my happy little pill | phan

13: And Remember Kids; Don't Cry, Craft Like You've Never Crafted Before

*tw?*

Dan's POV

Is my heart supposed to hurt like this? It feels like I've been impaled, and it's not even Phil's fault that it hurts this bad. It's all mine. My fault.

How many times has Phil told me that we can not and should not be together? He's said it over and over, but it's so difficult. Our souls are magnetic and I can't just force myself away from him. I'm drawn to him and I have no restraint.

I can't blame Phil for shoving me away. I really can't. Somebody needs to take control in this friendship, and with my head on permanent fucking vacation and horrible voices whispering in my ears telling me how worthless and filthy I am, that person isn't going to be me.

When I say that I hear voices telling me what an awful individual I am, it's not like I'm psychotic or anything. The voices are all me; my venomous thoughts in my poisoned mind.

Who am I anymore? I'm not Dan Howell, the guy on YouTube with the awkward-funny videos about what a shitty human he is. That's not me anymore. That Dan disappeared a long time ago. I am a hollow vessel, empty and lifeless to the core. I can't feel anything and I know I should be worried, but I'm too fucking apathetic to care. No, I am not danisnotonfire the famous YouTuber. I simply wear his mask and fake smiles and make his best friend run away. I'm good at making people run away. It's one of the few things I am good at.

So what else am I good at? Not making videos, not anymore. I haven't made or posted a video in nearly a month. My twitter has been untouched for three days, and my followers are pestering me to check if I am alive. Am I alive? If you count breathing and seeing as living, then I guess I am. But I honestly am not, I don't feel alive. Everyday is another day rolling around hell.

Phil is still at the supermarket, which is both a bad thing and a good thing. It is a bad thing because I need him right here, right now, and a good thing because I need a little space to fucking think and I can't because my fucking head hates me.

I can't think about anything except one thing that I don't want to say aloud. The small hoard of pills in my bottom drawer that I've been gathering for a while now and I'm scared, so fucking scared, about the things that I could do with them. The things I might do with them.

The things I will do with them.

I can't take this anymore. This dullness, this...numbness inside me, like an internal empty pit that's threatening to swallow me whole. And it will if I'm not careful.

But I have no energy to fight back. I'm sick and tired of feeling helpless, and I just want to fade away into the blackness and never fucking wake up.

Fuck my life.

But Phil. What will he think if he finds me unconscious? He is the only thing that I live for, the only reason that I plaster a smile onto my face each day. The only one that might care a little bit. I don't want to hurt Phil. I love him so much.

But I know that he can find someone much better than me, and if I disappear he won't have such a heavy secret burdening him. Phan won't be real anymore. Maybe we can be together properly in the afterlife. I don't particularly believe in an afterlife, or any of that rubbish, and I kind of hope that it isn't real because I just want everything to stop and fall away.

Whoa, whoa. What the hell? Where are these suicidal thoughts coming from?

Before I can change my mind, I tear a sheet of paper from an unused notebook and grab an inky black pen so that I can write an explanation for Phil to read. I take a deep breath and swallow my tears.

Dear Phil...

It feels terrifyingly real. My final goodbye to the only person I really care about. I take my time and soon all of the words loop together into a mess of I'm sorry and it isn't your fault and I love you more than you'll ever know. I tell him all the things I've wanted to say to him, like how I watch him when we're eating breakfast, or how his laugh makes me feel butterflies in my stomach. I pull out another three pages from the blank notebook and fill the page with my long goodbye to my best friend.

Should I make a video? A quick one maybe for the viewers? I think I will. It will be another hour before Phil arrives home so I think that I should at least provide an explanation to my Subscribers. I owe them that much, at least.

I dig out my camera and set up for my final danisnotonfire video. This is horrible and cruel to everyone, but I feel like I need to make this video. I have to make sure that they understand why I'm going to do what I am going to do.

I hit record. This is it. The camera is rolling.

"Hi, Internet," I say, my voice husky in my ears and I clear my throat. I haven't scripted this video so I quickly think about what I want to tell the world. "I...I have something important to tell you, and I really hope that you will understand what's happening. I have had the most fun ever on YouTube, speaking to you guys and everything, and it's made me realise how fragile the world is. When people come up to me and tell me that the silly videos that I make have helped them through dark times and have encouraged them to make friends, it is literally the best feeling in the universe. It truly is. And..." I inhale deeply, choosing my words. "And it has been a privilege to have been someone's aid during a difficult time. But every book series has a final book, and every television series has a final episode, and unfortunately every YouTuber has a final video. And this is it. I don't want to leave you; I love and appreciate you all. I really do. The world is a beautiful place once you look past the dirt. For me, however, I need to get away from YouTube. I need to just stop. You know the way I talk about having an existential crisis? Yeah, well this existential crisis has gotten the better of me. By the time this video has been uploaded, the world will be a different place for me. Thank you to everybody who has watched my videos over the years, and thank you for lighting up my life. I know this video sounds horrible and cheesy and it is terribly short, and it's not scripted, but from the bottom of my heart: thank you. I hope you have a good life. Goodbye, Internet."

I get up and turn off the camera, and when I know it has been turned off I save the video and leave it so that Phil can easily find it and do something with it. I look around my quiet bedroom, and suddenly everything hits me; my eyes flood with tears that spill down my cheeks. I'm a hot mess.

I yank the bottom drawer open with a hard pull and scoop up a handful of pills and grab the glass of water off my bedside locker. Gently, I place Phil's letter on my perfectly made bed.

"I'm sorry," I whisper as I swallow two pills at a time. They go down slowly and painfully. Oh, my God. It's all becoming so real.

I turn on the song that I had decided would be the song that I would die to a few weeks ago. It is The Light Behind Your Eyes by My Chemical Romance. I tap on the repeat icon so that the song will be played in a loop.

I stagger and stumble as I feel the next batch of pills take action. Right. So now I need to lie down. I settle down on the ground, lying on my back like I was when I was meditating.

My ears are buzzing.

I scoop up another lot of tablets but suddenly my head smacks against the ground. I don't even feel it. I'm completely numb.

My vision starts to blur. My eyes settle on the suicide note on the bed. I'm sorry, Phil.

I'm sorry.