The camera flicked on, the small red dot lighting up the corner of the screen, marking the beginning of another livestream. Alex sat in front of it, adjusting his headphones and checking his setup one last time. The room around him was neat—decorated with posters of his favorite games, shelves lined with action figures, and his meticulously organized desk. The soft glow of LED lights illuminated the space in a calming blue, but his mind was a whirlwind of thoughts.
“Alright, let’s get this going,” he muttered to himself, cracking his knuckles before diving into his monologue. He had been a YouTuber for six years, building a loyal following by sharing gaming videos, tech reviews, and vlogs. His charm was his relatable, “just one of the guys” personality, and that was what had earned him millions of subscribers. But lately, it had started to feel different. The pressure, the constant need to keep up with trends, the demand for fresh content—it was all consuming.
Alex wasn’t sure when it began, but he had started feeling distant from everything. The feedback from his audience, which used to fill him with excitement, now felt like an endless cycle of approval and criticism. Each comment felt like it had more weight, and the more he gave, the more he had to offer. But the things he gave were starting to feel less like his own.
As he began his livestream, his eyes flicked over to the chat. The usual flurry of messages scrolled past faster than he could read, but he caught a few phrases that stood out: “I love you, Alex! You’re the best,” “When’s the next video coming out?” and “Can’t wait for your next stream!” The words were comforting, but there was a hollow feeling that accompanied them. The affirmation felt good, but it didn’t reach him anymore. It was like he was reading the words but not experiencing them.
He clicked into his game, one of the new releases everyone was raving about. His character on the screen moved, his avatar fighting through levels and defeating enemies. But his mind wasn’t entirely on the game. It was on the comments, on his schedule, on the analytics that had been steadily climbing. He was supposed to feel exhilarated, but he felt like he was trapped in a cycle that wasn’t his own.
"Hey, everyone, what’s up?" he said, forcing a smile. "Let’s jump into this and see what all the hype is about."
The comments flooded in, as expected. People wanted to know his opinion on the game, on his setup, on his life in general. He answered questions as best as he could, keeping up the façade of the energetic, happy-go-lucky content creator that they had come to expect. But somewhere deep inside, he was beginning to feel like a stranger in his own skin. Was this really who he was anymore? The person they saw on screen? Or was it someone he had constructed, piece by piece, for the sole purpose of being liked?
As the stream wore on, the pressure to perform grew. He was juggling so many aspects of his brand now—sponsorships, collaborations, managing his social media accounts, and, of course, keeping his audience engaged. Each like, each view, each comment had a number attached to it, and those numbers weighed heavily on him. He’d wake up every day to check his phone, his heart racing as he refreshed the pages to see how his videos were doing. But today, the anxiety was worse than ever.
He glanced up at the mirror across from his desk, catching a fleeting glimpse of his own reflection. He didn’t recognize the person staring back at him. His eyes were tired, his face gaunt, his skin pale. Had it always been like this? He felt so disconnected from the image in the mirror, like it was a version of him from another time, a time when things hadn’t felt so... forced.
A comment flashed on the screen, and for some reason, it stood out more than the others. It wasn’t a compliment or a question. It was simple: "Are you okay?"
His fingers hovered over the keyboard for a moment. Was he okay? He wasn’t sure anymore. Was he pretending to be okay for the sake of his audience? For the likes, the sponsorships, the views? Had he lost himself in the very thing that had made him famous?
The thought lingered, gnawing at him. He tried to push it aside, but it was too persistent. The pressure to be perfect, to be what everyone wanted him to be, was slowly suffocating him. His sense of self, once solid and unwavering, was fraying at the edges. Who was Alex outside of the camera? Who was he when the lights were off and the world wasn’t watching?
The livestream continued, but his mind drifted. He stared at the screen, barely registering the words coming from his mouth. He was on autopilot, going through the motions of his routine without really being there. The chat moved in a blur. The comments, the likes, the views—it all felt distant, like it was happening to someone else.
And then it hit him. He hadn’t been paying attention to the game at all. His avatar was standing still, staring at a blank wall. He hadn’t pressed a button in minutes.
For a brief moment, everything around him went quiet. The screen seemed to blur, and the glow of the LED lights felt too harsh, too artificial. He could feel a weight pressing down on his chest, and the thought, the realization, crushed him. He wasn’t just disconnected from the game. He was disconnected from everything.
The camera was still on. His audience was still watching. But in that moment, Alex couldn’t bring himself to care.
"Guys, I think I need a break," he muttered into the mic, his voice flat. "I… I’m not okay."
The words hung in the air, and for the first time in months, he felt something real—something beyond the performance he had been putting on for so long.
He leaned back in his chair, staring at the screen, the glow of his own reflection merging with the pixels on the screen. For the first time in years, Alex wondered who he was when the camera wasn’t rolling, when the likes didn’t matter, when the numbers stopped counting. But as he sat there in the silence, he realized he didn’t know anymore. The person he had become—the persona he had built for himself—had overtaken everything else.
The livestream continued, but Alex wasn’t there anymore.
Hours later, when the stream ended, the comments continued to flood in, filled with concern, confusion, and support. Some told him to take time for himself, others joked about him needing a vacation. But Alex couldn’t bring himself to read them. Instead, he sat in the stillness of his room, the weight of his own mind pressing down on him.
He had lost his sense of reality.
And as he stared at the blinking cursor on the screen, he realized the hardest part wasn’t acknowledging it. It was figuring out how to find himself again.