familiar feeling that he barely even acknowledged it, but he knew what it meant. He needed Kyle. It was almost as if there was a string tied around his heart, and attached to Kyle. And the farther Kyle was, the tighter the burning string got. It was excruciating.
He would've called him, but Kyle hated when Stan was like this.
I have to stop doing this to myself.
And just like that, light sparked inside of him as he abruptly sat up, gasping for air. He finally found his motivation to stop. For Kyle.
After all, he would do anything for Kyle.
