{Hello

Please note that none of this is true. I know it's obvious, but you never know what to expect from people these day.
I do not own Cry nor PewDiePie. That would be weird.
Also, I am not making fun of people who are Schizophrenic or the other health problems in this story. My sibling has Schizophrenia. Me making fun of Schizophrenia would be like a potato making fun of fries... I don't even know.
Also, I do not know what Cry looks like. I'm just simply basing his looks off of fan art.One more thing, I don't know how Cry or PewDiePie would react to the situations in this story because I am not a mind reader and none of this really happened.
Happy reading.

Introduction

These voices... these voices are horrible... yet wise. They tell me to do things... Horrible things. "Don't take that medicine, Cry. It's poisoned." or "Don't show your face, Cry. It's hideous." and sometimes even "Kill yourself, Cry. You're only taking up space." I try not to listen, I really do... but it's like I'm possessed or something and I do things like not take my medicine or... cover my face with a white poker face mask when I feel vulnerable. Yet, sometimes I have the power to overcome the damned voices in my head and... not attempt to kill myself... but... sometimes, the voices and sometimes even the images in my head... they make it so goddamn tempting... and the fact that I'm all alone doesn't help. I have no one or nothing to blame but myself. The guilt... it doesn't help obviously. It just makes me more... sad... angry... alone. I surprisingly make my viewers and subscribers happy. They have my videos... but what do I have? WHO do I have? I can't even make myself happy. If I can't make myself happy then... what is there to live for?