insanity
/ɪnˈsanəti/
noun
the state of being seriously mentally ill; madness.
~~~
A series of Wilbur Soot angst one-shots fuelled by personal experiences.
I DO NOT CONDONE HIS ACTIONS. at the point that I wrote this, it was easier to inflict my per...
HE COULDN'T MOVE, not because he was paralysed, but because it was one of those days. One of those days where he couldn't do anything besides lay in bed, simply because he had no motivation. He'd become used to this over time, but these kinds of situations were getting more frequent. From a couple of days a month, to a day a week, to an entire week. He just couldn't bring himself to move. He couldn't bring himself to eat or drink, he couldn't bring himself to socialize... All he could seem to do was get up every now and then to use the bathroom, or pick up his phone and watch some old youtube videos. Some videos from when he was genuinely happy. He went to his channel page; Wilbur Soot. How plain, how standard. Nothing interesting, just a nickname and a fictitious last name, an alias. Wilbur was a happy person, as far as everybody else knew. He looked happy. The few videos where he didn't look happy were the ones he made for his ARG, but those were all just a puzzle, all just a game.
...Right?
He sighed, finally gaining enough motivation to look at discord. No notifications after days of silence... he really was lonely, wasn't he? Pondering upon his own question, he entered the DSMP server he'd been invited to eons ago, hoping to see somebody stressing over his lack of input; nothing. Nobody wondered where he was. Not even his own fans. Even after having disappeared without a trace, nobody cared? Christ, this was why he never went on social media when he was like this, whatever the hell "this" might be. He saw people congratulating Tommy on his 10-million milestone, maybe that's why nobody bothered to check in on him.
He tapped into the DM's section, immediately going to his chat with the young loudmouth. He contemplated what to type, not wanting to screw up his message and lose yet another friend. Soothouse had left him, and he refused to let the Sleepy Bois do the same. Hey Tommy! I saw you hit 10 mil, so congrats, man! Here if you need any advice from the worst youtuber ever :] Surely Tommy would understand it's a joke. Well, a joke to Tommy, a serious thought to "Wilbur". Was he even Wilbur anymore? Wilbur's funny. Wilbur's happy. Wilbur has friends that care about him, that are thankful for when he makes jokes. He had a good chat! But this man? This man wasn't Wilbur. He was useless, he was boring, he was borderline depressed, he had no friends that cared about him, they only laughed at his jokes so they could get him to shut up. His chat hated him. His chat said he was undeserving of hi so-called success, undeserving of anything good that ever came his way. They called him a monster. This man was awful at guitar, his lyrics were awful, nobody liked his terrible music.
His phone started vibrating rather suddenly, which took him by surprise, obviously. It was Tommy. Why was Tommy calling him? Why couldn't the boy just... send him a message back? Not wanting to cause any concern, he answered the phone, albeit reluctant to talk to the the boy. "Hey, big man," Tommy started awkwardly, dragging out the 'y'. Wil knew that Tommy wasn't worried about him, so he sat upright and put on a smile, even though the boy couldn't see it. If he has a smile on his face, then he's happy, and there's no argument about it. There's definitely no argument about it. He was happy. He was so, so very happy. "Hey, Tommy! Congra-" Wil started, before immediately being cut-off by the blonde on the other side of the line.
"Are you okay?"
Was he okay? The question was simple, but it led him down a near endless abyss of self observation. He was okay. He had a good chat. He was Wilbur Soot. He had good friends. He was Wilbur Soot. He was okay. He was perfectly okay. He was more than okay. But then, it hit him. He was okay, he had a good chat, he was Wilbur Soot, he had good friends. He was Wilbur Soot. Not anymore. He didn't even know who he was anymore. Wilbur's supposed to be happy, but this man definitely wasn't. "I.. . I don't know, Tommy. I don't know who I am anymore," is all he said before hanging up on the 17-year-old. He was avoiding his problems by pretending they didn't exist, by pretneding he was okay. He wasn't depressed, he was just lazy, and that's why he couldn't get out of bed. He was lazy and selfish, which is why he hadn't spoken to his friends in nearly 6 days. He was lazy and selfish and... and sad. He was oh so very sad. He was lonely. The great Wilbur Soot, disheveled to nothing but a shell of his former self, and what good use is a shell? Shells of people can't be fixed, so you may as well get rid of them.
~~~
He'd spent another week in bed, but this time he was being productive. He was figuring out the timetables for the trains on the Jubilee Line. Ironic how he'd written a song about it, and now he was going to use it as his way out. London may have put barriers on the line, but did that even stop anybody? Probably not, and it sure as hell wasn't going to stop him. The barriers were only at a few stations, after all, not further down the line. He could go to Canons Park Underground, or Wembley Park's tube station, hell, even the first stop on the line didn't have barriers. He'd planned it out a while beforehand, but it was his final fallback. It was sad for him to acknowledge he'd fallen so far that he'd turned to suicide to fix his problems. Wilbur, or the man that once was, got up, putting on what you'd expect him to wear in one of his ARG videos. A pair of black jeans, a white shirt, a black overcoat, a black beanie, and some simple, knock-off Doc Martens. It was hard for him to believe he was actually doing this, so much so that he dissociated the entire way to his car. He knew he needed to call somebody, he knew he shouldn't be alone in his dying moments, but as it struck midnight upon his arrival at Stanmore, he'd only have to wait about 13 minutes. He bought a ticket, a one-way as ironic as it was, and stood at the end of the platform where the train would first arrive.
He was wondering who he should call. Phil was probably asleep, same with Tommy. He didn't even have Techno's number, so he decided to check on twitch. He saw that Tommy was still streaming, mentally berating the child for staying up so late, but all-round being appreciative that he wasn't resting yet. He called the yound blonde, overthinking what he should say. All this took 10 minutes, leaving only 3 until the train would arrive. He waited for Tommy to pick up, waiting two rings, then three, then four, and then he was directed to voicemail. He messaged Tommy on Discord, taking him a minute, saying that he needed to call him. Wilbur was unaware that the boy was still streaming. He could hear the train approaching, and his final minute was approaching. The shell of the man that had made music that helped others was beyond help himself. How funny, he thought with a slight chuckle. Tommy answered the call, shouting his usual "Hey big man!"
All Wilbur had time to say was sorry.
He felt the rumble of the train coming, and knew it could be heard through the otherside of the phone call.
He stepped forward.
It was a shame he couldn't hear Tommy's pleas from his phone. He would've been able to hear exactly what he needed.
"Wilbur, I love you, please don't do this"
It was too late. The man had fallen onto the tracks. He had met his end.
![[UNEDITED - CHECK "INTRO" BEFORE CONTINUING]](https://img.wattpad.com/aac9aabf4f63926687c6fa2259a56378947361a2/68747470733a2f2f73332e616d617a6f6e6177732e636f6d2f776174747061642d6d656469612d736572766963652f53746f7279496d6167652f4837696765647972324f464234413d3d2d313135303536313530372e3136623438623666386664623635363936393336353839323333392e6a7067?s=fit&w=720&h=720)
