For the disease of paranoid schizophrenia. Warning: a bit weird? Is that a valid warning? Not everything makes sense.
He is always watching. Watching and waiting, observing while hoping. He is simultaneously worried and excited by the prospect that they will notice him - what if they turn to laugh as he trips? But if he made an interesting conversation point, noticing that would be good, right?
He lives on questions, but is starved of answers and the sweet respite of conclusions.
He is the child peering over the well at dwindling stocks, watching the adults complain and argue and debate while he has no part. He has opinions, valid ones (he reassures himself, he doesn't want another what if) but whenever he tries to explain them, he is interrupted, ignored, or at best shot down.
Their laughter echoes into his mind long before they've made any sound, and it cripples him. He hates them for making him unsure, even when he isn't quite sure where they laugh from (are they outside? Or is it that...).
He wants attention. Tapping the table and even humming during the meetings, but he's afraid of it too: he stops the moment someone glances at him. (They would like to strangle him, to stop him distracting with the tapping)
What if he is only perceiving any attention they give him? Is he the hawk who stalks the plains, and, upon swooping, finds that the prey is in fact a mere leaf, an illusion.
Of all things, he despises illusion. The magic tricks they play on him don't (do) fool him and he never (always) stumbles when they remove the blindfold. He is the one sawn in half, the trick gone wrong.
Ultimately, he's still terrified of Manifest Destiny, because he doesn't want to live in the same house as his brother (who grins when he can't see, and always looks innocent while he quivers in private knowledge). He doesn't know why. There are bigger things to worry about. (but there aren't, America will get him one day, catch him, eat him alive because he's only poor little (big) pathetic weak Canada.)
The taps on the door never go away. Often a time he has answered to find a haze of no one in particular, and it is then he starts to doubt.
But that only gets him back to the first square anyway, having slid from the snake near the end of the board to the start again, and he never misses that snake.
See, manipulation. America and England and France and everybody twist the board, load the dice so he never wins.
(the day he refutes that is the day he admits his problems)
It takes him on another loop of the Paranoia Circles; a roundabout to which there is no exit.
This was for the prompt of mental illness, made on the kink meme: they can be found here by removing the spaces and the brackets: hetalia-kink . livejournal [.com] 20026 . html ?thread=73720122#t73720122