Pre-A.N: This is a fic that harbors intense projection. It took a few good hours to rewrite this and make sure it isn't a ramble of sorts (even though it is :3). I'm not one for trigger warnings, however, this deals with mental health and as previously stated...specifically my mental health that was written whilst listening to the instrumental of "Drowning" by A Boogie Wit Da Hoodie ft. Kodak Black. I deem this Mature due to the nature of the fanfic.

Ailments

What is positivity? What is compassion? What is content? What is satisfaction?

What is...what is...happiness?

These were Ailments that plagued Yugi day in, day out. Some days they were upfront and confrontational. Others, they were subconscious and unanimous with the shadows. However, there were no differences to these.

Both fueled the black flames, licking and kissing at the feeble foundations he had oh-so anxiously tended to in the futile attempts to preserve them. Constantly charring and scarring the already healing wounds sustained by the woes of the past, pain and deceit...lies and betrayals.

"I am my own person. No one can own me unless I allow them."

Both mocked and ridiculed him for his mantra of "keeping his head up" as the abysmal waters his conscience fought for dear life to stay surfaced upon kept calling him in. They berated him for believing that he was doing anything else but prolonging the situation, hoping that he would inevitably see it as they do...and in doing so, retire the resilient gleam in his eyes and accept the varying hues of blue in the gaping void-like ocean that was waiting to devour him.

"If I can fake it till I make it, I'll be fine in the end."

Both catalyzed the conditions to make the earth barren and hot, siphoning all semblance of humidity and moisture from his deficient soul as its feet were riddled with boils from the now scorching sand. Peering down at him, making his dreary soul cognizant that there were on lookers...on lookers whom would do naught as he desperately searched for a place of solace.

"I have to finish that race, even though my legs can no longer move, and I'm mere meters away from the finish line...I need to go on."

Both stripped the air of every atom of oxygen they could find, effectively suffocating his will from exercising whatever power it had left. The will that housed the very nature of his survival, his desire to live a long and fulfilling life. Hoping that he would see that the reality of things was...that long fulfilling life was just a dream. A facet of his imagination that gave him some hope in the dark world around him. Pushing him to be "ignorant" and "inexperienced" to all things he'd soon enough need to know about.

"There were those before me that had given up on living. Even those that had found a sense of progression and hope had left it all behind...not because they don't want it, but the world we live in. The toxicity of the world isn't any place for someone with a sensitive, empathetic nature. It destroys our will, a light shouldn't exist in perpetual darkness."

Is there something I can do? Somewhere I can grow? A place I can thrive?

Questions on a second to second basis, that do naught but keep him in a rut of utter dimming light. Dimming light that as has been tainted. Dimming light that has lost its authenticity. Dimming light that isn't as ripe and pure as it was before.

In retrospect, it pains him. He's constantly bewildered by the past and all that radiated from his smile as a child, something that...compared to today is only taxing and tiresome unless he goes out of his way to genuinely do so whilst his mood is bubbly.

He knows that he can identify the stressors in the retrospection. The Ailments that torment him aren't something spontaneous. These were grown. Seeded at a young age, when inexperience and ignorance was an assumption, an axiom. Only to grow into a forest of morbidity that has the sole purpose of spreading and cursing the rest of his psyche through indoctrination...

This tough for him, for he knows that the factors that play into it all mean no actual harm. Yes, he's learned and realized that those that "reached out" and have "gone the extra mile" for him were genuine. However, the ignorance, the stubbornness, the sensitivity, the inexperience they accuse him of due to him not meeting their terms were not something that was inherently his fault...and it isn't something he wishes to excuse either.

No amount of berating or chastisement can ever equate to the self-given deprecative speeches about how he's being ungrateful and dishonest to those who are in the position of help. It isn't self-pity that he feels, no, it's self-hate.

The blatant analysis of his actions. The questions of legitimate curiosity and disgust.

"Why are you here?"

"Why did you come back?"

"Why now?"

"What's the point of being here if all you're doing is failing?"

The heavy weights each question holds sits upon his head, cooing sweet nothings that incite the desire to give up.

Yet he still pushes on.

He pushes on...and in retrospect, sees no recognition for it. As he sits in the dark alone and allows the tears to flow intuitively, he's unable to grasp, why?

Perhaps they want results? Perhaps they want proof that his continuous strife wasn't for naught? To see if they could capitalize on the so-called success?

Do they just want him to do what they want him to do at their time, at their pace...when they want him to do it, where they want him to do it, how they want him to do it; with nothing but a confirmation and adequate results?

Then...him going on is just...for their satisfaction?

Were these Ailments the product of a desire to please others in hopes he'd be able to be accepted? Were these Ailments replicating themselves only due to his failure of pleasing those of authority enough?

Could that even be a possibility? Could it be the reason there was no recognition for his feeble attempts to please them?

Would pleasing them even satisfy him?

They, who know all but nothing; who possess the purest form of ignorance...

They, who have only shown what they wish to take and not give; who projected their desires with the end goal of receiving satisfaction...

He split his soul into two in order to survive in a climate in which, had he stayed whole, would've died due to the inability of coping with fellow students with natures much different from the peers he had grown up with until that point.

He continued to strive high and far, as he was verbally abused at home. Outright refusing to allow it to bring him down.

He had dreams of being a successful businessman of an international corporation based in a foreign land. A dream that, to him gave him a reason to indulge in the whims of other's satisfaction, as it was only a means to his desired end goal.

However, that began to warp and changed little by little as he was constantly told that it would never happen, that it was something intangible.

So as it warped, he found an undying and unique love for writing after reading extensive and elaborate plots from what seemed like ordinary people on the internet. They gave him a new, tangible aspiration: becoming a writer.

He began falling in love with English as much as he did with Science, and his love only grew as he rushed to his desktop to try his hand at creating his own plots.

As he started this at the ripe age of thirteen, he would have a long way to go. A short ten chapter story he'd turned into a series was quite cringe-worthy as he looked back at it, and the criticisms he had received were more than warranted. In fact, they made him revise it and though there were those who loved the original better, he would go on to have it as his most read story out of the ongoing series and of the several stories he has written as he grew older; with an international audience and receiving much love.

Now, he sees himself as a writer, and because of life, hasn't been able to write as much and as well as he wishes to. However, that doesn't keep him down. He writes as a way to keep fighting.

He has learned that extravagance and materialistic things don't make people happy. Doing what he enjoys and living with those he loves is what is important.

Thus, with the burdens of the Ailments he is currently under and the confliction with those of authority, he's slowly deteriorating; much to his own displeasure.

He has no guide to tell him which way to go, and only Time will tell if decisions that were made are fortuitous or detrimental.

With a chance of being homeless, still without a job and still in a state of being in school, he's in a rut of unfortunate events.

He knows he must purge the Ailments, first and foremost. However, will they let him? Will they allow him to choose what would satisfy him instead of them? Will he be able to have a chance to choose what he wants and what'd be best for him and his desires?

He'll never know until it happens.

A.N: To me, this is the new "Mad World" I've written. Why? Well, I made "Mad World" with the intent of showing the dark nature of the world we live in. "Ailments" is supposed to be the complimentary opposite. As "Mad World" was extrospection, "Ailments" is introspection. I had to have an update for this turbulent month and though my current project "Protect You" is what I should be updating instead (I can't actually, this upcoming chapter is a bit thematic and very poignant to the plot of the story and the relationships of the characters currently in the spotlight) this to me is a lot more relevant and important for me to write.

So till next time, readers. I do hope you review, it helps me grow as a writer and they do genuinely make me feel happy and appreciated that people do take the time out to help me grow.

Ja ne