˗ˏˋ Still Hurting 'ˎ˗ | Stan Marsh Angst

Still Hurting

Stan's POV

I was sitting in the bathroom again. Empty beer bottles flooded the floor as I stared at the ceiling. The dark circles under my eyes screamed in agony begging me to close my eyes. A half-empty beer bottle sat beside me with an opened pill bottle in my hand. I slowly moved my head down to look at the bottle, thinking "Is today the day.." A small smirk formed on my face, "I'm not wimping out this time.." a small chuckle went past my lips as I held the bottle to my mouth, dumping as many pills as I could in it. I threw the bottle down, pills still in my mouth I took the half-empty beer bottle beside me and downed it, swallowing all the pills in the process. I dropped the beer bottle to the ground, small weak tears rolling down my face. "I did it... I actually did it.." a smile formed on my face, something that nobody, not even myself had seen in a while. I lay down in the floor, staring at the dull ceiling once again, slowly feeling myself fading.

A faint noise was heard in the distance, but it was hard to hear. My ears were ringing. Dying can do some weird things I guess. The noise kept getting louder and louder and I started to hear it. "Footsteps..? A voice.. coming closer?" I was fighting to keep my eyes open to see what the noise was, but my vision started to get blurry. A crash was heard and a figure ran to me. I couldn't see, it was just an orange and green figure, but it was speaking to me...

"stan.."

"Stan.."

"Stan!"

"STAN!"

"STANLEY!"

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I sat up quickly, breathing heavily and sweating bullets. I looked around to see I was in my bed. "The same nightmare.." I've had the same nightmare every night for weeks, but every time I have it, I wish it wasn't just a dream...

I looked over at my door, seeing someone storming into my room "Stanley! I told you to get up! Did you not hear me yelling your name? You're going to be late for school, get up!" It was just my mom yelling at me, just like she does every morning. "Always school.." She yanked the blanket off of me, and left the room, telling me to get up once again.

3rd Person POV

Stan groaned, rolling out of his bed, his feet touching the cold messy floor, covered in clothes he never bothered to pick up. His mom keeps telling him to clean it up, but he just can't seem to get himself to do it. She calls Stan lazy and a lowlife. She just doesn't understand how he feels...

Stan took off his pajamas and threw them on the floor, just like he does with all his clothes. He looked at his arms, biting his lip, fighting back tears. He ran his fingers across his arms, staring at all the scars and cuts. He loved the rush mutilating himself gave him, but he hated being that way. Some wounds were fresh and some were old. Hurting himself and getting drunk was the only way he could genuinely feel something. He just wanted to feel something...

Stan shook his head, trying to get the thoughts to go away. He quickly grabbed pair of dirty jeans off the ground, putting them on. He grabbed an old baggy t-shirt he had sitting on the edge of the bed, throwing it on, and grabbed his jacket, putting it on as well. Stan grabbed his classic beanie he had sitting in a chair, putting it on his head to hide his messy black hair, only leaving some hair in the front showing. He walked over to an old dresser he had in his room, opening the bottom drawer, grabbing a large bottle of alcohol, and quickly took a swig of it before putting the bottle back into the drawer and closing it.

Stan left his room, grabbing his backpack before he left, practically dragging his feet to the bathroom. He looked at himself in the mirror, sighing as he looked at his heavy eye bags and dark circles. He looked away from the mirror, not wanting to see his face anymore. Grabbing his toothbrush and toothpaste, and quickly brushed his teeth so he can get out of the bathroom as quickly as possible. Stan felt disgusted with how he looked and he hated himself for letting himself get this bad. He spit out the toothpaste and rinsed his mouth, spitting out the water. As he started to leave the bathroom, he looked over at the bathroom floor, remembering the dream he had last night. He sighed and turned off the light, walking out of the bathroom and walking down the stairs. The smell of pancakes and eggs smacks him in the face as he walks past the dining room table.

"Oh, Stanley! I made you some pancakes would you like some before you go?" Stan looked over to see his mom sitting at the dining room table with a plate of pancakes on it, smiling at him, like she wasn't just yelling at him a few minutes ago.

"No thanks, Mom... I'm not feeling hungry this morning." Stan gave a small reassuring smile to his mom so she wouldn't question anything.

"Oh alright dear, eat something for lunch at school if you do start to feel hungry"

"I will Mom, thanks.." Stan was lying, but he didn't want to worry his mom. He looked over at the dining table again, his dad sitting in a chair smoking pot and eating his food. Stan's dad smokes and sells weed, in fact, he loves weed more than his own family. His dad frequently yells at Stan and sometimes becomes violent towards him. His mom and dad argue every day and night, threatening to get a divorce. He just wishes they would get it done and over with already...

"Out of my way turd!" Stan was shoved into the wall by a familiar-sounding voice. "I'm not missing the bus because you're in my way!" She left the house and walked to the bus stop, leaving Stan behind

"Shelly.." Stan sighed. Shelly still hits Stan and bullies him every day. He left the house not saying a word. He watched Shelly get on the bus and watched the bus drive off.

He never waited at the bus stop anymore with Kyle, Kenny, and Cartman. He became distant when these overwhelming feelings started coming up. He didn't want to be a burden, because he knew he'd be better off alone.

Stan started walking to school, wishing that he had never woken up.