I shut off the video before I pulled away, my forehead already throbbing from where I hit it against the case. Trudging inside, I shoved my phone in the pocket of my hoodie and locked the door behind me.

It was the first time in a long while that I'd been home alone. Jerome was away at the moment, and Lachlan wasn't scheduled to come to the States for a few more months, at the least. I knew I should clean up the mess of a house, but I just didn't want to.

For the last two years, I'd put on brave face for my fans. It wasn't as easy as they thought it was, with the stress and hate starting to rise. Some of the comments made it seem as if I wasn't wanted, as if I was hated.

And those thoughts started to get to my head.

I lost myself in the recordings, the mask that made me cheerful taking over. It wasn't real, and I'd been hiding behind it for too long.

The "real talk" of the Vlog, recorded not so long ago, was scarily accurate. I did cry, and I did feel pain. I'm not a robot, despite what some people seem to believe.

Most of all, I'm not perfect.

Imperfect. I suppose everything has its ways of making or having mistakes, but in the last two years, it's seemed as if I had more than normal.

"Mitch, you did ... so I'm leaving!"

"BajanCanadian sucks."

"Why would anyone like him?"

"He's so fucking gay. Unsubscribed!"

Some comments were simple, but others held meaning. I tried to please everyone, but it was hard. People slipped from my grip. I had five million subscribers, but just as many people who would kill me, given the chance.

It hurt, tore me apart. My entire life, I'd tried to protect people from getting that hate, and now, no one was doing it for me.

Not even Jerome.

I settled down in the uncomfortable office chair, hooking up my phone to the moniters and uploading the footage. This was easily the closest I'd ever come to showing my emotions.

Maybe the hate would stop, if they saw what they were doing to me.

Probably not. It'll probably get worse.

Letting the video render, I grabbed my phone, scrolling through Twitter and Instagram. A few things to retweet. A few to completely ignore.

Dreading it, I knew I should check YouTube. As soon as I opened up my newest Minecraft video, and started to scroll into the comments, the hate flooded me.

My stomach twisted in knots, and I honestly felt like I was going to throw up.

No one seemed to genuinely care.

Swallowing hard, I slammed my phone down, and sat there, thinking.

Why did I continue YouTube? I wanted to make people's lives better, but that didn't seem to be the case anymore. If anything, I was making them worse.

The video finished rendering, and I posted it, clinging to the hope that maybe, maybe it would get better.

····

Yes, I just watched Mitch's newest Vlog and that's what inspired this.

This one was actually supposed to be depressing, so sorry 'bout that.

And I'm crying because my Pandora is out to get me, and one or two of my own thoughts may or may not be in this because the one time my Bipolar decides to not show up is when I'm in a depressed mood, naturally, and I'm going to stop ranting now.

Anyways.

See ya next chapter?

Bai