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This is purely a work of fiction and does not in any way reflect the streamers, but their online persona. I hope that none of them have to deal with anything like this ever. If any of the mentioned creators state that they don’t want fanfiction like this, I will take it down. This is mainly a vent fic, with the Author self projecting. Sorry in advance.
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The irony of having a breakdown to his best friend’s music was not lost on Tommy. The funny part was how much the depressing and overall worrying lyrics of Wilbur’s album, Your City Gave Me asthma, brought Tommy comfort. He could easily go call his friend and talk things over, but instead, he was sat, back up against the side of the bathtub, crying on the bathroom floor.
Something was wrong with Tommy. Obviously. No normal 16-year-old had almost nightly breakdowns like this. The problem was, everything was perfect. He had everything that someone could ever want, a house, food, loving parents, and an amazing group of online friends. His friends were just a call away, as were his parents at the moment. They were both out on a business trip and Tommy had convinced them that he could look after himself. He even had a huge fanbase. He saw the thousands of kind comments, well wishes, and overall support from people, but it didn’t feel real.
It was sad really, Tommy thought to himself, how pathetic he was. He had no reason to feel this way, no reason to have any troubles at all. He did receive the occasional hate comment, but he always had Phil to alter his Twitter settings, and Wilbur to talk to when things got bad. Even techno, who is a famously bad socializer will sit for hours, listening to Tommy ramble about his newest interest, and in response go on and on about his newest project or Youtube video.
Something was wrong with Tommy. He had all these amazing people, who were better friends than he could have asked for, better friends than he thought he deserved, no, that he knew he deserved. No one would want to be friends with an annoying little brat like you his inner monologue told him, constantly. Tommy had learned to put on a “Big Man” persona, so no one could tell how insecure he was. Tommy could, should even reach out but he did not want to burden his friends.
Something was wrong with Tommy. Some sick and twisted part of his brain felt comfort in feeling this way. The ease of being numb. How being on auto piolet had its benefits, and how not having to care about anything had its upsides. He had felt this way for about a week straight now. When he streamed himself the entire chat was filled with people saying that something was off, and is he ok like he would ever actually tell anyone. He hadn’t steamed in days, stopped answering voice calls, isolating Himself more and more, so that he would not put his burdens onto his friends, much less the viewers.
The other more reasonable side of his brain did not like this constant state of numbness. It wanted to feel happy, or just feel anything at this point. Tommy had tried music, games, even art, but nothing had helped him break free of this sort of void that was filling Tommy’s mind. Which is how we got here, Crying on the bathroom floor to Jubilee Line, thinking about what was about to happen. Tommy grabbed some razor blades that his dad had gotten him, and a bottle of ibuprofen from the medicine cabinet. Tommy remembered going to the store with his father and being so excited when he had suggested going get a razor. He thought of it as a sort of right of passage, a sign that he was growing out of being the obnoxious little kid that everyone obviously hated. He made his way back to his room, still numb and on auto pilot .
He sat down on his PC and opened discord for the first time in days. He sees that almost everyone with who he was close had messaged him. Tubbo: Hey bos man. yu ok? yuo havnet streamd in a whlie? Wilbur: Hey! You good Philza: u alright m8? Even techno had messaged a simple Techno: u good?. Tommy felt bad, but not bad enough to change his intentions. He messaged each of them back, all along the lines of, This is not your fault, love you. He didn’t want any of them to feel bad. Before he could see if anyone responded he turned off his PC. Brain still on auto piolet, and made his way over to his bed.
Tommy had never hurt himself before. He had seen it on a few TV shows, and had heard about it at school, but could never really understand why someone would do that. He understood now. Anything to feel something, anything. He sat and fiddled with the cool metal blade before scrunching up his sleeve and running it against his wrist. Nothing happened. Tommy had kind of expected a jump to reality, 6to be jolted out of this mental state, but nothing changed, but he just watched blood start to well up, and pool into little droplets on his skin. He continued a few more times, pushing light enough to pull blood, but not hard enough to do anything lasting damage-wise. He pulled it across his arm one more time, this time pushing down harder than before, and let out a wince of pain. Fuck that hurt he thought to himself. Well, no shit he replied, to his own thoughts. How did you think that this wouldn’t hurt? Tommy wanted to feel something, but that had been too far.
He looked down at his arm and everything he had done in the past 3 minutes had come back to him. WHAT THE FUCK WAS HE DOING??!?!? No one will be able to love you, he told himself, no one would care. Tommy knew that he could not face his parents after this, what would they think once they got home? He could never talk to his friends, much less stream on twitch. He knew that there were other options, but the easiest one would only take a second. Hastily Grabbing a handful of pills and dry swallowing them. He didn’t know much about medicine, but that had to be enough to kill him, right?
Like before realization of what he had just done hit Tommy, but unlike last time there was regret. What did he just do? He knew that he would faint soon, over nerves, but then stay down because of the ibuprofen. Fuck. His parents were out of town, so he couldn’t call them, but he needed help. He knew that he wasn’t worth wasting the time of 999, so he called his next best option. Wilbur.