In the past month, he had uploaded over fifteen songs, all minor-keyed and angry in contrast to his usual few minors — and those few weren't anything like these. There was no violin, unless you count the occasional ear-piercing screech of his bow scraping the E string below the bridge. His comments were filled– no, flooded with concerned viewers asking him if he was okay, if he needed someone to talk to. This is the video he uploaded two weeks later, after a hiatus.

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Sonus looked into the camera, his expression tinted with pain and the slightest hint of fear. For many of his viewers, this would be the first time they saw his face outside of a convention or live performance. This would be the first of many times.

"Okay... You all know what my recent videos look like, so I'm not going into detail. But you guys have been asking if I'm okay and all that, and...well...I figure I should tell you this now. I have issues. Serious issues. If you don't wanna hear, then leave...'cause I might get a little graphic," he said, his voice quivering a little every so often.

"Guys...I have post-traumatic stress disorder," the teen confessed, fighting the urge to cover his face with his hands. "I'm not batshit crazy, I'm not insane...I'm afraid of something that happened to me when I was a little kid."

Sonus paused for a moment, trying to protect himself from the bad memories so he could finish his video.

"My mother, she...she wasn't exactly the greatest I could've ever asked for. I...I remember being about six...a-and after my first day of kindergarten, sh-she saw th-that happy smile on my face and beat it off... I-it happened once a week, every week a-and that's only the tip of the iceberg."

He stopped, covering his face in his hands for a few seconds, his breaths shaky and scared.

"...sh-she attacked me with a knife a-and I almost bled to death f-four years later... H-had my dad not walked in and saved me, I...I wouldn't even be here right now..." he explained, his voice muffled.

The teen sobbed into his hands, engulfed in memory for a decent while.

"Th-three years ago...m-my dad filed for divorce...a-and thank the divine goodness of the world th-that he got custody over me... I-I remember telling the judge that I hated my mother...h-he asked why and I wouldn't explain. I-I couldn't...sh-she was there, a-and she'd hunt me down a-and...and..." he trailed off. A squeaky exhale left his mouth, and he kept crying, shoulders heaving painfully.

"...y-you think I'm kidding about this? Y-you want proof?" Sonus asked the camera, almost snarling. "I can give you proof."

With that, he took off his Metallica tee shirt and turned around, exposing his heavily scarred back to the camera. Long, wide scars laced across his back in no particular pattern. None of them were going to heal, nor had they done so in years. He stood there for a little while, his heavy breathing still shaky.

"O-okay?" he asked as he sat back down, slipping the shirt back on over his head. "D-do you get it now? You know why I act this way...wh-why I am the way I am... I've got problems. A-and I'll have them as long as I live."

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Mere minutes after it was uploaded, his video had a comment. The first of over five hundred thousand. All it contained was a link to their own oboe cover of "You've Got a Friend in Me". The commenter would eventually become his boyfriend — Xern.