Congratulations! You made it to the New York Times bestselling list. You're a platinum selling rapper. You're one of the best actors out there. You're a hero in your hometown. You are internationally recognized, much like Stephen King or LeBron James is. You're no longer being harassed by poverty. You got your license. You got yourself a neat whip. You got yourself a gorgeous house. However, your anxiety has worsened. The nights become lonelier each time you put another plaque on the wall or do a successful performance. These women you're boning only want the bones and the coins, they don't give a shit about loyalty. Your family and friends switched up on you, everyone's mooching off you. People adore you. People despise you. People want what you have. They want to take it from you. Welcome to Success Syndrome.