High School is suppose to be the time of your life. Where you experiment, explore and just go crazy. Too bad I've already been crazy since the day I was born.
It doesn't matter how many times I go to a therapist, take medications, or do that annoying and scary thing called Yoga; I still manage to jump at the littlest thing.
Calm things scare me. Loud things scare me. Fucking butterflies scare me. IT'S TOO MUCH PRESSURE!
The only thing that doesn't scare me is my best friend Craig Tucker and he should scare me! I don't know what the hell goes on in his head. He could be plotting to kill me in my sleep. Or sell me to the underpants gnomes! But it's that smile, the smile that is rarely seen, that proves to me that he doesn't want to kill me. In fact, it proves to me that he really does care about me… I think.
In the little mountain town of South Park, things that are considered 'crazy' or 'unimaginable' to others are the things that are the norm for us. For Christ sake, we had the fucking Germans come, almost killing us all in the name of 'Comedy'. And that doesn't even begin to touch base on how many times we've almost gotten killed, maimed, or kidnapped! And people wonder why I'm so nervous all the time!
Gah! It doesn't matter; I need to focus on my English homework. But where… Where's my thermo?
Shit! I need that. Oh god, oh god. The Underpants Gnomes must be going after my coffee too! Jesus Christ!
Oh… My book was hiding it. Damnit, I don't remember moving it there.
What was I doing again…?
This is why no one likes me. I can't remember what I was doing a few seconds ago.
This is why I'm alone most of the day. No one can stand how I freak out over every little thing.
This is why I hate myself, because I'm worthless.
"Tweek, dinner is ready sweetie." My mom called from the stairs. Angrily, I grabbed my large English book and neatly placed it along my desk. A few pages are sticking out, which cause me to scrunch up my nose in disgust.
"-nngh- it needs to be PERFECT!" I scream in frustration as the pages still manage to stick out still even after moving them around.
"Tweek?" My mother's calm voice seemed softer than normal as she cracked open the door. "Tweek, come down for dinner. I've brewed your favorite coffee this evening." I could feel here eyes looking around my overly messy room. Papers from English, Math and Science seemed to be spread throughout the floor from my moment of rage. My normally twitchy self seemed to relax for a minute as I turned to my mom.
"O-Okay. I'll be down in a –nghh- minute mom." I feel my eyes awkwardly blink, one eyelid closing at a time as I try to focus my attention on her.
"Don't take too long sweetie. I'll help you clean up after dinner." She gave another nod before silently closing the door. I sigh in frustration as I slam my head down on the book.
"S-Stupid Shakespeare! Why do I have to-" I slammed my head down again in mid sentence, sighing loudly. "-study you, y-you old bastard!?" I finish the sentence before breathing in through my nose and out through my mouth, something I picked up in therapy.
I jump up, slightly higher than normal before practically running out the door and down the stairs. My parents were use to this kind of behavior, so they didn't get frightened when I tripped over my too loose of a sock and went rolling down the last step and into the wall. A painting I did in middle school fell from the wall, hitting me square in the head and shattered upon impact.
"G-God Damnit!" I spat out through clenched teeth, rubbing the now growing bump on my head. Upon hearing the glass break, my dad looked up from his newspaper.
"Tweek, clean up the glass and then come to dinner." I quickly shook my head.
"N-No way dude! What if I cut my hand and –ngh- cut a vein and bleed out!? Or if I get a disease that makes me have to lose my hands!?" I cry out, my shaking eyes glued to my equally shaking hands.
"Just get to the table, I'll clean it up." My mom sighed, trying to keep her composure. My head drops to my chest as I bring my hands up to mouth, biting and tearing at my fingers at an attempt to calm myself.
Dinner went by smoothly; I only dropped my fork three times, which normally it's closer to double that. And I was lucky to not spill any of my coffee into my food. My parents both noticed this and exchanged nervous glances between the two of them.
"Don't forget Tweek, you have work after school tomorrow. Make sure you bundle up, it's suppose to snow again." My father said as he brought his newspaper back up, focusing all his attention on it.
"Okay, -nngh- I won't." My eyes darted between the leftover peas and mash potatoes on my plate. "C-Can I be excused. I have to f-finish my report." My eyes awkwardly blinked once again as I looked up to my mom. She gave a weak smile before nodding her head.
"Yes, just take the steps one at a time Tweek." I sighed softly as I removed myself from the table.
Standing at the bottom of the stairs, I glanced up at the stairs of death, a tunnel effect starting to swirl through my ears. I swallowed, hard, as I took my first step up to my room. My sweaty and shaky hands were gripping onto the railing and wall in order to steady myself as I made my hike.
A normal action that would have taken a minute at the most, took me almost ten.
Concentration is incredibly hard for me to do. It's like when you give someone from another country an English dictionary and tell them to translate, it just doesn't work.
That's how it is for me with everything, not just school work. My parents thought that when I would grow up, I would get out of my 'ADD' phase and become somewhat of a normal person. I tried, I did. I tried to be normal, but things just got scarier. I grew up, learning about more things than my small ten year old mind could ever imagine.
Did you know that on a door handle, there is close to 10 MILLION germs? I went almost two weeks not being able to open doors. I missed school a lot in those two weeks. I could have died! I learned about how many germs are in your mouth too and it took everything for me to not make a horrible cocktail of bleach and detergent to clean out my mouth. Thankfully my mom stopped me before it was too late.
I wasn't trying to kill myself, honest! I was just trying to kill the germs that are in my mouth!
No one seemed to believe me though, which hurts. It still hurts to this day, but I manage to draw my attention to something else. And nine times out of ten, it's something worse that makes me feel even more like shit.
What was I doing…? Oh yeah, that stupid essay about the stupid writer named Shakespeare.
Why must this dead guy be so… Amazing!?
I can't keep focus on one sentence for too long, but from what I can understand he's pretty impressive! From Romeo and Juliet to Hamlet, this guy is the king of tragedies.
Now what do I have to write about…? Right, how he influenced literature.
"-NNGH- THIS IS TOO MUCH PRESSURE!" I managed to yell out as my head hit the large book once again. I turned my head as I tried to focus on the clock that sat on my night stand, I think it read '9:43 PM'. Groaning loudly I lifted my head, my hands automatically going to my crazy hair. I tugged, pulled and twirled it in my chewed up and disgusting fingers as I attempted, once again, to write my essay.
A whole 5 hours later and I think my essay is done. Thankfully my mom brought up a few cups of coffee. French Vanilla Cream with a few spoonfuls of Honey. She knows it's my favorite and that it helps me calm down.
She let me take a break to help me clean up the mess of papers on my floor, getting my bags ready for the next day. I gave a large twitch as my eyes looked back to the clock.
Sleep was hard enough as it is, but at this time of the night it was impossible.
If I'm not in bed before 12, I'll never get a good nights sleep. I feel like a fucking child most nights, tossing and turning and on more than one occasion I would kick the blankets off of me and roll off the bed.
As a seventeen year old male, I'm glad I don't have friends that sleep over. The one thing that I make sure never touches my floor, which sometimes is like lava in my mind, is my longest and most sacred companion; my stuffed tiger, Max.
On nights that I can't sleep, I hold the dirty, worn and very old yet still dear to me, tiger. I talk to him and express my concerns, my problems and my fears. I know that he will never talk back, never give me words of encouragement but holding onto him and just talking puts my mind at ease, even if it's only for a few minutes.
That stuffed animal calms me better than most of the people I have met in my life and the funny thing about him is that I don't remember when or where I got him. The first memory I remember of the animal, is back in middle school.
I was having an especially bad day during one art class back in 7th grade. We were making collages of things we enjoyed, things that made us happy. I was having a hard time choosing because I had so many things that I liked, but I couldn't pin-point the one thing that made me happy.
Cartman, being his typical annoying self, kept making fun of me that 'The point of a collage is to focus on more than one thing, not just one thing'. But he didn't understand that I couldn't focus on more than one thing without exploding in a million pieces.
I spent the whole class period biting furiously at my nail beds, picking what I wanted to put on that stupid 8 ½ by 11 sheet of pure white paper. It didn't help that I was sitting alone then too. I was too focused on that white piece of death. It was mocking me, taunting me with having more than one option that I could choose. I spent the whole class period engulfed in that paper, ultimately getting an F because I didn't have anything to turn in.
Thankfully, for myself, that was the last period of the day and I couldn't wait to get home and curl up in my bed. Sometimes I liked watching old movies in my room. Movies in black and white were my favorite. There wasn't too much to distract me and I loved a happy ending. The 1950's movie "Harvey" had to be my favorite. It was about a man, whose best friend was an invisible rabbit. People think he's crazy but he proves them wrong.
It's my dream to prove people wrong. To show them that I'm not crazy and I can be just like them if I tried. But my problem is that I try really hard and I still can't prove to them that I'm not crazy.
That day, I made it home quicker than normal in order to dive into my wonderfully simple movies. I adjusted my bag in order to dig through it in an attempt to find my key to the house. My hand touches something soft and squishy and my typical and immediate reaction is to throw my whole bag down and scream.
This action caused the item to fall out of my bag and land softly in the fresh spring grass. I peeked through my slightly spread fingers that latched onto my face. Both terror and curiosity filled my face as I inched closer to the item.
"P-Please don't –nngh- explode…" I mumble as I shakily reach out for the item. I cautiously pick it up, squishing it gently in my fingers.
The oblong looking tiger flopped around in my hands. I took a few extra minutes to inspect it thoroughly. Both of my fingers grabbed at the tigers long arms as I stared intently at its face.
"M-Max." I lifted it up towards the sky. "Your name is –nngh- Max." With a content nod, I picked up my bags and made my way into the house.
And to this day, the stuffed animal, which is now missing an eye, still stays by my side.
Somehow I found myself sprawled out on my bed, still in my clothes from the prior day with my blanket kicked off the bed and my stuffed animal in my hands.
The alarm clock was buzzing, set for 7 am.
"I s-slept?" I questioned, lazily rubbing my eye as I brought Max closer to my body. I gave Max a tight squeeze as I placed him gently on my pillow before jumping off my bed and looking for a clean shirt.
Most days I don't care about what I look like. I'm a failure as it is, can't even button up my shirt properly. So who cares what I look like, it's not like I have anyone chasing after me. I've never even had my first kiss. That's WAY too much pressure.
So, I slip off my shirt and look at myself in the full length wall mirror that hangs next to my closet.
My head drops as I look at my bare chest. My bleeding and cracked fingers rub along the front of my torso, running along my very apparent and very exposed ribcage. I exhale deeply as my fingers trace up to my collarbone.
Sometimes, I wish I had fingernails. I would love to gouge out my eyeballs and rip out my ribcage. I'm too damn skinny! No matter what clothes I wear, they are either too large on me or make me look like a fag.
Not that I'm complaining… Girl's clothes are much more comfortable than boy's clothes half the time. I'm not dainty; I just like the soft fabric… That's another thing that sometimes can calm me down.
I exhale deeply, pulling my eyes away from my twig like body and attempting to focus my attention to my closet.
A simple black shirt with a collar is what I pull out, and it's not like it matters, its cold as shit outside so I'll more than likely be wearing my too-large-for-me jacket all day.
I don't take hours to get ready. I don't have anyone to impress. It's too much pressure.
So I make my way down stairs with my jacket and bag on, heading towards the kitchen. My mom knows my fear of the toaster, so she already has my slice of toast made and buttered for me.
"T-Thanks." I mumble as I take a small nibble off the corner of the slice.
"Don't forget Tweek. You have work tonight. Your father and I have to take care of things in Denver tonight, so you'll be alone." My mouth drops as I quickly switch nibbling on my toast to nibbling on my fingers.
"But what if someone tries to kidnap me again?! What if I –NNGH- light the stove on fire, or drown in the shower!?" I begin listing off things that would more than likely never happen, but still have a possibility of happening, my eyes growing large with each reason.
"Tweek, Tweek…" My mom softly begs. "You'll be fine. I will have dinner in the fridge. All you'll have to is put it in the microwave. I'll write it down for you." I slowly lower my head, still nibbling on my fingers.
"O-Okay…" I whisper in mid chew.
"Alright, go ahead and get going for school." She sighs softly, returning to cleaning the dishes. I sniffle softly as I pry my hands from my mouth and shoving them hard in my pockets.
Just another thing that will haunt me throughout school…
God damnit this is too much fucking pressure.
A/N: This is my first time writing in first person! Please tell me how I'm doing. Reviews, Favorites and follows make me super duper happy.