Disclaimer: I don't own Digimon! I don't even own the laptop I write this fics on! Wow, no wonder I'm so depressed…

Warnings: Pretty angsty…downright depressing actually. I don't know what got into me! :Looks at above disclaimer: Oh, right.

Welcome to My Life

A boy sat forlornly staring at his laptop. He felt…well, he wasn't quite sure what he was feeling. This was not a foreign emotion for him, as he knew it quite well. It had frequently visited him over the years of his short life. Some might call it depression. Some might call it apathy. He called it familiar.

Now don't be mistaken. The boy prided himself on his optimism. He always saw the glass half-full. Just rarely applied to his own situations, more applied to everyone else. Oh he liked to be happy, no doubt about that. But sometimes he craved the darkness that sometimes surrounded him. Optimism took a lot of work. It was hard to face every downfall with a smile because, let's face it, he had a lot to frown about. Even at its best, life was full of doubts. When he was surrounded by friends, he still felt lonely. Always on guard, wondering just how much these people liked him or how much was them putting up with him. He only had one friend he could call a best friend and be 100 sure about it. Sure, others he considered his best friends, but wasn't always sure that feeling was reciprocated.

And then of course life had its financial problems. He attended a private university and that was expensive. He didn't exactly have the richest of backgrounds either. His father was single-handedly supporting two college students. And scholarships only went so far.

And let's not even get started on the joke called romance. The only girlfriend he had had was two years ago, and that hadn't been the least bit successful. Currently, his love life was in the negative range. And he really hadn't heard of any girl liking him, and didn't see that possibility occurring anytime too soon. Of course he had some glimmer of hope, but oftentimes that hurt more than it didn't.

Yes, it was all too easy to succumb to the shadows of his life. Sometimes wishing for the high school years, when darkness had enveloped his very being, and death was always just around the corner. He was scared of that place. It scared him to think of the thoughts that had passed through his head repeatedly over the years. The useless tears he had shed that could have filled their own ocean. A place so dark no one could reach him. It was frightening, but comfortable all the same. Because once beyond that initial grief, apathy took over. Though, not quite apathy, for there was still a touch of emotion that would frequently visit to remind him he was alive. And once in that place, the comfort of familiarity was there. This he could handle. Here, no outside world threatened him for he did not care. If he could discover how to remain in this place and maintain good grades, he would never come out.

Of course there was the problem of suicidal thoughts, but that was all they were: thoughts. He had never actually gone through with it. Never even landed himself in the hospital. And he was such a good actor. In the deepest moments of his depression, he could hide all emotion. It was no wonder no one had ever noted his problem. Was he psychologically ill? Probably. Would he get help? Not likely. He was content to let his world continue to spin out of his control, unceremoniously dumping him wherever and whenever it pleased.

Yes, apathy was good. And that was what he yearned for now. Whenever he slipped into these moods in which he knew not what he felt, it was that apathy he reached for, his security blanket. But lately it was always just out of reach. Because he had convinced himself that it wasn't healthy and it wasn't good. He had told his friends of his little "problem". Not that he actually thought they took it seriously, but once in a while when he was in a mood they would ask, as if they were concerned. And when that mood slipped farther, he would debate and debate until he finally convinced himself to go talk to someone. It was so frustrating. He couldn't get to that place of apathy without passing through depression first. It was a process and he couldn't skip the steps, try as he might. And if he kept running to his friends every time he cried for no reason, or walked the path of dark thoughts, he was that much farther from his blanket. And it upset him to say the least.

So now he was forced to live in a confused state of being for the past few months. He was never really sure what his state of mind was, not really sure what he was feeling at any particular time. He had his moments of cheerfulness, and his bouts of depressiveness, but they rarely lasted very long. And even though he tried to keep his face and mind optimistic, it was never completely sincere, and the effort it took to keep this up was taking its toll. If there was anything he hated worse than not feeling anything, it was feeling too many things.

He would often find himself looking at those that chose the uncaring road with envy. If he could just throw away the world he had built around himself he would gladly follow them. But alas, as much as he liked to think of himself as independent, and not needing anybody, he craved attention. It was like a perverse addiction. He could not be left out of any joke, and he had to be there when anything exciting happened. Of course these things often happened, which only further dampened his mood. And when one builds a world out of that craving for attention, it is not easy to tear it down and rebuild. He had already erased much of his past and started over. It would be too hard to do so again so soon. Especially since he knew the new world would not lead him to a successful future.

And that's really what it came down to. Either give in to the darkness or take the path of success. He didn't want to follow his mother's footsteps. Shortly after his parents divorce, his mother was living in a bad neighborhood, working but not enough to pay the rent, a smoker and probably alcoholic, with the knowledge that she could have done so much better. He certainly wasn't going to live like that. If he was going to be unhappy, he would at least be so in comfort. And he had already given up too many dreams. Actor, singer, writer, artist. All these he could have been, and yet too much of a realist and too afraid of failure to actually follow such dreams. Dreams that were meant for him to pursue, but left on the side of the road, constantly biting at his ankles. So he would continue to keep himself above the black pool of depression because he had to. All he had left of his dreams was to become someone who worked in the business arena, successful because of his persuasive skills. He would sing along with the radio, continue to write but never publish, write songs that would never be recorded, dance when no one was watching, and put on an act from the moment he awoke to the moment he slept. Perhaps he could meet his dreams halfway, for there was no chance of forgetting them. And perhaps, perhaps out there was the person of his dreams. After all, the world was his stage, and Daisuke just happened to be the best actor God had created.

Hehe. I always put Daisuke through the worst. I'm so sorry!


And now he's not talking to me! Oh well. I could think of a few different directions this story could take. So you decide. Should I continue, or leave it as is. Leave a review and let me know!