Chapter Text
Sam clicks the camera button to record and just stares blankly into the lens. Something so natural to him before has become so alien over the last six months, one of the hardest, if not the hardest time of his life.
He sits on the ground in front of the sofa in the living room. The house is quiet for a change, people have given him space to record this video but they're all close by, just a phone call or a message away. He struggles with how to even start the video - the classic greeting feels wrong when he's alone. His chest feels heavy, each breath requires an extra effort.
"Hey, it's been a while," Sam goes quiet again for a few minutes. How can he convey to his fans what the last six months have been like?
"Everyone tells me how much support you've shown. One day I'll be able to read all your comments and respond, but at the moment I'm-," he cuts himself off, shaking his head. "Just please know I appreciate all of your support and your questions about how I'm doing," he pauses again, trying to figure out how to put it best into words.
"I'm not well, to be perfectly honest," a short, humorless, self-deprecating chuckle escapes his mouth. "If I seem a little out of it in this video, I'm on some SSRIs." While he's been slowly weaning off the drugs, his doctor encouraged an upped dose in preparation before making this video to help him through it. However, it barely manages to numb him and as he can feel a knot in his throat. How can one be numb but also feel so much at the same time?
"I just wanted to make this video to give you an update. You deserve it after all your support of us over the years." Sam pulls up his knees to his chest and looks outside to the patio. He feels guilty for leaving minutes long pauses but each word feels like a stone dragging him down. He feels a chill down his spine and hides his hands inside the XPLR blue shatter hoodie sleeves.
"I'm just taking it day by day, just existing and adjusting to this new reality. I don't know what's going to happen to this channel. I don't know much of anything at this point. I don't know whether I'll return to Youtube and at what capacity. Maybe someday, but I don't want to make any promises. I'm sure you understand."
"I don't know if I can do this w-without C-Colby." He chokes on the name and tears spring to his eyes. He looks up and blinks rapidly to prevent them from falling. Despite the meds, it's a futile endeavor and a few spill down his cheeks. He rushes to wipe them off with the edge of his sleeve. He's tired of crying, constantly surprised he has any tears left at this point. He clears his throat.
The first days feel almost hazy. As much as he wishes not to, he remembers screaming, howling like a wounded animal, deep sobs that wrecked his frame. He damaged his vocal chords and had to be on voice rest for two months. He lost friends and family members before but this was different. It has never felt like this, like his whole world just came to a sudden halt, shattered like a house of cards. It's as if-
"Half of me died with him," he finishes the thought out loud, albeit quietly. He breaks down sobbing, hiding his face in his knees.
His psychiatrist described to him the ball in the box analogy. She explained that eventually, the box would grow around the ball with time and it won't hit the grief button so often.
Six months have passed but the ball has been pressing pretty fucking insistently against the button still.
At times, it even feels like the box is too small for the ball.
_________________________
Could it be any harder
To live my life without you
Could it be any harder
I'm all alone, I'm all alone
Like sand on my feet
The smell of sweet perfume
You stick to me forever, baby
I wish you didn't go, I wish you didn't go,
I wish you didn't go away
To touch you again with life in your hands
It couldn't be any harder