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eric cartman.
i couldn’t name a more intriguing character.
eric cartman had tormented me since the day i started attending public school.
it seemed that his favourite activity was to harass me and try to make my life hell.
it worked for a while, until it got to eighth grade— the end of middle school. that’s when things started to change.
i don’t really know what happened.
i just remember waking up one day and cartman’s pathetic attempts at riling me up were suddenly working, but not in the way cartman was probably intending for.
my life suddenly became more fixated around cartman.
it was all so simple when he was just the annoying fat kid who tried to bully me for religion.
but then, i started to enjoy his insults. i liked his attention. i liked the fact he was borderline obsessed with me.
it was already too late when i realised that i, too, was obsessed with cartman.
probably even more than he was obsessed with me.
it got even worse over the years; especially when cartman grew up from the short stump of a boy i had known him as my whole life into a bull of a man. almost two heads taller than me and double my weight, i was fucking crazy about him.
i thought i had just developed a hardcore crush on him.
but after one specific basketball game where cartman had cheated and gripped my waist in his hands and yanked me away from the ball, i swear, i almost fainted. that’s when i realise it wasn’t just a crush.
i was craving cartman, needed him like air. i wanted him to do all sorts of fucked up shit to me. call me a crazy masochist, but i wanted cartman to torture me.
he was so much larger than me, i wanted him to cut me open and take each and every one of my insides out and then sort them and put them back inside me again like a jigsaw puzzle.
i wanted to cut his chest open and then mine, and grind our ribs together until we mixed bone marrow. i wanted him to make sheets out of my skin, to take chunks out of my flesh while i was still breathing. i wanted to feel the flat of his teeth skim along my bone, irritating it and scratching it in the most perfect way.
i wanted him to kill me, to slice me and to put me in pieces and eat me whole. i wanted to be inside him. i want him to be inside me. to have cartman, his love, his sickening touch and his words, his everything, inside my guts.
i wanted to crawl beneath his skin and breathe through his mouth. i’d do anything just to have the luxury of tainting eric cartman— more than he already is.
i couldn’t name the amount of times i’ve jerked off to all these thoughts, the thought of having cartman cannibalise me or to cannibalise him.
he was a new kind of drug, a special kind of ecstasy solely for me.
of course, i could never reveal this to him. how would i even go about that?
“ hey, cartman, i have sick fantasies about you eating me alive. ”
it was stupid.
so, instead, i merely admired him in silence. craved him from afar. obsessed over him in my lonesome.
i feel like i’m going to snap soon and accidentally hurt him, or myself. i don’t know what to do.
my mother would never let me attend therapy— couldn’t afford the family name to be blighted.
i have no outlet and it’s building.
it’s building, it’s building, it’s building.
i’m stuck, unable to breathe properly without him.
i don’t know what i’ll do when the time comes where i accidentally confess or when i do something extreme that can never be taken back, but i’ll worry about it when the time comes. i’ll let the future deal with it and focus on keeping the little bit of sanity i have left, for now.